LETTER I.
To Mr. **** Merchant in London.

YOURS of the 13th inſtant, covering two bills. one on Meſſrs. R. and D. value 478l. 10s. and the other on Mr. ****, value 285l. duly came to hand, the former of which met with honour, but the other has been trifled with, and I am afraid will be re⯑turned proteſted.

The bearer of this is my friend, therefore let him be yours. He is a native of Honan in China, and one who did me ſignal ſervices when he was a mandarine, and I a factor at Canto [...]. By frequently converſing with Engliſh there, he has learned the language, though intirely a ſtranger to their manners and cuſtoms. I am told he is a philoſopher, I am ſure he is an honeſt [8] man; that to you will be his beſt recommendation, next to the conſideration of his being the friend of, Sir,

LETTER II.
Lond. From Lien Cbi Altangi to ****, Merchant in Amſterdam.

MAY the wings of peace reſt upon thy dwelling, and the ſhield of conſcience preſerve thee from vice and miſery: for all thy favours accept my grati⯑tude and eſteem, the only tributes a poor philoſophic wanderer can return; ſure fortune is reſolved to make me unhappy, when ſhe gives others a power of teſtify⯑ing their friendſhip by actions, and leaves me only words to expreſs the ſincerity of mine.

I am perfectly ſenſible of the delicacy by which you endeavour to leſſen your own merit and my obligations. By calling your late inſtances of friendſhip only a return [...] former favours, you would induce me to impute to your juſtice what I owe to your generoſity.

The ſervices I did you at Canton, juſtice, huma⯑nity, and my office bade me perform; thoſe you have done me ſince my arrival at Amſterdam, no laws obli⯑ged you to, no juſtice required, even half your favours would have been greater than my moſt ſanguine ex⯑pectations.

The ſum of money therefore which you privately conveyed into my baggage, when I was leaving Hol⯑land, [9] and which I was ignorant of till my arrival in London, I muſt beg leave to return. You have been bred a merchant, and l a ſcholar; You conſequently love money better than I. You can find pleaſure in ſuperfluity, I am perfectly contented with what is ſuf⯑ficient; take therefore what is yours, it may give you ſome pleaſure, even though you have no occaſion to uſe it; my happineſs it cannot improve, for I have already all that I want.

My paſſage by ſea from Rotterdam to England, was more painful to me than all the journies I ever made on land. I have traverſed the immeaſurable wilds of Mo⯑gul Tartary; felt all the rigours of Siberian ſkies; I have had my repoſe an hundred times diſturbed by in⯑vading ſavages, and have ſeen without ſhrinking the deſart ſands riſe like a troubled ocean all around me; againſt theſe calamities I was armed with reſolution; but in my paſſage to England, though nothing occurred that gave the mariners any uneaſineſs, yet to one who was never at ſea before, all was a ſubject of aſtoniſh⯑ment and terror. To find the land diſappear, to ſee our ſhip mount the waves quick as an arrow from the Tartar bow, to hear the wind howling through the cordage, to feel a ſickneſs which depreſſes even the ſpi⯑rits of the brave; theſe were unexpected diſtreſſes, and conſequently aſſaulted me unprepared to receive them.

You men of Europe think nothing of a voyage by ſea. With us of China, a man who has been from ſight of land is regarded upon his return with admira⯑tion. I have known ſome provinces where there is not even a name for the ocean. What a ſtrange people therefore am I got amongſt, who have founded an [10] empire on this unſtable element, who build cities upon billows that riſe higher than the mountains of Tiparta⯑la, and make the deep more formidable than the wild⯑eſt tempeſt.

Such accounts as theſe, I muſt confeſs, were my firſt motives for ſeeing England. Theſe induced me to un⯑dertake a journey of ſeven hundred painful days, in order to examine into opulence, buildings, ſciences, arts and manufactures on the ſpot. Judge then how great is my diſappointment on entering London, to ſee no ſigns of that opulence ſo much talked of abroad? wherever I turn, I am preſented with a gloomy ſo⯑lemnity in the houſes, the ſtreets and the inhabitants; none of that beautiful gilding which makes a priacipal ornament in Chineſe architecture. The ſtreets of Nan⯑kin are ſometimes ſtrewed with gold-leaf; very diffe⯑rent are thoſe of London: in the midſt of their pave⯑ments, a great lazy puddle moves muddily along; heavy laden machines with wheels of unweildy thickneſs crowd up every paſſage; ſo that a ſtranger, inſtead of finding time for obſervation, is often happy if he has time to eſcape from being cruſhed to pieces.

The houſes borrow very few ornaments from archi⯑tecture; their chief decoration ſeems to be a paltry piece of painting, hung out at the doors or windows, at once a proof of their indigence and vanity. Their vanity, in each having one of thoſe pictures expoſed to public view; and their indigence, in being unable to get them better painted. In this reſpect, the fancy of their painters is alſo deplorable. Could you believe it? I have ſeen five black lions and three blue boars in leſs than a circuit of half a mile; and yet you know that animals of theſe colours are no where to be found ex⯑cept in the wild imaginations of Europe.

[11] From theſe circumſtances in their buildings, and from the diſmal look of the inhabitants, I am induced to conclude that the nation is actually poor; and that like the Perſians, they make a ſplendid figure every where but at home. The proverb of Xixofou is, that a man's riches may be ſeen in his eyes; if we judge of the Engliſh by this rule, there is not a poorer nation un⯑der the ſun.

I have been here but two day, ſo will not be haſty in my deciſions; ſuch letters as I ſhall write to Fipſihi in Moſcow, I beg you'll endeavour to forward with all diligence; I ſhall ſend them open, in order that you may take copies or tranſlations, as you are equally ver⯑ſed in the Dutch and Chineſe languages. Dear friend, think of my abſence with regret, as I ſincerely regret yours; even while I write, I lament our ſeparation.

Farewell.

LETTER III.
From Lien Chi Altangi, to the care of Fipſihi, reſident in Moſcow; to be forwarded by the Ruſſian caravan to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the ceremonial aca⯑demy at Pekin in China.

THINK not, O thou guide of my youth, that abſence can impair my reſpect, or interpoſing trackleſs deſarts blot your reverend figure from my me⯑mory. The farther I travel I feel the pain of ſepara⯑tion with ſtronger force, thoſe ties that bind me to my native country, and you, are ſtill unbroken. By every remove, I only drag a greater length of chain.

[12] Could I find aught worth tranſmitting from ſo re⯑mote a region as this to which I have wandered, I ſhould gladly ſend it; but inſtead of this, you muſt be contented with a renewal of my former profeſſions, and an imperfect account of a people with whom I am as yet but ſuperficially acquainted. The remarks of a man who has been but three days in the country can only be thoſe obvious circumſtances which force themſelves upon the imagination: I conſider myſelf here as a newly created Being introduced into a new world; every object ſtrikes with wonder and ſurpriſe. The imagination ſtill unſated, ſeems the only active prin⯑ciple of the mind. The moſt trifling occurrences give pleaſure, till the gloſs of novelty is worn away. When I have ceaſed to wonder, I may poſſibly grow wiſe; I may then call the reaſoning principle to my aid, and compare thoſe objects with each other, which were be⯑fore examined without reflection.

Behold me then in London, gazing at the ſtrangers, and they at me; it ſeems they find ſomewhat abſurd in my figure; and had I been never from home it is poſ⯑ſible I might find an infinite fund of ridicule in theirs; but by long travelling I am taught to laugh at folly alone, and to find nothing truly ridiculous but villainy and vice.

When I had juſt quitted my native country, and croſſed the Chineſe wall, I fancied every deviation from the cuſtoms and manners of China was a departing from nature: I ſmiled at the blue lips and red foreheads of the Tongueſe; and could hardly contain when I ſaw the Daures dreſs their heads with horns. The Oſtiacs powdered with red earth; and the Calmuck beauties tricked out in all the finery of ſheep-ſkin appeared [13] highly ridiculous; but I ſoon perceived that the ridi⯑cule lay not in them but in me; that I falſely con⯑demned others of abſurdity; becauſe they happened to differ from a ſtandard originally founded in prejudice or partiality.

I find no pleaſure therefore in taxing the Engliſh with departing from nature in their external appearance, which is all I yet know of their character: it is poſſible they only endeavour to improve her ſimple plan, ſince every extravagance in dreſs proceeds from a deſire of becoming more beautiful than nature made us: and this is ſo harmleſs a vanity, that I not only pardon but approve it: A deſire to be more excellent than others is what actually makes us ſo, and as thouſands find a livelihood in ſociety by ſuch appetites, none but the [...]gnorant inveigh againſt them.

You are not inſenſible, moſt reverend Fum Hoam, what numberleſs trades, even among the Chineſe, ſub⯑ſiſt by the harmleſs pride of each other. Your noſe⯑borers, feet ſwathers, tooth-ſtainers, eye-brow pluckers, would all want bread, ſhould their neighbours want vanity. Theſe vanities, however, employ much fewer hands in China than in England; and a fine gentleman, or a fine lady here, dreſſed up in the faſhion, ſeems ſcarcely to have a ſingle limb that does not ſuffer ſome diſtortions from art.

To make a fine gentleman, ſeveral trades are re⯑quired, but chiefly a barber: you have undoubtedly heard of the Jewiſh champion whoſe ſtrength lay in his hair: one would think that the Engliſh were for placing all wiſdom there: To appear wiſe, nothing [14] more is requiſite here than for a man to borrow hair from the heads of all his neighbours, and clap it like a buſh on his own: the diſtributors of law and phyſic ſtick on ſuch quantities, that it is almoſt impoſſible, even in idea, to diſtinguiſh between the head and the hair.

Thoſe whom I have now been deſcribing, affect the gravity of the lion: thoſe I am going to deſcribe more reſemble the pert vivacity of ſmaller animals. The barber, who is ſtill maſter of the ceremonies, cuts their hair cloſe to the crown; and then with a compoſition of meal and hog's lard, plaſters the whole in ſuch a man⯑ner, as to make it impoſſible to diſtinguiſh whether the patient wears a cap or a plaiſter; but to make the picture more perfectly ſtriking, conceive the tail of ſome beaſt, a greyhound's tail, or a pig's tail for inſtance, appended to the back of the head, and reaching down to that place where tails in other animals are generally ſeen to begin; thus betailed and bepowdered, the man of taſte fancies he improves in beauty, dreſſes up his hard-featured face in ſmiles, and attempts to look hi⯑deouſly tender. Thus equipped, he is qualified to make love, and hopes for ſucceſs more from the powder on the outſide of his head, than the ſentiments within.

Yet when I conſider what ſort of a creature the fine lady is, to whom he is ſuppoſed to pay his addreſſes, it is not ſtrange to find him thus equipped in order to pleaſe. She is herſelf every whit as [...]ond of powder, and [...]ils, and hog's lard as he: to ſpeak my ſecret ſen⯑timents, moſt reverend Fum, the ladies here are hor⯑ridly ugly; I can hardly endure the ſight of them; they no way reſemble the beauties of China: the Eu⯑ropeans have a quite different idea of beauty from us; [15] when I reflect on the ſmall footed perfections of an Eaſtern beauty, how is it poſſible I ſhould have eye for a woman whoſe feet are ten inches long. I ſhall never forget the beauties of my native city of Nangfew. How very broad their faces; how very ſhort their no⯑ſes; how very little their eyes; how very thin their lips; how very black their teeth; the ſnow on the tops of Bao is not fairer than their cheeks; and their eye-brows are ſmall as the line by the pencil of Quamſi. Here a lady with ſuch perfections would be fright⯑ful; Dutch and Chineſe beauties indeed have ſome re⯑ſemblance, but Engliſh women are entirely different; red cheeks, big eyes, and teeth of a moſt odious white⯑neſs, are not only ſeen here, but wiſhed for; and then they have ſuch maſculine feet, as actually ſerve ſome for walking!

Yet uncivil as nature has been, they ſeem reſolved to outdo her in unkindneſs; they uſe white powder, blue powder, and black powder for their hair, and a red powder for the face on ſome particular occaſions.

They like to have the face of various colours, as among the Tartars of Koreki, frequently ſticking on, with ſpittle, little black patches on every part of it, except on the tip of the noſe, which I have never ſeen with a patch. You'll have a better idea of their man⯑ner of placing theſe ſpots, when I have finiſh'd a map of an Engliſh face patch'd up to the faſhion, which ſhall ſhortly be ſent to encreaſe your curious collection of paintings, medals, and monſters.

But what ſurprizes more than all the reſt, is, what I have juſt now been credibly informed by one of this country; "Moſt ladies here, ſays he, have two faces; [16] one face to ſleep in, and another to ſhew in company: the firſt is generally reſerved for the huſband and family at home, the other put on to pleaſe ſtrangers abroad; the family face is often indifferent enough, but the out-door one looks [...]omething better; this is always made at the toilet, where the looking-glaſs, and toad-eater ſit in council and ſettle the complexion of the day.

I can't aſcertain the truth of this remark; however, it is actually certain, that they wear more cloaths within doors than without; and I have ſeen a lady who ſeem'd to ſhudder at a breeze in her own appartment, appear half naked in the ſtreets.

Farewell.

LETTER IV.
To the ſame.

THE Engliſh ſeem as ſilent as the Japoneſe, yet vainer than the inhabitants of Siam. Upon my arrival I attributed that reſerve to modeſty, which I now find has its origin in pride. Condeſcend to addreſs them firſt, and you are ſure of their acquaintance; ſtoop to flattery, and you conciliate their friendſhip and eſteem. They bear hunger, cold, fatigue, and all the miſeries of life without ſhrinking; danger only calls forth their fortitude; they even exult in calamity; but contempt is what they cannot bear. An Engliſhman fears contempt more than death; he often flies to death as a refuge from its preſſure; and dies when he fancies the world has ceaſed to eſteem him.

Pride ſeems the ſource not only of their national vi⯑ces, [17] but of their national virtues alſo. An Engliſhman is taught to love his king as his friend, but to acknowledge no other maſter than the laws which himſelf has contri⯑buted to enact. He deſpiſes thoſe nations, who, that one may be free, are all content to be ſlaves; who, firſt lift a tyrant into terror, and then ſhrink under his pow⯑er as if delegated from heaven. Liberty is ecchoed in all their aſſemblies, and thouſands might be found rea⯑dy to offer up their lives for the ſound, though per⯑haps not one of all the number underſtands its meaning. The loweſt mechanic however looks upon it as his duty to be a watchful guardian of his country's free⯑dom, and often uſes a language that might ſeem haugh⯑ty, even in the mouth of the great emperor who traces his anceſtry to the moon.

A few days ago, paſſing by one of their priſons, I could not avoid ſtopping, in order to liſten to a dialogue which I thought might afford me ſome entertainment. The converſation was carried on between a debtor through the grate of his priſon, a porter, who had ſtopped to reſt his burthen, and a ſoldier at the win⯑dow. The ſubject was upon a threatened invaſion from France, and each ſeemed extremely anxious to reſcue his country from the impending danger. "For my part, cries the priſoner, the greateſt of my appre⯑henſions is for our freedom; if the French ſhould con⯑quer, what would become of Engliſh liberty. My dear Friends, liberty is the Engliſhman's prerogative; we muſt preſerve that at the expence of our lives, of that the French ſhall never deprive us; it is not to be ex⯑pected that men who are ſlaves themſelves, would pre⯑ſerve our freedom ſhould they happen to conquer. Ay, ſlaves, cries the porter, they are all ſlaves, fit only to carry burthens every one of them. Before I would [18] ſtoop to ſlavery, may this be my poiſon (and he held the goblet in his hand) may this be my poiſon—but I would ſooner liſt for a ſoldier.

The ſoldier taking the goblet from his friend, with much awe ſervently cried out, It is not ſo much our li⯑berties as our religion that would ſuffer by ſuch a change. Ay our religion, my lads. May the Devil ſink me into flames, (ſuch was the ſolemnity of his adjuration) if the French ſhould come over, but our religion would be utterly undone. So ſaying, inſtead of a libation, he applied the goblet to his lips, and con⯑firmed his ſentiments with a ceremony of the moſt per⯑ſevering devotion.

In ſhort, every man here pretends to be a politi⯑cian; even the fair ſex are ſometimes found to mix the ſeverity of national altercation, with the blandiſh⯑ments of love, and often become conquerors by more weapons of deſtruction than their eyes.

This univerſal paſſion for politicks is gratified by Dai⯑ly Gazettes, as with us at China. But as in ours, the emperor endeavours to inſtruct his people, in theirs the people endeavour to inſtruct the adminiſtration. You, muſt not, however, imagine, that they who compile theſe papers have any actual knowledge of the politics, or the government of a ſtate; they only col⯑lect their materials from the oracle of ſome coffee⯑houſe, which oracle has himſelf gathered them the night before from a beau at a gaming table, who has pillaged his knowledge from a great man's porter, who has had his information from the great man's gentleman, who has invented the whole ſtory for his own amuſe⯑ment the night preceding.

[19] The Engliſh in general ſeem fonder of gaining the eſteem than the love of thoſe they converſe with: this gives a formality to their amuſements; their gayeſt converſations have ſomething too wiſe for innocent re⯑laxation; though in company you are ſeldom diſguſted with the abſurdity of a fool; you are ſeldom lifted in⯑to rapture by thoſe ſtrokes of vivacity which give in⯑ſtant, though not permanent pleaſure.

What they want, however, in gaiety, they make up in politeneſs. You ſmile at hearing me praiſe the Engliſh for their politeneſs; you who have heard very different accounts from the miſſionaries at Pekin, who have ſeen ſuch a different behaviour in their merchants and ſeamen at home. But I muſt ſtill repeat it, the Engliſh ſeem more polite than any of their neighbours: their great art in this reſpect lies in endeavouring, while they oblige, to leſſen the force of the favour. Other countries are [...]ond of obliging a ſtranger; but ſeem deſirous that he ſhould be ſenſible of the obliga⯑tion. The Engliſh confer their kindneſs with an ap⯑pearance of indifference, and give away benefits with an air as if they deſpiſed them.

Walking a few days ago between an Engliſh and a Frenchman into the ſuburbs of the city, we were overtaken by a heavy ſhower of rain. I was unpre⯑pared; but they had each large coats, which defended them from what ſeemed to me a perfect inundation. The Engliſhman ſeeing me ſhrink from the weather, accoſted me thus: "Pſha, man, what doſt ſhrink at? here, take this coat; I don't want it; I find it no way uſeful to me; I had as lief be without it." The Frenchman began to ſhew his politeneſs in turn. "My dear friend," cries he, "why wen't you oblige me by [20] making uſe of my coat; you ſee how well it defends me from the rain; I ſhould not chuſe to part with it to others, but to ſuch a friend as you, I could even part with my ſkin to do him ſervice."

From ſuch minute inſtances as theſe, moſt reverend Fum Hoam, I am ſenſible your ſagacity will collect in⯑ſtruction. The volume of nature is the book of know⯑ledge; and he becomes moſt wiſe who makes the moſt judicious ſelection.

Farewell.

LETTER V.
To the ſame.

I Have already informed you of the ſingular paſſion of this nation for politicks. An Engliſhman not ſatisfied with finding by his own proſperity the con⯑tending powers of Europe properly balanced, deſires alſo to know the preciſe value of every weight in either ſcale. To gratify this curioſity, a leaf of political in⯑ſtruction is ſerved up every morning with tea: When our politician has feaſted upon this, he repairs to a coffee-houſe, in order to ruminate upon what he has read, and encreaſe his collection; from thence he pro⯑ceeds to the ordinary, enquires what news, and trea⯑ſuring up every acquiſition there, hunts about all the evening in queſt of more, and carefully adds it to the reſt. Thus at night he retires home, full of the im⯑portant advices of the day. When lo! awaking next morning, he finds the inſtructions of yeſterday a col⯑lection of abſurdity or palpable falſehood, This, one would think, a mortifying repulſe in the purſuit of wiſdom; yet our politician no way diſcouraged, hunts [21] on, in order to collect freſh materials, and in order to be again diſappointed.

I have often admired the commercial ſpirit which prevails over Europe; have been ſurpriſed to ſee them carry on a traffic with productions, that an Aſiatic ſtranger would deem entirely uſeleſs. It is a proverb in China, that an European ſuffers not even his ſpittle to be loſt; the maxim, however is not ſufficiently ſtrong; ſince they [...]ell even their Lies to great advantage. E⯑very nation drives a conſiderable trade in this commo⯑dity with their neighbours.

An Engliſh dealer in this way, for inſtance, has only to aſcend to his workhouſe, and manufacture a tur⯑bulent ſpeech averred to be ſpoken in the ſenate; or a report ſuppoſed to be dropt at court; a piece of ſcandal that ſtrikes at a popular Mandarine; or a ſecret treaty between two neighbouring powers. When finiſhed, theſe goods are baled up, and conſigned to a factor abroad, who ſends in return two battles, three ſieges, and a ſhrewd letter filled with daſhes — blanks [...] and ſtars **** of great importance.

Thus you perceive, that a ſingle gazette is the joint manufacture of Europe; and he who would peruſe it with a philoſophical eye, might perceive in every para⯑graph ſomething characteriſtick of the nation to which it belongs. A map does not exhibit a more diſtinct view of the boundaries and ſituation of every country, than its news does a picture of the genius, and the mo⯑rals of its inhabitants. The ſuperſtition and erroneous delicacy of Italy, the formality of Spain, the cruelty of Portugal, the fears of Auſtria, the confidence of Pruſ⯑ſia, the levity of France, the avarice of Holland, the [22] pride of England, the abſurdity of Ireland, and the na⯑tional partiality of Scotland, are all conſpicuous in every page.

But, perhaps, you may find more ſatisfaction in a real news paper, than in my deſcription of one; I therefore ſend a ſpecimen, which may ſerve to exhibit the man⯑ner of their being written, and diſtinguiſh the charac⯑ters of the various nations which are united in its com⯑poſition.

NAPLES. We have lately dug up here a curious Etruſcan monument, broke in two in the raiſing. The characters are ſcarce viſible; but Nugoſi, the learned antiquary, ſuppoſes it to have been erected in honour of Picus, a Latin King, as one of the lines may be plainly diſtinguiſhed to begin with a P. It is hoped this diſcovery will produce ſomething valuable, as the lite⯑rati of our twelve academies are deeply engaged in the diſquiſition.

PISA. Since father Fudgi, prior of St. Gilbert's, has gone to reſide at Rome, no miracles have been per⯑formed at the ſhrine of St. Gilbert; the devout begin to grow uneaſy, and ſome begin actually to fear that St. Gilbert has forſaken them with the reverend fa⯑ther.

LUCCA. The adminiſtrators of our ſerene republic, have frequent conferences upon the part they ſhall take in the preſent commotions of Europe. Some are for ſending a body of their troops, conſiſting of one com⯑pany of foot, and ſix horſemen, to make a diverſion in favour of the empreſs-queen; others are as ſtrenuous aſſertors of the Pruſſian intereſt: what turn theſe de⯑bates [23] may take, time only can diſcover. However, certain it is, we ſhall be able to bring into the field at the opening of the next campaign, ſeventy-five armed men, a commander in chief, and two drummers of great experience.

SPAIN. Yeſterday the new king ſhewed himſelf to his ſubjects, and after having ſtaid half an hour in his balcony, retired to the royal apartment. The night concluded on this extraordinary occaſion with illumina⯑tions, and other demonſtrations of joy.

The queen is more beautiful than the riſing ſun, and reckoned one of the firſt wits in Europe: ſhe had a glorious opportunity of diſplaying the readineſs of her invention, and her ſkill in repartee lately at court. The duke of Lerma, coming up to her with a low bow and a ſmile, and preſenting a noſegay ſet with diamonds, Madam, cries he, I am your moſt obedient humble ſer⯑vant. Oh, Sir, replies the queen, without any prompter, or the leaſt heſitation, I'm very proud of the very great honour you do me. Upon which ſhe made a very low curteſy, and all the courtiers fell a laughing at the readineſs and the ſmartneſs of her reply.

LISBON. Yeſterday we had an auto da fe, at which were burned three young women accuſed of hereſy, one of them of exquiſite beauty? two Jews, and an old woman, convicted of being a witch: One of the friars, who attended this laſt, reports, that he ſaw the devil fly out of her at the ſtake in the ſhape of a flame of fire. The populace behaved on this occaſion with great good humour, joy and ſincere devotion.

[24] Our merciful Sovereign has been for ſome time paſt recovered of his fright: though ſo attrocious an at⯑tempt deſerved to exterminate half the nation, yet he has been graciouſly pleaſed to ſpare the lives of his ſub⯑jects, and not above five hundred have been broke upon the wheel, or otherwiſe executed upon this hor⯑rid occaſion.

VIENNA. We have received certain advices that a party of twenty thouſand Auſtrians, having attacked a much ſuperior body of Pruſſians, put them all to flight, and took the reſt priſoners of war.

BERLIN. We have received certain advices that a party of twenty thouſand Pruſſians having attacked a much ſuperior body of Auſtrians, put them to flight, and took a great number of priſoners, with their mili⯑tary cheſt, cannon, and baggage.

Though we have not ſucceeded this campaign to our wiſhes; yet, when we think of him who commands us, we reſt in ſecurity: while we ſleep, our king is watch⯑ful for our ſafety.

PARIS. We ſhall ſoon ſtrike a ſignal blow. We have ſeventeen flat-bottom'd boats at Havre. The people are in excellent ſpirits, and our miniſters make no difficulty of raiſing the ſupplies.

We are all undone; the people are diſcontented to the laſt degree; the miniſters are obliged to have re⯑courſe to the moſt rigorous methods to raiſe the ex⯑pences of the war.

[25] Our diſtreſſes are great; but madam Pompadour continues to ſupply our king, who is now growing old, with a freſh lady every night. His health, thank hea⯑ven, is ſtill pretty well; nor is he in the leaſt unfit, as was reported, for any kind of royal exercitation. He was ſo frighted at the affair of Damien, that his phy⯑ſicians were apprehenſive leſt his reaſon ſhould ſuffer, but that wretch's tortures ſoon compoſed the kingly terrors of his breaſt.

ENGLAND. Wanted an uſher to an academy. N. B. He muſt be able to read, dreſs hair, and muſt have had the ſmall pox.

DUBLIN. We hear that there is a benevolent ſub⯑ſcription on foot among the nobility and gentry of this kingdom, who are great patrons of merit, in order to aſſiſt Black and All Black, in his conteſt with the Pad⯑dereen mare.

We hear from Germany that Prince Ferdinand has gained a complete victory, and taken twelve kettle drums, five ſtandards, and four waggons of ammuni⯑tion priſoners of war.

EDINBURGH. We are poſitive when we ſay that Saunders M'Gregor who was lately executed for horſe⯑ſtealing, is not a Scotchman, but born in Carrickfergus.

Farewell.

LETTER VI.
Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the ceremonial academy at Pekin, to Lien Chi Altangi, the diſcontented wan⯑derer; by the way of Moſcow.

WHETHER ſporting on the flowery banks of the river Irtis, or ſcaling the ſteepy moun⯑tains of Douchenour: Whether traverſing the black deſerts of Kobi, or giving leſſons of politeneſs to the ſavage inhabitants of Europe. In whatever country, whatever climate, and whatever circumſtances, all hail! May Tien, the univerſal ſoul, take you under his protection, and inſpire you with a ſuperior portion of himſelf.

How long, my friend, ſhall an enthuſiaſm for know⯑ledge continue to obſtruct your happineſs, and tear you from all the connexions that make life pleaſing? How long will you continue to rove from climate to climate, circled by thouſands, and yet without a friend, feeling all the inconveniencies of a croud, and all the anxiety of being alone.

I know you will reply, that the refined pleaſure of growing every day wiſer, is a ſufficient recompence for every inconvenience. I know you will talk of the vul⯑gar ſatisfaction of ſoliciting happineſs from ſenſual en⯑joyment only; and probably enlarge upon the exquiſite raptures of ſentimental bliſs. Yet, believe me, friend, you are deceived; all our pleaſures, though ſeemingly never ſo remote from ſenſe, derive their origin from ſome one of the ſenſes. The moſt exquiſite demonſtra⯑tion in mathematics, or the moſt pleaſing diſquiſition in metaphyſics, if it does not ultimately tend to increaſe [27] ſome ſenſual ſatisfaction, is delightful only to fools, or to men who have by long habit contracted a falſe idea of pleaſure; and he who ſeparates ſenſual and ſenti⯑mental enjoyments, ſeeking happineſs from mind alone, is in fact as wretched as the naked inhabitant of the fo⯑reſt, who places all happineſs in the firſt, regardleſs of the latter. There are two extremes in this reſpect; the ſavage who ſwallows down the draught of pleaſure without ſtaying to reflect on his happineſs, and the ſage who paſſeth the cup while he reflects on the conveni⯑encies of drinking.

It is with an heart full of ſorrow, my dear Altangi, that I muſt inform you that what the world calls hap⯑pineſs muſt now be yours no longer. Our great em⯑peror's diſpleaſure at your leaving China, contrary to the rules of our government, and the immemorial cuſ⯑tom of the empire, has produced the moſt terrible ef⯑fects. Your wife, daughter, and the reſt of your fa⯑mily have been ſeized by his order, and appropriated to his uſe; all except your ſon are now the peculiar pro⯑perty of him who poſſeſſes all; him I have hidden from the officers employed for-this purpoſe; and even at the hazard of my life I have concealed him. The youth ſeems obſtinately bent on finding you out, wherever you are; he is determined to face every danger that oppoſes his purſuit. Though yet but fifteen, all his father's virtues and obſtinacy ſparkle in his eyes, and mark him as one deſtined to no mediocrity of fortune.

You ſee, my deareſt friend, what imprudence has brought thee to; from opulence, a tender family, ſur⯑rounding friends, and your maſter's eſteem, it has re⯑duced thee to want, perſecution; and ſtill worſe, to our mighty monarch's diſpleaſure. Want of prudence [28] is too frequently the want of virtue; nor is there on earth a more powerful advocate for vice than poverty. As I ſhall endeavour to guard thee from the one, ſo guard thyſelf from the other; and ſtill think of me with affection and eſteem.

Farewell.

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

A Wife, a daughter carried into captivity to ex⯑piate my offence, a ſon ſcarce yet arrived at ma⯑turity, reſolving to encounter every danger in the pious purſuit of one who has undone him, theſe indeed are circumſtances of diſtreſs; tho' my tears were more pre⯑cious than the gem of Golconda, yet would they fall upon ſuch an occaſion.

But I ſubmit to the ſtroke of heaven, I hold the vo⯑lume of Confucius in my hand, and as I read grow humble and patient, and wiſe. We ſhould [...]eel ſorrow, ſays he, but not ſink under its oppreſſion; the heart of a wiſe man ſhould reſemble a mirrour, which reflects every object without being ſullied by any. The wheel of fortune turns inceſſantly round, and who can ſay within himſelf I ſhall to day be uppermoſt. We ſhould hold the immutable mean that lies between inſenſibility and anguiſh; our attempts ſhould be not to extinguiſh [29] nature, but to repreſs it; not to ſtand unmoved at diſ⯑treſs, but endeavour to turn every diſaſter to our own advantage. Our greateſt glory is, not in never falling, but in riſing every time we fall.

I fancy myſelf at preſent, O thou reverend diſciple of Tao, more than a match for all that can happen; the chief buſineſs of my life has been to procure wiſ⯑dom, and the chief object of that wiſdom was to be happy. My attendance on your lectures, my confer⯑ences with the miſſionaries of Europe, and all my ſub⯑ſequent adventures upon quitting China, were calcu⯑lated to increaſe the ſphere of my happineſs, not my curioſity. Let European travellers croſs ſeas and de⯑ſerts merely to meaſure the height of a mountain, to deſcribe the cataract of a river, or tell the commodi⯑ties which every country may produce; merchants or geographers, perhaps, may find profit by ſuch diſ⯑coveries, but what advantage can accrue to a philoſo⯑pher from ſuch accounts, who is deſirous of under⯑ſtanding the human heart, who ſeeks to know the men of every country, who deſires to diſcover thoſe dif⯑ferences which reſult from climate, religion, educa⯑tion, prejudice, and partiality.

I ſhould think my time very ill beſtowed, were the only fruits of my adventures to conſiſt in being able to tell, that a tradeſman of London lives in a houſe three times as high as that of our great Emperor. That the ladies wear longer cloaths than the men, that the prieſts are dreſſed in colours which we are taught to deteſt, and that their ſoldiers wear ſcarlet, which is with us the ſymbol of peace and innocence. How many travellers are there, who confine their relations to ſuch minute [30] and uſeleſs particulars; for one who enters into the ge⯑nius of thoſe nations, with whom he has converſed, who diſcloſes their morals, their opinions, the ideas which they entertain of religious worſhip, the intrigues of their miniſters, and their ſkill in ſciences; there are twenty, who only mention ſome idle particulars, which can be of no real uſe to a true philoſopher. All their remarks tend, neither to make themſelves nor others more happy; they no way contribute to control their paſſions, to bear adverſity, to inſpire true virtue, or [...] a deteſtation of vice.

Men may be very learned, and yet very miſerable; it is eaſy to be a deep geometrician, or a ſublime aſtro⯑nomer, but very difficult to be a good man; I eſteem, therefore, the traveller who inſtructs the heart, but deſpiſe him who only indulges the imagination; a man who leaves home to mend himſelf and others is a philoſopher; but he who goes from country to country, guided by the blind impulſe of curioſity, is only a vagabond. From Zerduſht down to him of Tyanea, I honour all thoſe great names who endea⯑voured to unite the world by their travels; ſuch men grew wiſer as well as better, the farther they departed from home, and ſeemed like rivers, whoſe ſtreams are not only encreaſed, but refined, as they travel from their ſource.

For my own part, my greateſt glory is, that travel⯑ling has not more ſteeled my conſtitution againſt all the viciſſitudes of climate, and all the depreſſions of fa⯑tigue, than it has my mind againſt the accidents of for⯑tune, or the acceſſes of deſpair.

Farewell.

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

HOW inſupportable! oh thou poſſeſſor of hea⯑venly wiſdom, would be this ſeparation, this im⯑meaſurable diſtance from my friends were I not able thus to delineate my heart upon paper, and to ſend thee daily a map of my mind.

I am every day better reconciled to the people among whom I reſide, and begin to fancy that in time I ſhall find them more opulent, more charitable, and more hoſpitable than I at firſt imagined. I begin to learn ſomewhat of their manners and cuſtoms, and to ſee reaſons for ſeveral deviations which they make from us, from whom all other nations derive their politeneſs as well as their original.

In ſpite of taſte, in ſpite of prejudice, I now begin to thnk their women tolerable; I can now look on a languiſhing blue eye without diſguſt, and pardon a ſet of teeth, even though whiter than ivory. I now begin to fancy there is no univerſal ſtandard for beauty. The truth is, the manners of the ladies in this city are ſo very open, and ſo vaſtly engaging, that I am inclined to paſs over the more glaring defects of their perſons, ſince compenſated by the more ſolid, yet latent beauties of the mind; what tho' they want black teeth, or are de⯑prived of the allurements of feet no bigger than their thumbs, yet ſtill they have ſouls, my friend, ſuch ſouls, ſo free, ſo preſſing, ſo hoſpitable, and ſo engaging—I have received more invitations in the ſtreets of Lon⯑don [32] from the ſex in one night, than I have met with at Pekin in twelve revolutions of the moon.

Every evening as I return home from my uſual ſoli⯑tary excurſions, I am met by ſeveral of thoſe well diſ⯑poſed daughters of hoſpitality, at different times and in different ſtreets, richly dreſſed, and with minds not leſs noble than their appearance. You know that nature has indulged me with a perſon by no means agreeable; yet are they too generous to object to my homely ap⯑pearance; they feel no repugnance at my broad face and flat noſe; they perceive me to be a ſtranger, and that alone is a ſufficient recommendation. They even ſeem to think it their duty to do the honours of the country by every act of complaiſance in their power. One takes me under the arm, and in a manner forces me along; another catches me round the neck, and de⯑ſires to partake in this office of hoſpitality; while a third kinder ſtill, invites me to refreſh my ſpirits with wine. Wine is in England reſerved only for the rich, yet here even wine is given away to the ſtranger!

A few nights ago, one of thoſe generous creatures, dreſſed all in white, and flaunting like a meteor by my ſide, forcibly attended me home to my own apartment. She ſeemed charmed with the elegance of the furniture, and the convenience of my ſituation. And well indeed ſhe might, for I have hired an apartment for not leſs than two ſhillings of their money every week. But her civility did not reſt here; for at parting, being deſirous to know the hour, and perceiving my watch out of or⯑der, ſhe kindly took it to be repaired by a relation of her own, which you may imagine will ſave ſome ex⯑pence, and ſhe aſſures me that it will coſt her nothing. [33] I ſhall have it back in a few days when mended, and am preparing a proper ſpeech expreſſive of my grati⯑tude on the occaſion: Celeſtial excellence, I intend to ſay, happy I am in having found out, after many pain⯑ful adventures, a land of innocence, and a people of humanity: I may rove into other climes, and converſe with nations yet unknown, but where ſhall I meet a ſoul of ſuch purity as that which reſides in thy breaſt! Sure thou haſt been nurtured by the bill of the Shin Shin, or ſuck'd the breaſts of the provident Gin Hiung. The melody of thy voice could rob the Chong Fou of her whelps, or inveigle the [...] that lives in the midſt of the waters. Thy ſervant ſhall ever retain a ſenſe of thy favours; and one day boaſt of thy virtue, ſin⯑cerity and truth among the daughters of China.

Adieu.

LETTER IX.
To the ſame.

I Have been deceived! ſhe whom I fancied a daugh⯑ter of Paradiſe has proved to be one of the infamous diſciples of Han! I have loſt a trifle, I have gained the conſolation of having diſcovered a deceiver. I once more, therefore, relax into my former indifference with regard to the Engliſh ladies, they once more be⯑gin to appear diſagreeable in my eyes: Thus is my whole time paſſed in forming concluſions which the next minute's experience may probably deſtroy; the preſent moment becomes a comment on the paſt, and I improve rather in humility than wiſdom.

[34] Their laws and religion forbid the Engliſh to keep more than one woman, I therefore concluded that pro⯑ſtitutes were baniſhed from ſociety; I was deceived; every man here keeps as many wives as he can main⯑tain; the laws are cemented with blood, praiſed and diſregarded. The very Chineſe, whoſe religion allows him two wives, takes not half the liberties of the Eng⯑liſh in this particular. Their laws may be compared to the books of the Sybils, they are held in great venera⯑tion, but ſeldom read, or ſeldomer underſtood; even thoſe who pretend to be their guardians diſpute about the meaning of many of them, and confeſs their igno⯑rance of others. The law therefore which commands them to have but one wife, is ſtrictly obſerved only by thoſe for whom one is more than ſufficient, or by ſuch as have not money to buy two. As for the reſt, they violate it publicly, and ſome glory in its violation. They ſeem to think like the Perſians, that they give evident marks of manhood by encreaſing their ſeraglio. A man⯑darine therefore here generally keeps four wives, a gentleman three, and a ſtage-player two. As for the magiſtrates, the country juſtices and ſquires, they are employed firſt in debauching young virgins, and then puniſhing the tranſgreſſion.

From ſuch a picture you will be apt to conclude, that he who employs four ladies for his amuſement, has four times as much conſtitution to ſpare as he who is contented with one; that a Mandarine is much cleverer than a gentleman, and a gentléman than a player, and yet it is quite the reverſe; a Mandarine is frequently ſupported on ſpindle ſhanks, appears emaciated by iuxury, and is obliged to have recourſe to variety, merely from the weakneſs, not the vigour of his con⯑ſtitution, [35] the number of his wives being the moſt equivocal ſymptom of his virility.

Beſide the country ſquire, there is alſo another ſet of men, whoſe whole employment conſiſts in corrupting beauty: theſe the ſilly part of the fair ſex call ami⯑able; the more ſenſible part of them, however, give them the title of abominable. You will probably de⯑mand what are the talents of a man thus careſſed by the majority of the oppoſite ſex; what talents or what beauty is he poſſeſſed of ſuperior to the reſt of his fel⯑lows. To anſwer you directly, he has neither talents nor beauty, but then he is poſſeſſed of impudence and aſſiduity. With aſſiduity and impudence, men of all ages, and all figures, may commence admirers. I have even been told of ſome who made profeſſions of ex⯑piring for love, when all the world could perceive they were going to die of old age: and what is more ſur⯑prizing ſtill, ſuch batter'd beaus are generally moſt in⯑famouſly ſucceſsful.

A fellow of this kind employs three hours every morning in dreſſing his head, by which is underſtood only his hair.

He is a profeſſed admirer, not of any particular lady, but of the whole ſex.

He is to ſuppoſe every lady has caught cold every night, which gives him an opportunity of calling to ſee how ſhe does the next morning.

He is upon all occaſions to ſhew himſelf in very great pain for the ladies; if a lady drops even a pin, he is to fly in order to preſent it.

[36] He never ſpeaks to a lady without advancing his mouth to her ear, by which he frequently addreſſes more ſenſes than one.

Upon proper occaſions he looks exceſſively tender. This is performed by laying his hand upon his heart, ſhutting his eyes, and ſhowing his teeth.

He is exceſſively fond of dancing a minuet with the ladies, by which is only meant walking round the floor eight or ten times with his hat on, affecting great gravity, and ſometimes looking tenderly on his partner.

He never affronts any man himſelf, and never re⯑ſents an affront from another.

He has an infinite variety of ſmall talk upon all occaſions, and laughs when he has nothing more to ſay.

Such is the killing creature who proſtrates himſelf to the ſex till he has undone them; all whoſe ſubmiſſions are the effects of deſign, and who to pleaſe the ladies almoſt becomes himſelf a lady.

LETTER X.
To the ſame.

I HAVE hitherto given you no account of my journey from China to Europe, of my travels through countries, where nature ſports in primeval [...]udeneſs, where ſhe pours forth her wonders in ſoli⯑tude; [37] countries, from whence the rigorous climate the ſweeping inundation, the drifted deſart, the howl⯑ing foreſt, and mountains of immeaſureable height ba⯑niſh the huſbandman, and ſpread extenſive deſolation; countries where the brown Tartar wanders for a pre⯑carious ſubſiſtence, with an heart that never felt pity, himſelf more hideous than the wilderneſs he makes.

You will eaſily conceive the fatigue of croſſing vaſt tracts of land, either deſolate, or ſtill more dangerous by its inhabitants. The retreat of men, who ſeem driven from ſociety, in order to make war upon all the human race; nominally profeſſing a ſubjection to Moſ⯑covy or China, but without any reſemblance to the countries on which they depend.

After I had croſſed the great wail, the firſt objects that preſented were the remains of deſolated cities, and all the magnificence of venerable ruin. There were to be ſeen temples of beautiful ſtructure, ſtatues wrought by the hand of a maſter, and around a coun⯑try of luxuriant plenty; but not one ſingle inhabitant to reap the bounties of nature. Theſe were proſpects that might humble the Pride of kings, and repreſs hu⯑man vanity. I aſked my guide the cauſe of ſuch deſo⯑lation. Theſe countries, ſays he, were once the do⯑minions of a Tartar prince; and theſe ruins the ſeat of arts, elegance, and eaſe. This prince waged an unſucceſsful war with one of the emperors of China; he was conquered, his cities plundered, and all his ſub⯑jects carried into captivity. Such are the effects of the ambition of Kings! Ten Derviſes, ſay the Indian pro⯑verb, ſhall ſleep in peace upon a ſingle carpet, while two kings ſhall quarrel though they have kingdoms to [38] divide them. Sure, my friend, the cruelty and the pride of man have made more deſarts than nature ever made! ſhe is kind, but man is ungrateful!

Proceeding in my journey through this penſive ſcene of deſolated beauty, in a few days I arrived among the Daures, a nation ſtill dependant on China. Xaixigar is their principal city, which, compared with thoſe of Europe, ſcarely deſerves the name. The governors and other officers, who are ſent yearly from Pekin, abuſe their authority, and often take the wives and daughters of the Inhabitants to themſelves. The Daures accuſtomed to baſe ſubmiſſion, feel no reſentment at thoſe injuries, or ſtifle what they feel. Cuſtom and neceſſity teach even barbarians the ſame art of diſſimu⯑lation that ambition and intrigue inſpire in the breaſts of the polite. Upon beholding ſuch unlicenſed ſtretches of power, alas, thought I, how little does our wiſe and good emperor know of thoſe intolerable exactions! theſe provinces are too diſtant for complaint, and too inſignificant to expect redreſs. The more diſtant the government, the honeſter ſhould be the governor to whom it is entruſted; for hope of impunity is a ſtrong inducement to violation.

The religion of the Daures is more abſurd than even that of the ſectaries of Fohi. How would you be ſurprized, O ſage diſciple and follower of Confu⯑cius! you who believe one eternal intelligent cauſe of all, ſhould you be preſent at the barbarous ceremonies of this infatuated people. How would you deplore the blindneſs and folly of mankind. His boaſted rea⯑ſon ſeems only to light him aſtray, and brutal inſtinct more regularly points out the path to happineſs. Could you think it? they adore a wicked divinity; they fear [39] him and they worſhip him; they imagine him a ma⯑licious being, ready to injure and ready to be appeaſed. The men and women aſſemble at midnight in a hut, which ſerves for a temple. A prieſt ſtretches himſelf on the ground, and all the people pour forth the moſt horrid cries, while drums and timbrels ſwell the infer⯑nal concert. After this diſſonance, miſcalled muſic, has continued about two hours, the prieſt riſes from the ground, aſſumes an air of inſpiration, grows big with the inſpiring daemon, and pretends to a ſkill in futurity.

In every country, my friend, the bonzes, the drachmans, and the prieſts deceive the people; all re⯑formations begin from the laity; the prieſts point us out the way to heaven with their fingers, but ſtand ſtill themſelves, nor ſeem to travel towards the country in view.

The cuſtoms of this people correſpond to their re⯑ligion; they keep their dead for three days on the ſame bed where the perſon died; after which they bury him in a grave moderately deep, but with the head ſtill uncovered. Here for ſeveral days they preſent him different ſorts of meats; which, when they per⯑ceive he does not conſume, they fill up the grave, and deſiſt from deſiring him to eat for the future. How, how can mankind be guilty of ſuch ſtrange abſurdity, to entreat a dead body already putrid to partake of the banquet? Where, I again repeat it, is human reaſon; not only ſome men, but whole nations, ſeem diveſted of its illumination. Here we obſerve a whole country adoring a divinity through fear, and attempting to feed [40] the dead. Theſe are their moſt ſerious and religious occupations: are theſe men rational, or are not the apes of Borneo more wiſe?

Certain I am, O thou inſtructor of my youth! that without philoſophers, without ſome few virtuous men, who ſeem to be of a different nature from the reſt of mankind, without ſuch as theſe the worſhip of a wicked divinity would ſurely be eſtabliſhed over every part of the earth. Fear guides more to their duty than grati⯑tude: for one man who is virtuous from the love of virtue; from the obligation which he thinks he lies un⯑der to the giver of all; there are ten thouſand who are good only from their apprehenſions of puniſhment. Could theſe laſt be perſuaded, as the Epicureans were, that heaven had no thunders in ſtore for the villain, they would no longer continue to acknowledge ſubordination, or thank that being who gave them ex⯑iſtence.

Adieu.

LETTER XI.
To the ſame.

FROM ſuch a picture of nature in primeval ſim⯑plicity, tell me, my much reſpected friend, are you in love with fatigue and ſolitude? Do you ſigh for the ſevere frugality of the wandering Tartar, or regret being born amidſt the luxury and diſſumulation of the polite? Rather tell me, has not every kind of life vices peculiarly its own? Is it not a truth, that refined countries have more vices, but thoſe not ſo terrible; barbarous nations few, and they of the moſt hideous [41] complexion? Perfidy and fraud are the vices of civi⯑lized nations, credulity and violence thoſe of the inha⯑bitants of the deſert. Does the luxury of the one produce half the evils of the inhumanity of the other? Certainly thoſe philoſophers, who declaim againſt luxury have but little underſtood its benefits: they ſeem inſenſible, that to luxury we owe not only the greateſt part of our knowledge, but even of our virtues.

It may ſound fine in the mouth of a declaimer when he talks of ſubduing our appetites, of teaching every ſenſe to be content with a bare ſufficiency, and of ſup⯑plying only the wants of nature; but is there no more ſatisfaction in indulging thoſe appetites, if with innocence and ſafety, than in reſtraining them? Am not I better pleaſed in enjoyment than in the ſullen ſa⯑tisfaction of thinking that I can live without enjoyment? The more various our artificial neceſſities, the wider is our circle of pleaſure; for all pleaſure conſiſts in ob⯑viating neceſſities as they riſe; luxury, therefore, as it encreaſes our wants, encreaſes our capacity for hap⯑pineſs.

Examine the hiſtory of any country remarkable for opulence and wiſdom, you will find they would never have been wiſe had they not been firſt luxurious; you will find poets, philoſophers, and even patriots, march⯑ing in luxury's train. The Reaſon is obvious; we then only are curious after knowledge when we find it con⯑nected with ſenſual happineſs. The ſenſes ever point out the way, and reflection comments upon the diſco⯑very. Inform a native of the deſert of Kobi, of the exact meaſure of the parallax of the moon, he finds [42] no ſatisfaction at all in the information; he wonders how any could take ſuch pains, and lay out ſuch trea⯑ſures in order to ſolve ſo uſeleſs a difficulty; but con⯑nect it with his happineſs, by ſhewing that it improves navigation, that by ſuch an inveſtigation he may have a warmer coat, a better gun, or a finer knife, and he is inſtantly in raptures at ſo great an improvement. In ſhort, we only deſire to know what we deſire to poſ⯑ſeſs; and whatever we may talk againſt it, luxury adds the ſpur to curioſity, and gives us a deſire of becoming more wiſe.

But not our knowledge only, but our virtues are im⯑proved by luxury. Obſerve the brown ſavage of Thi⯑bet, to whom the fruits of the ſpreading pomegranate ſupply food, and its branches an habitation. Such a character has few vices I grant, but thoſe he has are of the moſt hideous nature, rapine and cruelty are ſcarce crimes in his eye, neither pity nor tenderneſs, which enoble every virtue, have any place in his heart; he hates his enemies, and kills thoſe he ſubdues. On the other hand, the polite Chineſe and civilized Eu⯑ropean ſeem even to love their enemies. I have juſt now ſeen an inſtance where the Engliſh have ſuccoured thoſe enemies whom their own countrymen have actually refuſed to relieve.

The greater the luxuries of every country, the more cloſely, politically ſpeaking, is that country united. Luxury is the child of ſociety alone, the luxurious man ſtands in need of a thouſand different artiſts to furniſh out his happineſs: it is more likely, therefore, that he ſhould be a good citizen who is connected by motives of [43] ſelf-intereſt with ſo many, than the abſtemious man who is united to none.

In whatſoever light therefore we conſider luxury, whether as employing a number of hands naturally too feeble for more laborious employment, as finding a va⯑riety of occupation for others who might be totally idle, or as furniſhing out new inlets to happineſs, with⯑out encroaching on mutual property, in whatever light we regard it, we ſhall have reaſon to ſtand up in its de⯑fence, and the ſentiment of Confucius ſtill remains un⯑ſhaken; that we ſhould enjoy as many of the luxuries of life as are conſiſtent with our own ſafety; and the proſ⯑perity of others, and that be who finds out a new plea⯑ſure is one of the moſt uſeful members of ſociety.

LETTER XII.
To the ſame.

FROM the funeral ſolemnities of the Daures, who think themſelves the politeſt people in the world, I muſt make a tranſition to the funeral ſolemnities of the Engliſh, who think themſelves as polite as they. The numberleſs ceremonies which are uſed here when a perſon is ſick, appear to me ſo many evident marks of fear and apprehenſion. Aſk an Engliſhman, however, whether he is afraid of death, and he boldly anſwers in the negative; but obſerve his behaviour in circum⯑ſtances of approaching ſickneſs, and you will find his actions give his aſſertions the lie

[44] The Chineſe are very ſincere in this reſpect; they hate to die, and they confeſs their terrors: a great part of their life is ſpent in preparing things proper for their funeral; a poor artizan ſhall ſpend half his income in providing himſelf a romb twenty years before he wants it; and denies himſelf the neceſſaries of life, that he may be amply provided for when he ſhall want them no more.

But people of diſtinction in England really deſerve pity, for they die in circumſtances of the moſt extreme diſtreſs. It is an eſtabliſhed rule, never to let a man know that he is dying: phyſicians are ſent for, the clergy are called, and every thing paſſes in ſilent ſo⯑lemnity round the ſick bed; the patient is in agonies, looks round for pity, yet not a ſingle creature will ſay that he is dying. If he is poſſeſſed of fortune, his re⯑lations entreat him to make his will, as it may reſtore the tranquillity of his mind. He is deſired to undergo the rites of the church, for decency requires it. His friends take their leave only becauſe they don't care to ſee him in pain. In ſhort, an hundred ſtratagems are uſed to make him do what he might have been induced to perform only by being told; Sir, you are paſt all hopes, and had as good think decently of dying.

Beſides all this, the chamber is darkened, the whole houſe echoes to the cries of the wife, the lamenta⯑tions of the children, the grief of the ſervants, and the ſighs of friends. The bed is ſurrounded with prieſts and doctors in black, and only flambeaux emit a yellow gloom. Where is the man, how intrepid ſo⯑ever, that would not ſhrink at ſuch a hideous ſolem⯑nity? [45] For fear of affrighting their expiring friends, the Engliſh practiſe all that can fill them with terror. Strange effect of human prejudice thus to torture mere⯑ly from miſtaken tenderneſs!

You ſee, my friend, what contradictions there are in the tempers of thoſe iſlanders; when prompted by ambition, revenge, or diſſappointment, they meet death with the utmoſt reſolution; the very man who in his bed would have trembled at the aſpect of a doctor, ſhall go with intrepidity to attack a baſtion, or deli⯑berately nooſe himſelf up in his garters.

The paſſion of the Europeans for magnificent inter⯑ments, is equally ſtrong with that of the Chineſe. When a tradeſman dies, his frightful face is painted up by an undertaker, and placed in a proper ſituation to receive company; this is called lying in ſtate. To this diſagreeable ſpectacle all the idlers in town flock, and learn to loath the wretch dead, whom they deſpiſed when living. In this manner you ſee ſome who would have refuſed a ſhilling to ſave the life of their deareſt friend, beſtow thouſands on adorning their putrid corpſe. I have been told of a fellow, who grown rich by the price of blood, left it in his will that he ſhould lie in ſtate, and thus unknowingly gibbeted himſelf into infamy, when he might have otherwiſe quietly retired into oblivion.

When the perſon is buried, the next care is to make his epitaph; they are generally reckoned beſt which flatter moſt; ſuch relations therefore as have received moſt benefits from the defunct, diſcharge this friendly office; and generally flatter in proportion to their joy. [46] When we read thoſe monumental hiſtories of the dead, it may be juſtly ſaid, that all men are equal in the duſt; for they all appear equally remarkable for being the moſt ſincere Chriſtians, the moſt benevolent neigh⯑bours, and the honeſteſt men of their time. To go through an European cemetery, one would be apt to wonder how mankind could have ſo baſely degenerated from ſuch excellent anceſtors; every tomb pretends to claim your reverence and regret; ſome are praiſed for piety in thoſe inſcriptions who never entered the temple until they were dead; ſome are praiſed for being ex⯑cellent poets, who were never mentioned, except for their dulneſs, when living: others for ſublime orators, who were never noted except for their impudence; and others ſtill for military atchievements, who were never in any other ſkirmiſhes but with the watch. Some even make epitaphs for themſelves, and beſpeak the readers good will. It were indeed to be wiſhed, that every man would early learn in this manner to make his own; that he would draw it up in terms as flattering as poſſible; and that he would make it the employment of his whole life to deſerve it!

I have not yet been in a place called Weſtminſter Abby, but ſoon intend to viſit it. There I am told I ſhall ſee juſtice done to deceaſed merit; none, I am told, are permitted to be buried there, but ſuch as have adorned as well as improved mankind. There no intruders by the influence of friends or fortune, preſume to mix their unhallowed aſhes with philoſo⯑phers, heroes, and poets. Nothing but true merit has a place in that awful ſanctuary: the guardianſhip of the tombs is continued to ſeveral reverend prieſts, who are never guilty for a ſuperior reward of taking [47] down the names of good men, to make room for others of equivocal character, nor ever prophane the ſacred walls with pageants, that poſterity cannot know or ſhall bluſh to own.

I always was of opinion, that ſepulchral honours of this kind ſhould be conſidered as a national concern, and not truſted to the care of the prieſts of any coun⯑try, how reſpectable ſoever; but from the conduct of the reverend perſonages, whoſe diſintereſted patriotiſm I ſhall ſhortly be able to diſcover, I am taught to re⯑tract my former ſentiments. It is true, the Spartans and the Perſians made a fine political uſe of ſepulchral vanity; they permitted none to be thus interred, who had not fallen in the vindication of their country; a monument thus became a real mark of diſtinction, it nerved the heroe's arm with tenfold vigour; and he fought without fear, who only fought for a grave.

Farewell.

LETTER XIII.
From the ſame.

I AM juſt returned from Weſtminſter-abbey, the place of ſepulture for the philoſophers, heroes, and kings of England. What a gloom do monumental in⯑ſcriptions and all the venerable remains of deceaſed merit inſpire! Imagine a temple marked with the hand of antiquity, ſolemn as religious awe, adorned with all the magnificence of barbarous profuſion, dim windows, fretted pillars, long colonades, and dark ceilings, Think then, what were my ſenſations at being intro⯑duced [48] to ſuch a ſcene. I ſtood in the midſt of the temple, and threw my eyes round on the walls filled with the ſtatues, the inſcriptions, and the monuments of the dead.

Alas, I ſaid to myſelf, how does pride attend the puny child of duſt even to the grave! Even humble as I am, I poſſeſs more conſequence in the preſent ſcene than the greateſt heroe of them all; they have toiled for an hour to gain a tranſient immortality, and are at length retired to the grave, where they have no attendant but the worm, none to flatter but the epitaph.

As I was indulging ſuch reflections, a gentleman dreſſed in black, perceiving me to be a ſtranger, came up, entered into converſation, and politely offered to be my inſtructor and guide through the temple. If any monument, ſaid he, ſhould particularly excite your curioſity, I ſhall endeavour to ſatisfy your demands. I accepted with thanks the gentleman's offer, adding, that "I was come to obſerve the policy, the wiſdom, and the juſtice of the Engliſh, in conferring rewards upon deceaſed merit. If adulation like this, con⯑tinued I, be properly conducted, as it can no ways injure thoſe who are flattered, ſo it may be a glorious incentive to thoſe who are now capable of enjoying it. It is the duty of every good government to turn this monumental pride to its own advantage to become ſtrong in the aggregate from the weakneſs of the individual. If none but the truly great have a place in this awful repoſitory, a temple like this will give the fineſt leſſons of morality, and be a ſtrong incentive to true ambition. I am told, that [49] none have a place here but characters of the moſt diſtinguiſhed merit." The man in black ſeemed im⯑patient at my obſervations, ſo I diſcontinued my remarks, and we walked on together to take a view of every particular monument in order as it lay.

As the eye is naturally caught by the fineſt objects, I could not avoid being particularly curious about one monument which appeared more beautiful than the reſt; that, ſaid I to my guide, I take to be the tomb of ſome very great man. By the peculiar excellence of the workmanſhip, and the magnificence of the deſign this muſt be a trophy raiſed to the memory of ſome king who has ſaved his country from ruin, or law-giver, who has reduced his fellow-citizens from anarchy into juſt ſubjection—It is not requiſite, replied my com⯑panion ſmiling, to have ſuch qualifications in order to have a very fine monument here. More humble abi⯑lities will ſuffice. What, I ſuppoſe then, the gaining two or three battles, or the taking half a ſcore towns, is thought a ſufficient qualification? Gaining battles, or taking towns, replied the man in black, may be of ſervice; but a gentleman may have a very fine monu⯑ment here without ever ſeeing a battle or a ſiege. This then is the monument of ſome poet, I preſume, of one whoſe wit has gained him immortality? No, ſir, replied my guide, the gentleman who lies here never made verſes; and as for wit, he deſpiſed it in others, becauſe he had none himſelf. Pray tell me then in a word, ſaid I peeviſhly, what is the great man who lies here particularly remarkable for? Remarkable, ſir! ſaid my companion; why, ſir, the gentleman that lies here is remarkable, very remarkable—for a tomb in Weſtminſter-abbey. But, head of my Anceſtors! [50] how has be got here? I fancy he could never bribe the guardians of the temple to give him a place: Should he not be aſhamed to be ſeen among company, where even moderate merit would look like infamy? I ſuppoſe, re⯑plied the man in black, the gentleman was rich, and his friends, as is uſual in ſuch a caſe, told him he was great. He readily believed them; the guardians of the temple, as they got by the ſelf-deluſion, were ready to believe him too; ſo he paid his money for a fine monument; and the workman, a [...] you ſee, has made him one of the moſt beautiful. Think not, however, that this gentleman is ſingular in his deſire of being buried among the great, there are ſeveral others in the temple, who, hated and ſhunned by the great while alive, have come here, fully reſolved to keep them company now they are dead.

As we walked along to a particular part of the temple, there, ſays the gentleman, pointing with his finger, that is the poet's corner; there you ſee the monuments of Shakeſpear, and Milton, and Prior, and Drayton. Drayton, I replied, I never heard of him before, but I have been told of one Pope, is he there? It is time enough, replied my guide, theſe hundred years, he is not long dead, people have not done hating him yet. Strange, cried I, can any be found to hate a man, whoſe life was wholly ſpent in entertaining and inſtruct⯑ing his fellow creatures! Yes, ſays my guide, they hate him for that very reaſon. There are a ſet of men called anſwerers of books, who take upon them to watch the republic of letters, and diſtribute reputa⯑tion by the ſheet; they ſomewhat reſemble the eunuchs in a ſeraglio, who are incapable of giving pleaſure themſelves, and hinder thoſe that would. Theſe an⯑ſwerers [51] have no other employment but to cry out Dunce, and Scribbler, to praiſe the dead, and revile the living, to grant a man of confeſſed abilities ſome ſmall ſhare of merit, to applaud twenty blockheads in order to gain the reputation of candour, and to revile the moral character of the man whoſe writings they cannot injure. Such wretches are kept in pay by ſome mercenary bookſeller, or more frequently the book⯑ſeller himſelf takes this dirty work off their hands, as all that is requi [...] is to be very abuſive and very dull; every Poet of any genius is ſure to find ſuch enemies, he feels, though he ſeems to deſpiſe their malice, they make him miſerable here, and in the purſuit of empty fame, at laſt he gains ſolid anxiety.

Has this been the caſe with every poet I ſee here? cried I—Yes, with every mother's ſon of them, re⯑plied he, except he happened to be born a mandarine. If he has much money, he may buy reputation from your book anſwerers, as well as a monument from the guardians of the temple.

But are there not ſome men of diſtinguiſhed taſte, as in China, who are willing to patronize men of merit and ſoften the rancour of malevolent dulneſs?

I own there are many, replied the man in black, but, alas! Sir, the book anſwerers croud about them, and call themſelves the writers of books; and the patron is too indolent, to diſtinguiſh; thus poets are kept at a diſtance, while their enemies eat up all their rewards at the mandarine's table.

Leaving this part of the temple, we made up to an iron gate, through which my companion told me we [52] were to paſs in order to ſee the monuments of the kings. Accordingly I marched up without further ceremony, and was going to enter, when a perſon who held the gate in his hand, told me I muſt pay firſt. I was ſurpriſed at ſuch a demand; and aſked the man whether the people of England kept a ſhew? Whe⯑ther the paltry ſum he demanded was not a national re⯑proach? Whether it was not more to the honour of the country to let their magnificence or their antiqui⯑ties be openly ſeen, than thus meanly to tax a curioſity which tended to their own honour? As for your queſtions, replied the gate-keeper, to be ſure they may be very right, becauſe I don't underſtand them, but as for that there three-pence, I farm it from one, who rents it from another, who hires it from a third, who leaſes it from the guardians of the temple, and we all muſt live. I expected upon paying here to ſee ſomething ex⯑traordinary, ſince what I had ſeen for nothing filled me with ſo much ſurprize; but in this I was diſappointed; there was little more within than black coffins, ruſty armour, tatter'd ſtandards, and ſome few ſlovenly figures in wax. I was ſorry I had paid, but I comforted myſelf by conſidering it would be my laſt payment. A perſon attended us, who, without once bluſhing, told an hundred lies, he talked of a lady who died by pricking her finger, of a king with a golden head, and twenty ſuch pieces of abſurdity; Look ye there, gentlemen, ſays he, pointing to an old oak chair, there's a curioſity for ye; in that chair the kings of England were crowned, you ſee alſo a ſtone under⯑neath, and that ſtone is Jacob's pillow. I could ſee no curioſity either in the oak chair or the ſtone; could I, indeed, behold one of the old kings of England ſeated [53] in this, or Jacob's head laid upon the other, there might be something curious in the ſight; but in the preſent caſe, there was no more reaſon for my ſurprize than if I ſhould pick a ſtone from their ſtreets, and call it a curioſity, merely becauſe one of their kings happened to tread upon it as he paſſed in a proceſſion.

From hence our conductor led us through ſeveral dark walks and winding ways, uttering lies, talking to himſelf, and flouriſhing a wand which he held in his hand. He reminded me of the black magicians of Kobi. After we had been almoſt fatigued with a variety of objects, he, at laſt, deſired me to conſider attentively a certain ſuit of armour, which ſeemed to ſhew nothing remarkable. This armour, ſaid he, belonged to general Monk. Very ſurpriſing, that a general ſhould wear armour. And pray, added he, obſerve this cap, this is general Monk's cap. Very ſtrange, indeed, very ſtrange, that a general ſhould have a cap alſo! Pray friend, what might this cap have coſt originally? That, Sir, ſays he, I don't know, but this cap is all the wages I have for my trouble. A very ſmall recompence, truly, ſaid I. Not ſo very ſmall, replied he, for every gentleman puts ſome money into it, and I ſpend the money. What, more money! ſtill more money! Every gentleman gives ſome⯑thing, ſir. I'll give thee nothing, returned I; the guardians of the temple ſhould pay you your wages, friend, and not permit you to ſqueeze thus from every ſpectator. When we pay our money at the door to ſee a ſhew, we never give more as we are going out. Sure the guardians of the temple can never [54] think they get enough. Shew me the gate; if I ſtay longer, I may probably meet with more of thoſe eccle⯑ſiaſtical beggars.

Thus leaving the temple precipitately, I returned to my lodgings, in order to ruminate over what was great, and to deſpiſe what was mean in the occurrences of the day.

LETTER XIV.
From the ſame.

I WAS ſome days ago agreeably ſurpriſed by a meſ⯑ſage from a lady of diſtinction, who ſent me word, that ſhe moſt paſſionately deſired the pleaſure of my acquaintance; and with the utmoſt impatience, ex⯑pected an interview. I will not deny, my dear Fum Hoam, but that my vanity was raiſed at ſuch an invi⯑tation. I flattered myſelf that ſhe had ſeen me in ſome public place, and had conceived an affection for my perſon, which thus induced her to deviate from the uſual decorums of the ſex. My imagination painted her in all the bloom of youth and beauty. I fancied her attended by the loves and graces, and I ſet out with the moſt pleaſing expectations of ſeeing the conqueſt I had made.

When I was introduced into her apartment, my expectations were quickly at an end; I perceived a little ſhrivelled figure indolently reclined on a ſofa, who nodded by way of approbation at my approach. This, as I was afterwards informed, [55] was the lady herſelf, a woman equally diſtinguiſhed for rank, politeneſs, taſte, and underſtanding. As I was dreſſed after the faſhion of Europe, ſhe had taken me for an Engliſhman, and conſequently ſaluted me in her ordinary manner; but when the footman informed her grace that I was the gentleman from China, ſhe inſtantly lifted herſelf from the couch, while her eyes ſparkled with unuſual vivacity. "Bleſs me! can this be the gentleman that was born ſo far from home? What an unuſual ſhare of ſomethingneſs in his whole appearance. Lord how I am charmed with the outlandiſh cut of his face; how bewitching the exotic breadth of his forehead. I would give the world to ſee him in his own country dreſs. Pray turn about, Sir, and let me ſee you behind. There! there's a travell'd air for you. You that attend there, bring up a plate of beef cut into ſmall pieces; I have a violent paſſion to ſee him eat. Pray, Sir, have you got your chop ſticks about you? It will be ſo pretty to ſee the meat carried to the mouth with a jerk. Pray ſpeak a little Chineſe: I have learned ſome of the language myſelf. Lord, have you nothing pretty from China about you; ſome⯑thing that one does not know what to do with? I have got twenty things from China that are of no uſe in the world. Look at thoſe jars, they are of the right pea green: theſe are the furniture." Dear madam, ſaid I, thoſe, though they may appear fine in your eyes, are but paltry to a Chineſe; but, as they are uſeful utenſils, it is proper they ſhould have a place in every apartment. Uſeful! Sir, replied the lady; ſure you miſtake, they are of no uſe in the world. What! are they not filled with an infuſion of tea as in China? [56] replied I. Quite empty and uſeleſs upon my honour, Sir. Then they are the moſt cumbrous and clumſy furniture in the world, as nothing is truly elegant but what unites uſe with beauty. I proteſt, ſays the lady, I ſhall begin to ſuſpect thee of being an actual barbarian. I ſuppoſe alſo you hold my two beautiful pagods in contempt. What! cried I, has Fohi ſpread his groſs ſuperſtitions here alſo? Pagods of all kinds are my averſion. A Chineſe, a traveller, and want taſte! it ſurpriſes me. Pray, ſir, examine the beauties of that Chineſe temple which you ſee at the end of the garden. Is there any thing in China more beautiful? Where I ſtand I ſee nothing, madam, at the end of the garden that may not as well be called an Egyptian pyramid as a Chineſe temple; for that little building in view is as like the one as [...]other. What! Sir, is not that a Chineſe temple? you muſt ſurely be miſtaken. Mr. Freeze, who deſigned it calls it one, and nobody diſputes his pretenſions to taſte. I now found it vain to contradict the lady in any thing ſhe thought fit to advance: ſo was reſolved rather to act the diſciple than the in⯑ſtructor. She took me through ſeveral rooms all fur⯑niſhed, as ſhe told me, in the Chineſe manner; ſprawl⯑ing dragons, ſquatting pagods, and clumſy mandarines, were ſtuck upon every ſhelf: In turning round one muſt have uſed caution not to demoliſh a part of the precarious furniture.

In a houſe like this, thought I, one muſt live conti⯑nually upon the watch; the inhabitant muſt reſemble a knight in an enchanted caſtle, who expects to meet an adventure at every turning. But, Madam, ſaid I, do no accidents ever happen to all this finery? Man, Sir, re⯑piled the lady, is born to misfortunes, and 'tis but fit I [57] ſhould have a ſhare. Three weeks ago, a careleſs ſervant ſnapp'd off the head of a favourite mandarine: I had ſcarce done grieving for that, when a monkey broke a beautiful jar; this I took the more to heart, as the injury was done me by a friend: however, I ſur⯑vived the calamity; when yeſterday craſh went half a dozen dragons upon the marble hearth ſtone; and yet I live; I ſurvive it all: you can't conceive what com⯑fort I find under afflictions from philoſophy. There is Seneca, and Bolingbroke, and ſome others, who guide me through life, and teach me to ſupport its calamities.—I could not but ſmile at a woman who makes her own misfortunes, and then deplores the mi⯑ſeries of her ſituation. Wherefore tired of acting with diſſimulation, and willing to indulge my meditations in ſolitude, I took leave juſt as the ſervant was bringing in a plate of beef, purſuant to the directions of his miſtreſs.

Adieu.

LETTER. XV.
From the ſame.

THE better ſort here pretend to the utmoſt com⯑paſſion for animals of every kind; to hear them ſpeak, a ſtranger would be apt to imagine they could hardly hurt the gnat that ſtung 'em; they ſeem ſo tender and ſo full of pity, that one would take them for the harmleſs friends of the whole creation; the protectors of the meaneſt inſect or reptile that was pri⯑vileged with exiſtence. And yet would you believe it, I have ſeen the very men who have thus boaſted of [58] their tenderneſs; at the ſame time devouring the fleſh of ſix different animals toſſed up in a fricaſſee. Strange contrariety of conduct; they pity and they eat the objects of their compaſſion. The lion roars with terror over its captive; the tyger ſends forth its hideous ſhriek to intimidate its prey; no creature ſhews any fondneſs for its ſhort-lived priſoner, except a man and a cat.

Man was born to live with innocence and ſimplicity, but he has deviated from nature; he was born to ſhare the bounties of heaven, but he has monopolized them; he was born to govern the brute creation, but he is become their tyrant. If an epicure now ſhould hap⯑pen to ſurfeit on his laſt night's feaſt, twenty animals the next day are to undergo the moſt exquiſite tortures in order to provoke his appetite to another guilty meal. Hail, O ye ſimple, honeſt bramins of the eaſt, ye in⯑offenſive friends of all that were born to happineſs as well as you: you never ſought a ſhort-lived pleaſure from the miſeries of other creatures. You never ſtudied the tormenting arts of ingenious refinement; you never ſurfeited upon a guilty meal. How much more purified and refined are all your ſenſations than ours: you diſtinguiſh every element with the utmoſt preciſion; a ſtream untaſted before is new luxury, a change of air is a new banquet, too refined for weſtern imaginations to conceive.

Though the Europeans do not hold the tranſmigra⯑tion of ſouls, yet one of their doctors has, with great force of argument, and great plauſibility of reaſoning, endeavoured to prove that the bodies of animals are the habitations of daemons and wicked ſpirits, which are [59] obliged to reſide in theſe priſons till the reſurrection pronounces their everlaſting puniſhment; but are pre⯑viouſly condemned to ſuffer all the pains and hardſhips inflicted upon them by man, or by each other here. If this be the caſe, it may frequently happen, that while we whip pigs to death, or boil live lobſters, we are putting ſome old acquaintance, ſome near relation, to excruciating tortures, and are ſerving him up to the very ſame table where he was once the moſt welcome companion.

LETTER XVI.
From the ſame.

I Know not whether I am more obliged to the Chineſe miſſionaries for the inſtruction I have received from them, or prejudiced by the falſhoods they have made me believe. By them I was told that the Pope was univerſally allowed to be a man, and placed at the head of the church; in England, however, they plainly prove him to be an whore in man's cloaths, and often burn him in effigy as an impoſtor. A thouſand books have been written on either ſide of the queſtion; prieſts are eternally diſputing againſt each other; and thoſe mouths that want argument are filled with abuſe. Which party muſt I believe, or ſhall I give credit to neither? When I ſurvey the abſurdities and falſehoods with which the books of the Europeans are filled, I thank heaven for having been born in China, and that I have ſagacity enough to detect impoſture.

The Europeans reproach us with falſe hiſtory and fabulous chronology; how ſhould they bluſh to ſee their own books, many of which are written by the doctors of their religion filled with the moſt monſtrous fables, and atteſted with the utmoſt ſolemnity. The bounds of a letter, do not permit me to mention all the abſurdities of this kind, which in my reading I have met with. I ſhall confine myſelf to the ac⯑counts which ſome of their lettered men give of the perſons of ome of the inhabitants on our globe. [62] And not ſatisfied with the moſt ſolemn aſſeverations, they ſometimes pretend to have been eye witneſſes of what they deſcribe.

A chriſtian doctor in one of his principal perfor⯑mances^* ſays, that it was not impoſſible for a whole nation to have but one eye in the middle of the fore⯑head. He is not ſatisfied with leaving it in doubt; but in another work^† aſſures us, that the fact was certain, and that he himſelf was an eye-witneſs of it. When, ſays he, I took a journey into Ethiopia in company with ſeveral other ſervants of Chriſt, in order to preach the goſpel there; I bebeld in the ſouthern pro⯑vinces of that country a nation which had only one eye in the midſt of their foreheads.

You will, no doubt, be ſurprized, reverend Fum, with this author's effrontery; but alas he is not alone in this ſtory; he has only borrowed it from ſeveral others who wrote before him. Solinus creates another nation of Cyclops, the Arimaſpians who inhabit thoſe countries that border on the Caſpian ſea. This author goes on to tell us of a people of India, who have but one [...]eg and one eye, and yet are extremely active, run with great ſwiftneſs, and live by hunting. Theſe people we ſcarce know how to pity or admire; but the men whom Pliny calls Cynamolci, who have got the heads of dogs really deſerve your compaſſion. Inſtead of language they expreſs their ſentiments by barking. Solinus confirms what Pliny mentions; and Simon Mayole, a French biſhop, talks of them as of parti⯑cular and familiar acquaintances. After paſſing the [63] deſarts of Egypt, ſays he, we meet with the Kunoke⯑phaloi, who inhabit thoſe regions that border on Ethiopia; they live by hunting; they cannot ſpeak, but whiſtle; their chins reſemble a ſerpent's head; their hands are armed with long ſharp claws; their breaſt reſembles that of a greyhound; and they excel in ſwiftneſs and agility. Would you think it, my friend, that theſe odd kind of people are, notwithſtanding their figure, exceſſively delicate; not even an alderman's wife, or Chineſe mandarine, can excel them in this particular. Theſe people, continues our faithful biſhop, never re⯑fuſe wine; love roaſt and boiled meat; they are parti⯑cularly curious in having their meat well dreſſed, and ſpurn at it if in the leaſt tainted. When the Ptolemies reigned in Egypt, (ſays he a little farther on) thoſe men with dog's heads taught Grammar and Muſic. For men who had no voices to teach muſic, and who could not ſpeak to teach grammar, is, I confeſs a little ex⯑traordinary. Did ever the diſciples of Fohi broach any thing more ridiculous?

Hitherto we have ſeen men with heads ſtrangely deformed, and with dog's heads; but what would you ſay if you heard of men without any heads at all? Pomponius Mela, Solinus, and Aulus Gellius, deſcribe them to our hand: ‘"The Blemiae have a noſe, eyes, and mouth on their breaſts; or, as others will have it, placed on their ſhoulders."’

One would think that theſe authors had an anti⯑pathy to the human form, and were reſolved to make a new figure of their own: but let us do them juſtice; though they ſometimes deprive us of a leg, an arm, an head, or ſome ſuch trifling part of the body, they [64] often as liberally beſtow upon us ſomething that we wanted before. Simon Mayole ſeems our particular friend in this reſpect: if he has denied heads to one part of mankind, he has given tails to another. He deſcribes many of the Engliſh of his time, which is not more than an hundred years ago, as having tails. His own words are as follow. In England there are ſome families which have tails, as a puniſhment for deriding an Auguſtin Friar ſent by St. Gregory, and who preached in Dorſetſhire. They ſewed the tails of different animals to his cloaths; but ſoon they found thoſe tails entailed on them and their poſterity for ever. It is certain, the author had ſome ground for this de⯑ſcription; many of the Engliſh wear tails to their wigs to this very day, as a mark, I ſuppoſe, of the anti⯑quity of their families, and perhaps as a ſymbol of thoſe tails with which they were formerly diſtinguiſhed by nature.

You ſee, my friend, there is nothing ſo ridiculous that has not at ſome time been ſaid by ſome philoſopher. The writers of books in Europe ſeem to think them⯑ſelves authoriſed to ſay what they pleaſe; and an in⯑genious philoſopher among them^* has openly aſſerted, that he would undertake to perſuade the whole re⯑public of readers to believe that the ſun was neither the cauſe of light nor heat; if he could only get ſix phi⯑loſophers on his ſide.

Farewell.

LETTER XVII.
From the ſame.

WERE an Aſiatic politician to read the treaties of peace and friendſhip that have been annually making for more than an hundred years among the in⯑habitants of Europe, he would probably be ſurpriz'd how it ſhould ever happen that chriſtian princes could quarrel among each other. Their compacts for peace are drawn up with the utmoſt preciſion, and ratified with the greateſt ſolemnity; to theſe each party pro⯑miſes a ſincere and inviolable obedience, and all wears the appearance of open friendſhip and unreſerved re⯑conciliation.

Yet, notwithſtanding thoſe treaties, the people of Europe are almoſt continually at war. There is no⯑thing more eaſy than to break a treaty ratified in all the uſual forms, and yet neither party be the aggreſſor. One ſide, for inſtance, breaks a trifling article by miſ⯑take; the oppoſite party upon this makes a ſmall but premeditated repriſal; this brings on a return of greater from the other; both ſides complain of injuries and in⯑fractions; war is declar'd; they beat, are beaten; ſome two or three hundred thouſand men are killed, they grow tired, leave off juſt where they began; and ſo ſit cooly down to make new treaties.

The Engliſh and French ſeem to place themſelves foremoſt among the champion ſtates of Europe. Though parted by a narrow ſea, yet are they entirely of oppoſite characters; and from their vicinity are taught to fear and admire each other. They are at [66] preſent engaged in a very deſtructive war, have al⯑ready ſpilled much blood, are exceſſively irritated; and all upon account of one ſide's deſiring to wear greater quantities of furs than the other.

The pretext of the war is about ſome lands a thou⯑ſand leagues off; a country cold, deſolate, and hideous; a country belonging to a people who were in poſſeſſion for time immemorial. The ſavages of Canada claim a property in the country in diſpute; they have all the pretenſions which long poſſeſſion can confer. Here they had reigned for ages without rivals in dominion, and knew no enemies but the prowling bear or inſidious tyger; their native foreſts produced all the neceſſaries of life, and they found ample luxury in the enjoyment. In this manner they might have continued to live to eternity, had not the Engliſh been informed that thoſe countries produced furs in great abundance. From that moment the country became an object of deſire; it was found that furs were things very much wanted in England; the ladies edged ſome of their cloaths with furs, and muffs were worn both by gentlemen and la⯑dies In ſhort, furs were found indiſpenſably neceſſary for the happineſs of the ſtate: and the king was conſe⯑quently petitioned to grant not only the country of Ca⯑nada, but all the ſavages belonging to it to the ſubjects of England, in order to have the people ſupplied with proper quantities of this neceſſary commodity.

So very reaſonable a requeſt was immediately com⯑plied with, and large colonies were ſent abroad to pro⯑cure furs, and take poſſeſſion. The French who were equally in want of furs (for they were as fond of muffs and tippets as the Engliſh) made the very ſame requeſt [70] to their monarch, and met with the ſame gracious re⯑ception from their king, who generouſly granted what was not his to give Wherever the French landed, they called the country their own; and the Engliſh took poſſeſſion wherever they came upon the ſame equi⯑table pretenſions. The harmleſs ſavages made no op⯑poſition; and could the intruders have agreed together, they might peaceably have ſhared this deſolate country between them. But they quarrelled about the boun⯑daries of their ſettlements, about grounds and rivers to which neither ſide could ſhew any other right than that of power, and which neither could occupy but by uſurpation. Such is the conteſt, that no honeſt man can heartily wiſh ſucceſs to either party.

The war has continued for ſome time with various ſucceſs. At firſt the French ſeemed victorious; but the Engliſh have of late diſpoſſeſſed them of the whole country in diſpute. Think not, however, that ſuc⯑ceſs on one ſide is the harbinger of peace: on the con⯑trary, both parties muſt be heartily tired to effect even a temporary reconciliation. It ſhould ſeem the buſineſs of the victorious party to offer terms of peace; but there are many in England, who, encouraged by ſuc⯑ceſs, are ſtill for protracting the war.

The beſt Engliſh politicians, however, are ſenſible, that to keep their preſent conqueſts, would be rather a burthen than an advantage to them rather a diminution of their ſtrength than an encreaſe of power It is in the politic as in the human conſtitution; if the limbs grow too large for the body, their ſize, inſtead of im⯑proving, will diminiſh the vigour of the whole. The colonies ſhould always bear an exact proportion to the [68] mother country; when they grow populous, they grow powerful, and by becoming powerful, they be⯑come independent alſo; thus ſubordination is deſtroyed, and a country ſwallowed up in the extent of its own do⯑minions. The Turkiſh empire would be more for⯑midable, were it leſs extenſive. Were it not for thoſe countries, which it can neither command, nor give en⯑tirely away, which it is obliged to protect, but from which it has no power to exact obedience.

Yet, obvious as theſe truths are, there are many En⯑gliſhmen who are for tranſplanting new colonies into this late acquiſition, for peopling the deſarts of Ame⯑rica with the refuſe of their countrymen, and (as they expreſs it) with the waſte of an exuberant nation. But who are thoſe unhappy creatures who are to be thus drained away? Not the ſickly, for they are unwelcome gueſts abroad as well as at home; nor the idle, for they would ſtarve as well behind the Appalachian mountains as in the ſtreets of London. This refuſe is compoſed of the laborious and enterpriſing, of ſuch men as can be ſerviceable to their country at home, of men who ought to be regarded as the ſinews of the peo⯑ple, and cheriſhed with every degree of political in⯑dulgence. And what are the commodities which this colony, when eſtabliſhed, are to produce in return? Why raw ſilk, hemp, and tobacco. England, there⯑fore, muſt make an exchange of her beſt and braveſt ſubjects for raw ſilk, hemp, and tobacco; her hardy veterans and honeſt tradeſmen, muſt be truck'd for a box of ſnuff or a ſilk petticoat. Strange abſurdity! Sure the politics of the Daures are not more ſtrange, who ſell their religion, their wives, and their liberty for a glaſs bead, or a paltry penknife.

Farewell.

LETTER XVIII.
From the ſame.

THE Engliſh love their wives with much paſ⯑ſion, the Hollanders with much prudence. The Engliſh when they give their hands, frequently give their hearts; the Dutch give the hand, but keep the heart wiſely in their own poſſeſſion. The Engliſh love with violence, and expect violent love in return; the Dutch are ſatisfied with the ſlighteſt acknowledg⯑ments, for they give little away. The Engliſh expend many of the matrimonial comforts in the firſt year; the Dutch frugally huſband out their pleaſures, and are al⯑ways conſtant becauſe they are always indifferent.

There ſeems very little difference between a Dutch bridegroom and a Dutch huſband. Both are equally poſſeſſed of the ſame cool unexpecting ſerenity; they can ſee neither Elyſium nor Paradiſe behind the cur⯑tain; and Yiffrow is not more a goddeſs on the wed⯑ding night, than after twenty years matrimonial ac⯑quaintance. On the other hand, many of the Engliſh marry, in order to have one happy month in their lives; they ſeem incapable of looking beyond that period; they unite in hopes of finding rapture, and diſappointed in that, diſdain ever to accept of happineſs. From hence we ſee open hatred enſue; or what is worſe, con⯑cealed diſguſt under the appearance of fulſome endear⯑ment. Much formality, great civility, and ſtudied compliments are exhibited in public; croſs looks, ſulky ſilence, or open recrimination, fill up their hours of private entertainment.

[70] Hence I am taught, whenever I ſee a new married couple more than ordinarily ſond before faces, to conſi⯑der them as attempting to impoſe upon the company or themſelves, either hating each other heartily, or con⯑ſuming that ſtock of love in the beginning of their courſe, which ſhould ſerve them through their whole journey. Neither ſide ſhould expect thoſe inſtances of kindneſs which are inconſiſtent with true freedom or happineſs to beſtow. Love, when founded in the heart, will ſhew itſelf in a thouſand unpremeditated ſallies of fondneſs; but every cool deliberate exhibition of the paſſion, only argues little underſtanding, or great inſin⯑cerity.

Choang was the fondeſt huſband, and Hanſi the moſt endearing wife in all the kingdom of Korea: they were a pattern of conjugal bliſs; the inhabitants of the country around ſaw, and envied their felicity; where⯑ever Choang came, Hanſi was ſure to follow; and in all the pleaſures of Hanſi, Choang was admitted a part⯑ner. They walked hand in hand wherever they ap⯑peared, ſhewing every mark of mutual ſatisfaction, em⯑bracing, kiſſing, their mouths were for ever joined, and to ſpeak in the language of anatomy, it was with them one perpetual anaſtomoſis.

Their love was ſo great, that it was thought nothing could interrupt their mutual peace; when an accident happened, which, in ſome meaſure, diminiſhed the huſband's aſſurance of his wife's fidelity; for love ſo refined as his, was ſubject to a thouſand little diſquie⯑tudes.

[71] Happening to go one day alone among the tombs that lay at ſome diſtance from his houſe, he there perceived a lady dreſſed in the deepeſt mourning, (being cloathed all over in white) fanning the wet clay that was raiſed over one of the graves with a large fan, which ſhe held in her hand. Choang, who had early been taught wiſ⯑dom in the ſchool of Lao, was unable to aſſign a cauſe for her preſent employment; and coming up, civilly demanded the reaſon. Alas, replied the lady, her eyes bathed in tears; how is it poſſible to ſurvive the loſs of my huſband, who lies buried in this grave; he was the beſt of men, the tendereſt of huſbands; with his dying breath he bid me never marry again till the earth over his grave ſhould be dry; and here you ſee me ſtea⯑dily reſolving to obey his will, and endeavouring to dry it with my fan. I have employed two whole days in fulfilling his commands, and am determined not to marry till they are punctually obeyed, even though his grave ſhould take up four days in drying.

Choang, who was ſtruck with the widow's beauty, could not, however, avoid ſmiling at her haſte to be married; but, concealing the cauſe of his mirth, civilly invited her home; adding, that he had a wife who might be capable of giving her ſome conſolation. As ſoon as he and his gueſt were returned, he imparted to Hanſi in private what he had ſeen, and could not avoid expreſſing his uneaſineſs, that ſuch might be his own caſe if his deareſt wife ſhould one day happen to ſurvive him.

It is impoſſible to deſcribe Hanſi's reſentment at ſo unkind a ſuſpicion. As her paſſion for him was not only great, but extremely delicate, ſhe employed tears, [72] anger, frowns, and exclamations, to chide his ſuſpi⯑cions; the widow herſelf was inveighed againſt; and Hanſi declared ſhe was reſolved never to ſleep under the ſame roof with a wretch, who, like her, could be guilty of ſuch barefac'd inconſtancy. The night was cold and ſtormy; however, the ſtranger was obliged to ſeek another lodging, for Choang was not diſpoſed to reſiſt, and Hanſi would have her way.

The widow had ſcarce been gone an hour, when an old diſciple of Choang's, whom he had not ſeen for many years, came to pay him a viſit. He was received with the utmoſt ceremony, placed in the moſt honour⯑able ſeat at ſupper, and the wine began to circulate with great freedom. Choang and Hanſi exhibited open marks of mutual tenderneſs, and unfeigned re⯑conciliation: nothing could equal their apparent hap⯑pineſs; ſo fond an huſband, ſo obedient a wife, few could behold without regretting their own infelicity. When, lo! their happineſs was at once diſturbed by a moſt fatal accident. Choang fell lifeleſs in an apoplec⯑tic fit upon the floor. Every method was uſed, but in vain, for his recovery. Hanſi was at firſt inconſolable for his death: after ſome hours, however, ſhe found ſpirits to read his laſt will. The enſuing day ſhe began to moralize and talk wiſdom; the next day ſhe was able to comfort the young diſciple; and, on the third, to ſhorten a long ſtory, they both agreed to be married.

There was now no longer mourning in the apart⯑ments; the body of Choang was now thruſt into an old coffin, and placed in one of the meaneſt rooms, there to lie unattended until the time preſcribed by law for his interment. In the mean time Hanſi, and the [73] young diſciple, were arrayed in the moſt magnificent habits; the bride wore in her noſe a jewel of immenſe price, and her lover was dreſſed in all the finery of his former maſter, together with a pair of artificial whiſk⯑ers that reached down to his toes. The hour of their nuptials was arrived; the whole family ſympathized with their approaching happineſs; the apartments were brightened up with lights that diffuſed the moſt exqui⯑ſite perfume, and a luſtre more bright than noon day. The lady expected her youthful lover in an inner apart⯑ment with impatience; when his ſervant approaching with terror in his countenance, informed her, that his maſter was fallen into a fit, which would certainly be mortal, unleſs the heart of a man lately dead, could be obtained, and applied to his breaſt. She ſcarce waited to hear the end of his ſtory, when, tucking up her cloaths, ſhe ran with a mattock in her hand to the cof⯑fin, where Choang lay, reſolving to apply the heart of her dead huſband as a cure for the living. She there⯑fore ſtruck the lid with the utmoſt violence. In a few blows the coffin flew open, when the body, which, to all appearance had been dead, began to move. Terri⯑fied at the ſight, Hanſi dropped the mattock, and Cho⯑ang walked out, aſtoniſhed at his own ſituation, his wife's unuſual magnificence, and her more amazing ſur⯑prize. He went among the apartments, unable to con⯑ceive the cauſe of ſo much ſplendor. He was not long in ſuſpenſe before his domeſtics informed him of every tranſaction ſince he firſt became inſenſible. He could ſcarce believe what they told him, and went in purſuit of Hanſi herſelf, in order to receive more certain infor⯑mation, or to reproach her infidelity. But ſhe pre⯑vented his reproaches: he found her weltering in blood; [74] for ſhe had ſtabbed herſelf to the heart, being unable to ſurvive her ſhame and diſappointment.

Choang, being a philoſopher, was too wiſe to make any loud lamentations; he thought it beſt to bear his loſs with ſerenity; ſo, mending up the old coffin where he had lain himſelf, he placed his faithleſs ſpouſe in his room; and, unwilling that ſo many nuptial pre⯑parations ſhould be expended in vain, he the ſame night married the widow with the large fan.

As they both were appriſed of the foibles of each other before hand, they knew how to excuſe them after marriage. They lived together for many years in great tranquillity, and not expecting rapture, made a ſhift to find contentment.

Farewell.

LETTER XIX.
To the ſame.

THE gentleman dreſſed in black, who was my companion through Weſtminſter Abbey, came yeſterday to pay me a viſit; and after drinking tea, we both reſolved to take a walk together, in order to enjoy the freſhneſs of the country, which now begins to re⯑ſume its verdure. Before we got out of the ſuburbs, however, we were ſtopped in one of the ſtreets by a crowd of people, gathered in a circle round a man and his wife, who ſeemed too loud and too angry to be un⯑derſtood. The people were highly pleaſed with the diſpute, which upon enquiry we found to be between Dr. Cacafogo an apothecary, and his wife. The doc⯑tor, [75] it ſeems, coming unexpectedly into his wife's apart⯑ment, found a gentleman there in circumſtances not in the leaſt equivocal.

The doctor, who was a perſon of nice honour, re⯑ſolving to revenge the flagrant inſult, immediately flew to the chimney-piece, and taking down a ruſty blunder⯑buſs, drew the trigger upon the defiler of his bed; the delinquent would certainly have been ſhot through the head, but that the piece had not been charged for many years. The gallant made a ſhift to eſcape through the window, but the lady ſtill remained; and as ſhe well knew her huſband's temper, undertook to manage the quarrel without a ſecond. He was furious, and ſhe loud; their noiſe had gathered all the mob who cha⯑ritably aſſembled on the occaſion, not to prevent, but to enjoy the quarrel.

Alas, ſaid I to my companion, what will become of this unhappy creature thus caught in adultery! Believe me, I pity her from my heart; her huſband, I ſuppoſe, will ſhew her no mercy. Will they burn her as in In⯑dia, or behead her as in Perſia; will they load her with ſtripes as in Turkey, or keep her in perpetual impri⯑ſonment, as with us in China! Prythee, what is the wife's puniſhment in England for ſuch offences? When a lady is thus caught tripping, replied my companion, they never puniſh her, but the huſband. You ſurely jeſt, interrupted I; I am a foreigner, and you would abuſe my ignorance! I am really ſerious, returned he; Dr. Cacafogo has caught his wife in the act; but as he had no witneſſes, his ſmall teſtimony goes for nothing; the conſequence therefore of his diſcovery will be, that ſhe may be packed off to live among her relations, and [76] the doctor muſt be obliged to allow her a ſeparate main⯑tenance. Amazing, cried I! is it not enough that ſhe is permitted to live ſeparate from the object ſhe deteſts, but muſt he give her money to keep her in ſpirits too? That he muſt, ſays my guide; and be called a cuckold by all his neighbours into the bargain. The men will laugh at him, the ladies will pity him; and all that his warmeſt friends can ſay in his favour, will be, that the poor good ſoul has never had any harm in him. I want patience, interrupted I; what! are there no private chaſtiſements for the wife; no ſchools of penitence to ſhew her her folly; no rods for ſuch delinquents? Pſha, man, replied he ſmiling; if every delinquent among us were to be treated in your manner, one half of the kingdom would flog the other.

I muſt confeſs, my dear Fum, that if I were an En⯑gliſh huſband, of all things I would take care not to be jealous, nor buſily pry into theſe ſecrets my wife was pleaſed to keep from me. Should I detect her infide⯑lity, what is the conſequence? If I calmly pocket the abuſe, I am laughed at by her and her gallant; if I talk my griefs aloud like a tragedy heroe, I am laughed at by the whole world. The courſe then I'd take would be, whenever I went out, to tell my wife where I was going, leſt I ſhould unexpectedly meet her abroad in company with ſome dear deceiver. Whenever I re⯑turned, I would uſe a peculiar rap at the door, and give four loud hems as I walked deliberately up the ſtair-caſe. I would never inquiſitively peep under her bed, or look behind the curtains. And even though I knew the captain was there, I would calmly take a diſh of my wife's cool tea, and talk of the army with re⯑verence.

[77] Of all nations, the Ruſſians ſeem to me to behave moſt wiſely in ſuch circumſtances. The wife promiſes her huſband never to let him ſee her tranſgreſſions of this nature; and he as punctually promiſes, whenever ſhe is ſo detected, without the leaſt anger, to beat her without mercy: ſo they both know what each has to expect; the lady tranſgreſſes, is beaten, taken again into favour, and all goes on as before.

When a Ruſſian young lady, therefore, is to be mar⯑ried, her father, with a cudgel in his hand, aſks the bridegroom, whether he chuſes this virgin for his bride? to which the other replies in the affirmative. Upon this, the father turning the lady three times round, and giving her three ſtrokes with his cudgel on the back; my dear, cries he, theſe are the laſt blows you are ever to receive from your tender father, I reſign my autho⯑rity, and my cudgel to your huſband; he knows better than me the uſe of either. The bridegroom knows de⯑corums too well to accept of the cudgel abruptly; he aſſures the father that the lady will never want it, and that he would not for the world make any uſe of it. But the father, who knows what the lady may want better than he, inſiſts upon his acceptance. Upon this, there follows a ſcene of Ruſſian politeneſs, while one refuſes, and the other offers the cudgel. The whole, however, ends with the bridegroom's taking it, upon which the lady drops a courteſy in token of obedience, and the ceremony proceeds as uſual.

There is ſomething exceſſively fair and open in this method of courtſhip. By this, both ſides are prepared for all the matrimonial adventures that are to follow. Marriage has been compared to a game of ſkill for life; [78] it is generous thus in both parties to declare they are ſharpers in the beginning. In England, I am told both ſides uſe every art to conceal their defects from each other before marriage, and the reſt of their lives may be regarded as doing penance for their former diſſimu⯑lation.

Farewell.

LETTER XX.
From the ſame.

THE republic of letters is a very common ex⯑preſſion among the Europeans; and yet when applied to the learned of Europe, is the moſt abſurd that can be imagined, ſince nothing is more unlike a republic than the ſociety which goes by that name. From this expreſſion one would be apt to imagine, that the learned were united into a ſingle body, joining their intereſts, and concurring in the ſame deſign. From this one might be apt to compare them to our literary ſocieties in China, where each acknowledges a juſt ſub⯑ordination; and all contribute to build the temple of ſcience, without attempting from ignorance or envy to obſtruct each other.

But very different is the ſtate of learning here; every member of this fancied republic is deſirous of govern⯑ing, and none willing to obey; each looks upon his fel⯑low as a rival, not an aſſiſtant in the ſame purſuit. They calumniate, they injure, they deſpiſe, they ridi⯑cule each other: if one man writes a book that pleaſes, others ſhall write books to ſhew that he might have given ſtill greater pleaſure, or ſhould not have pleaſed. If one happens to hit upon ſomething new, there are [79] numbers ready to aſſure the publick that all this was no novelty to them or the learned; that Cardanus or Bru⯑nus, or ſome other author too dull to be generally read, had anticipated the diſcovery. Thus, inſtead of unit⯑ing like the members of a commonwealth, they are divided into almoſt as many factions as there are men; and their jarring conſtitution, inſtead of being ſtiled a republic of letters, ſhould be entituled, an anarchy of literature.

It is true, there are ſome of ſuperior abilities who reverence and eſteem each other; but their mutual ad⯑miration is not ſufficient to ſhield off the contempt of the crowd. The wiſe are but few, and they praiſe with a feeble voice; the vulgar are many, and roar in reproaches. The truly great ſeldom unite in ſocieties, have few meetings, no cabals; the dunces hunt in full cry till they have run down a reputation, and then ſnarl and fight with each other about dividing the ſpoil. Here you may ſee the compilers, and the book-anſwer⯑ers of every month, when they have cut up ſome re⯑ſpectable name, moſt frequently reproaching each other with ſtupidity and dullneſs: reſembling the wolves of the Ruſſian ſoreſt, who prey upon veniſon, or horſe⯑fleſh when they can get it; but in caſes of neceſſity, ly⯑ing in wait to devour each other. While they have new books to cut up, they make a hearty meal; but if this reſource ſhould unhappily fail, then it is that cri⯑tics eat up critics, and compilers rob from compilations.

Confucius obſerves that it is the duty of the learned to unite ſociety more cloſely, and to perſuade men to become citizens of the world; but the authors I refer to, are not only for diſuniting ſociety, but kingdoms [80] alſo; if the Engliſh are at war with France, the dunces of France think it their duty to be at war with thoſe of England. Thus Freron, one of their firſt rate ſcrib⯑lers, thinks proper to characteriſe all the Engliſh writers in the groſs. Their whole merit, ſays he, ‘'conſiſts in exaggeration, and often in extravagance; correct their pieces as you pleaſe, there ſtill remains a leaven which corrupts the whole. They ſometimes diſcover genius, but not the ſmalleſt ſhare of taſte, England is not a ſoil for the plants of genius to thrive in.'’ This is open enough, with not the leaſt adulation in the pic⯑ture; but hear what a Frenchman of acknowledged abilities ſays upon the ſame ſubject, ‘'I am at a loſs to determine in what we excel the Engliſh, or where they excel us; when I compare the merits of both in any one ſpecies of literary compoſition, ſo many re⯑putable and pleaſing writers preſent themſelves from either country, that my judgment reſts in ſuſpenſe: I am pleaſed with the diſquiſition, without finding the object of my enquiry.'’ But leſt you ſhould think the French alone are faulty in this reſpect, hear how an Engliſh journaliſt delivers his ſentiments of them. ‘'We are amazed, ſays he, to find ſo many works tranſlated from the French, while we have ſuch numbers ne⯑glected of our own. In our opinion, notwithſtanding their ſame throughout the reſt of Europe, the French are the moſt contemptible reaſoners (we had almoſt ſaid writers) that can be imagined. However, ne⯑vertheleſs, excepting, &c.'’ Another Engliſh writer, Shaftſbury, if I remember, on the contrary, ſays, that the French authors are pleaſing and judicious, more clear, more methodical, and entertaining than thoſe of his own country.

[81] From theſe oppoſite pictures, you perceive that the good authors of either country praiſe, and the bad re⯑vile each other; and yet, perhaps, you'll be ſurprized that indifferent writers ſhould thus be the moſt apt to cenſure, as they have the moſt to apprehend from re⯑crimination; you may, perhaps, imagine that ſuch as are poſſeſſed of ſame themſelves ſhould be moſt ready to declare their opinions, ſince what they ſay, might paſs for deciſion. But the truth happens to be, that the great are ſolicitous only of raiſing their own reputa⯑tions, while the oppoſite claſs, alas! are ſolicitous of bringing every reputation down to a level with their own.

But let us acquit them of malice and envy; a critic is often guided by the ſame motives that direct his author. The author endeavours to perſuade us, that he has written a good book: the critic is equally ſolicitous to ſhew that he could write a better, had he thought pro⯑per. A critic is a being poſſeſſed of all the vanity, but not the genius, of a ſcholar; incapable, from his native weakneſs, of lifting himſelf from the ground, he ap⯑plies to contiguous merit for ſupport, makes the ſpor⯑tive ſallies of another's imagination his ſerious employ⯑ment, pretends to take our feelings under his care, teaches where to condemn, where to lay the emphaſis of praiſe, and may with as much juſtice be called a man of taſte, as the Chineſe who meaſures his wiſdom by the length of his nails.

If then a book, ſpirited or humourous, happens to appear in the republic of letters, ſeveral critics are in waiting to bid the public not to laugh at a ſingle line of it, for themſelves had read it; and they know what is [82] moſt proper to excite laughter. Other critics contradict the fulminations of this tribunal, call them all ſpiders, and aſſure the public, that they ought to laugh with⯑out reſtraint. Another ſet are in the mean time quietly employed in writing notes to the book, intended to ſhew the particular paſſages to be laughed at; when theſe are out, others ſtill there are who write notes upon notes. Thus a ſingle new book employs not only the paper-makers, the printers, the preſs-men, the book⯑binders, the hawkers, but twenty critics, and as many compilers. In ſhort, the body of the learned may be compared to a Perſian army, where there are many pioneers, ſeveral ſutlers, numberleſs ſervants, women and children in abundance, and but few ſoldiers.

Adieu.

LETTER XXI.
To the ſame.

THE Engliſh are as fond of ſeeing plays acted as the Chineſe; but there is a vaſt difference in the manner of conducting them. We play our pieces in the open air, the Engliſh theirs under cover; we act by day-light, they by the blaze of torches. One of our plays continues eight or ten days ſucceſſively; an Engliſh piece ſeldom takes up above four hours in the repreſentation.

My companion in black, with whom I am now be⯑ginning to contract an intimacy, introduced me a few nights ago to the play-houſe, where we placed ourſelves conveniently at the foot of the ſtage. As the curtain [83] was not drawn before my arrival, I had an opportunity of obſerving the behaviour of the ſpectators, and in⯑dulging thoſe reflections which novelty generally in⯑ſpires.

The rich in general were placed in the loweſt ſeats, and the poor roſe above them in degrees proportioned to their poverty. The order of precedence ſeemed here inverted; thoſe who were undermoſt all the day, now enjoyed a temporary eminence, and became maſ⯑ters of the ceremonies. It was they who called for the muſic, indulging every noiſy freedom, and teſtifying all the inſolence of beggary in exaltation.

They who held the middle region ſeemed not ſo riotous as thoſe above them, nor yet ſo tame as thoſe below; to judge by their looks, many of them ſeem'd ſtrangers there as well as myſelf. They were chiefly employed during this period of expectation in eating oranges, reading the ſtory of the play, or making aſ⯑ſignations.

Thoſe who ſat in the loweſt rows, which are called the pit, ſeemed to conſider themſelves as judges of the merit of the poet and the performers; they were aſ⯑ſembled partly to be amuſed, and partly to ſhew their taſte; appearing to labour under that reſtraint which an affectation of ſuperior diſcernment generally pro⯑duces. My companion, however, informed me, that not one in an hundred of them knew even the firſt principles of criticiſm; that they aſſumed the right of being cenſors becauſe there was none to contradict their pretenſions; and that every man who now called him⯑ſelf a connoiſſeur, became ſuch to all intents and pur⯑poſes.

[84] Thoſe who ſat in the boxes appeared in the moſt un⯑happy ſituation of all. The reſt of the audience came merely for their own amuſement; theſe rather to fur⯑niſh out a part of the entertainment themſelves. I could not avoid conſidering them as acting parts in dumb ſhew, not a curteſy or nod, that was not the reſult of art; not a look nor a ſmile that was not deſigned for murder. Gentlemen and ladies ogled each other through ſpectacles; for my companion obſerved, that blindneſs was of late become faſhionable, all affected indifference and eaſe, while their hearts at the ſame time burned for conqueſt. Upon the whole, the lights, the muſic, the ladies in their gayeſt dreſſes, the men with chearfulneſs and expectation in their looks, all con⯑ſpired to make a moſt agreeable picture, and to fill an heart that ſympathiſes at human happineſs with inex⯑preſſible ſerenity.

The expected time for the play to begin at laſt ar⯑rived, the curtain was drawn, and the actors came on. A woman, who perſonated a queen, came in curteſying to the audience, who clapped their hands upon her ap⯑pearance. Clapping of hands is, it ſeems, the manner of applauding in England: the manner is abſurd; but every country, you know, has its peculiar abſurdities. I was equally ſurpriſed, however, at the ſubmiſſion of the actreſs, who ſhould have conſidered herſelf as a queen, as at the little diſcernment of the audience who gave her ſuch marks of applauſe before ſhe attempted to deſerve them. Preliminaries between her and the audience being thus adjuſted, the dialogue was ſup⯑ported between her and a moſt hopeful youth, who acted the part of her confidant. They both appeared in extreme diſtreſs, for it ſeems the queen had loſt a [85] child ſome fifteen years before, and ſtill kept its dear reſemblance next her heart, while her kind companion bore a part in her ſorrows.

Her lamentations grew loud. Comfort is offered, but ſhe deteſts the very ſound. She bids them preach comfort to the winds. Upon this her huſband comes in, who, ſeeing the queen ſo much afflicted, can him⯑ſelf hardly refrain from tears or avoid partaking in the ſoft diſtreſs. After thus grieving through three ſcenes, the curtain dropped for the firſt act.

Truly, ſaid I to my companion, theſe kings and queens are very much diſturbed at no very great mis⯑fortune; certain I am were people of humbler ſtations to act in this manner, they would be thought diveſted of common ſenſe. I had ſcarce finiſhed this obſervation, when the curtain roſe, and the king came on in a vio⯑lent paſſion. His wife had, it ſeems, refuſed his prof⯑fered tenderneſs, had ſpurned his royal embrace; and he ſeemed reſolved not to ſurvive her fierce diſdain. After he had thus fretted, and the queen had fretted through the ſecond act, the curtain was let down once more.

Now, ſays my companion, you perceive the king to be a man of ſpirit, he feels at every pore; one of your phlegmatic ſons of clay would have given the queen her own way, and let her come to herſelf by degrees; but the king is for immediate tenderneſs, or inſtant death: death and tenderneſs are leading paſſions of every mo⯑dern buſkin'd heroe; this moment they embrace, and the next ſtab, mixing daggers and kiſſes in every period.

[86] I was going to ſecond his remarks, when my attention was engroſſed by a new object; a man came in ba⯑lancing a ſtraw upon his noſe, and the audience were clapping their hands in all the raptures of applauſe. To what purpoſe, cried I, does this unmeaning figure make his appearance; is he a part of the plot? Un⯑meaning do you call him, replied my friend in black; this is one of the moſt important characters of the whole play; nothing pleaſes the people more than the ſeeing a ſtraw balanced; there is a great deal of meaning in the ſtraw; there is ſomething ſuited to every appre⯑henſion in the ſight; and a fellow poſſeſſed of talents like theſe is ſure of making his fortune.

The third act now began with an actor, who came to inform us that he was the villain of the play, and in⯑tended to ſhew ſtrange things before all was over. He was joined by another, who ſeem'd as much diſpoſed for miſchief as he; their intrigues continued through this whole diviſion. If that be a villain, ſaid I, he muſt be a very ſtupid one, to tell his ſecrets without being aſk'd; ſuch ſoliloquies of late are never admitted in China.

The noiſe of clapping interrupted me once more; a child of ſix years old was learning to dance on the ſtage, which gave the ladies and mandarines infinite ſatisfac⯑tion. I am ſorry, ſaid I, to ſee the pretty creature ſo early learning ſo very bad a trade. Dancing being, I preſume, as contemptible here as it is in China. Quite the reverſe, interrupted my companion; dancing is a very reputable and genteel employment here; men have a greater chance for encouragement from the merit of their heels than their heads. One who jumps up and [87] flouriſhes his toes three times before he comes to the ground, may have three hundred a year; he who flou⯑riſhes them four times, gets four hundred; but he who arrives at five is ineſtimable, and may demand what ſalary he thinks proper. The female dancers too are valued for this ſort of jumping and croſſing; and 'tis a cant word among them, that ſhe deſerves moſt who ſhews higheſt. But the fourth act is begun, let us be attentive.

In the fourth act the queen finds her long loſt child, now grown up into a youth of ſmart parts and great qualifications; wherefore ſhe wiſely conſiders that the crown will fit his head better than that of her huſband, whom ſhe knows to be a driveler. The king diſcovers her deſign, and here comes on the deep diſtreſs; he loves the queen, and he loves the kingdom; he reſolves therefore, in order to poſſeſs both, that her ſon muſt die. The queen exclaims at his barbarity; is frantic with rage, and at length overcome with ſorrow, falls into a fit; upon which the curtain drops, and the act is concluded.

Obſerve the art of the poet, cries my companion; when the queen can ſay no more, ſhe falls into a fit. While thus her eyes are ſhut, while ſhe is ſupported in the arms of Abigail, what horrors do we not fancy, we feel it in every nerve; take my word for it, that fits are the true apoſiopeſis of modern tragedy.

The fifth act began, and a buſy piece it was. Scenes ſhifting, trumpets ſounding, mobs hallooing, carpets ſpreading, guards buſtling from one door to another; gods, daemons, daggers, racks and ratſbane. But [88] whether the king was killed, or the queen was drowned, or the ſon was poiſoned, I have abſolutely forgotten.

When the play was over, I could not avoid obſerving, that the perſons of the drama appeared in as much diſ⯑treſs in the firſt act as the laſt: how is it poſſible, ſaid I, to ſympathize with them through five long acts; pity is but a ſhort-lived paſſion; I hate to hear an actor mouthing trifles, neither ſtartings, ſtrainings, nor atti⯑tudes affect me unleſs there be cauſe: after I have been once or twice deceived by thoſe unmeaning alarms, my heart ſleeps in peace, probably unaffected by the prin⯑cipal diſtreſs. There ſhould be one great paſſion aimed at by the actor as well as the poet, all the reſt ſhould be ſubordinate, and only contribute to make that the greater; if the actor therefore exclaims upon every oc⯑caſion in the tones of deſpair, he attempts to move us too ſoon; he anticipates the blow, he ceaſes to affect though he gains our applauſe.

I ſcarce perceived that the audience were almoſt all departed; wherefore, mixing with the crowd, my companion and I got into the ſtreet; where eſſaying an hundred obſtacles from coach wheels and palanquin poles, like birds in their flight through the branches of a foreſt, after various turnings, we both at length got home in ſafety.

Adieu.

LETTER XXII.
From the ſame.

THE letter which came by the way of Smyrna, and which you ſent me unopened, was from my ſon. As I have permitted you to take copies of all thoſe I ſend to China, you might have made no ceremony in opening thoſe directed to me. Either in joy or ſorrow, my friend ſhould participate in my feelings. It would give pleaſure to ſee a good man pleaſed at my ſucceſs; it would give almoſt equal pleaſure to ſee him ſimpa⯑thiſe at my diſappointment.

Every account I receive from the eaſt ſeems to come loaded with ſome new affliction. My wife and daughter were taken from me, and yet I ſuſtained the loſs with intrepidity; my ſon is made a ſlave among barbarians, which was the only blow that could have reached my heart: yes, I will indulge the tranſports of nature for a little, in order to ſhew I can overcome them in the end. True magnanimity conſiſts not in NEVER falling, but in RISING every time we fall.

When our mighty emperor had publiſhed his diſ⯑pleaſure at my departure, and ſeized upon all that was mine, my ſon was privately ſecreted from his reſent⯑ment. Under the protection and guardianſhip of Fum Hoam, the beſt and the wiſeſt of all the inhabitants of China; he was for ſome time inſtructed in the learning of the miſſionaries, and the wiſdom of the eaſt. But hearing of my adventures, and incited by filial piety, he was reſolved to follow my fortunes, and ſhare my diſtreſs.

[90] He paſſed the confines of China in diſguiſe; hired himſelf as a camel-driver to a caravan that was croſſing the deſarts of Thibet, and was within one day's jour⯑ney of the river Laur, which divides that country from India; when a body of wandering Tartars falling un⯑expectedly upon the caravan, plundered it, and made thoſe who eſcaped their firſt fury ſlaves. By thoſe he was led into the extenſive and deſolate regions that border on the ſhores of the Aral lake.

Here he lived by hunting; and was obliged to ſup⯑ply every day a certain proportion of the ſpoil to regale his ſavage maſters; his learning, his virtues, and even his beauty were qualifications that no way ſerved to re⯑commend him; they knew no merit but that of pro⯑viding large quantities of milk and raw fleſh; and were ſenſible of no happineſs but that of rioting on the un⯑dreſſed meal.

Some merchants from Meſched, however, coming to trade with the Tartars, for ſlaves, he was ſold among the number, and led into the kingdom of Perſia, where he is now detained. He is there obliged to watch the looks of a voluptuous and cruel maſter, a man fond of pleaſure yet incapable of refinement, whom many years ſervice in war has taught pride, but not bravery.

That treaſure which I ſtill kept within my boſom, my child, my all that was left to me, is now a ſlave.^* Good heavens, why was this! why have I been intro⯑duced into this mortal apartment, to be a ſpectator of my own misfortunes, and the misfortunes of my fellow [91] creatures! wherever I turn, what a labyrinth of doubt, error, and diſappointment appears: why was I brought into being; for what purpoſes made; from whence have I come; whither ſtray'd; or to what regions am I haſtening? Reaſon cannot reſolve. It lends a ray to ſhew the horrors of my priſon, but not a light to guide me to eſcape them. Ye boaſted revelations of the earth, how little do you aid the enquiry.

How am I ſurprized at the inconſiſtency of the ma⯑gi; their two principles of good and evil affright me. The Indian who bathes his viſage in urine, and calls it piety, ſtrikes me with aſtoniſhment. The chriſtian who believes in three gods is highly abſurd. The Jews who pretend that deity is pleaſed with the effuſion of blood, are not leſs diſpleaſing. I am equally ſurprized that ra⯑tional beings can come from the extremities of the earth, in order to kiſs a ſtone, or ſcatter pebbles. How con⯑trary to reaſon are thoſe; and yet all pretend to teach me to be happy.

Surely all men are blind and ignorant of truth. Man⯑kind wanders, unknowing his way from morning till the evening. Where ſhall we turn after happineſs; or is it wiſeſt to deſiſt from the purſuit? Like reptiles in a corner of ſome ſtupendous palace, we peep from our holes; look about us, wonder at all we ſee, but are ignorant of the great architect's deſign: O for a revela⯑tion of himſelf, for a plan of his univerſal ſyſtem: O for the reaſons of our creation; or why we were created to be thus unhappy. If we are to experience no other fe⯑licity but what this life affords, then are we miſerable indeed. If we are born only to look about us, repine and die; then has heaven been guilty of injuſtice. If [92] this life terminates my exiſtence, I deſpiſe the bleſſings of providence, and the wiſdom of the giver. If this life be my all, let the following epitaph be written on the tomb of Altangi. By my father's crimes I received this. By my own crimes I bequeath it to poſterity!

LETTER XXIII.
To the ſame.

YET while I ſometimes lament the cauſe of humanity, and the depravity of human nature, there now and then appear gleams of greatneſs that ſerve to relieve the eye oppreſſed with the hideous proſpect, and reſemble thoſe cultivated ſpots that are ſometimes found in the midſt of an Aſiatic wilderneſs. I ſee many ſuperior excellencies among the Engliſh, which it is not in the power of all their follies to hide: I ſee virtues, which in other countries are known only to a few, practiſed here by every rank of people.

I know not whether it proceeds from their ſuperior opulence that the Engliſh are more charitable than the reſt of mankind; whether by being poſſeſſed of all the conveniencies of life themſelves, they have more leiſure to perceive the uneaſy ſituation of the diſtreſſed; whatever be the motive, they are not only the moſt charitable of any other nation, but moſt judicious in diſtinguiſhing the propereſt objects of compaſſion.

[93] In other counties the giver is generally influenced by the immediate impulſe of pity; his generoſity is exerted as much to relieve his own uneaſy ſenſations, as to comfort the object in diſtreſs: in England bene⯑factions are of a more general nature; ſome men of fortune and univerſal benevolence propoſe the proper objects; the wants and the merits of the petitioners are canvaſſed by the people; neither paſſion nor pity find a place in the cool diſcuſſion; and charity is then only exerted when it has received the approbation of reaſon.

A late inſtance of this finely directed benevolence forces itſelf ſo ſtrongly on my imagination, that it in a manner reconciles me to pleaſure, and once more makes me the univerſal friend of man.

The Engliſh and French have not only political reaſons to induce them to mutual hatred but often the more prevailing motive of private intereſt to widen the breach; a war between other countries is carried on collectively, army fights againſt army, and a man's own private reſentment is loſt in that of the community; but in England and France the individuals of each country plunder each other at ſea without re⯑dreſs, and conſequently feel that animoſity againſt each other which paſſengers do at a robber. They have for ſome time carried on an expenſive war; and ſeveral captives have been taken on both ſides. Thoſe made priſoners by the French have been uſed with cruelty, and guarded with unneceſſary caution. Thoſe taken by the Engliſh, being much more numerous, were confined in the ordinary manner; and, not being releaſed by their countrymen, began to feel all the [94] inconveniencies which ariſe from want of covering and long confinement.

Their countrymen were informed of their deplorable ſituation; but they, more intent on annoying their enemies than relieving their friends, refuſed the leaſt aſſiſtance. The Engliſh now ſaw thouſands of their fellow creatures ſtarving in every priſon, forſaken by thoſe whoſe duty it was to protect them, labouring with diſeaſe, and without cloaths to keep off the ſeve⯑rity of the ſeaſon. National benevolence prevailed over national animoſity: Their priſoners were indeed enemies, but they were enemies in diſtreſs; they ceaſed to be hateful, when they no longer continued to be formidable: forgetting therefore their national hatred, the men who were brave enough to conquer, were generous enough to forgive: and they, whom all the world ſeemed to have diſclaimed, at laſt found pity and redreſs from thoſe they attempted to ſubdue. A ſubſcription was opened, ample charities collected, proper neceſſaries procured, and the poor gay ſons of a merry nation were once more taught to reſume their former gaiety.

When I caſt my eye over the liſt of thoſe who con⯑tributed on this occaſion, I find the names almoſt entirely Engliſh, ſcarce one foreigner appears a mong the number. It was for Engliſhmen alone to be capable of ſuch exalted virtue. I own, I cannot look over this catalogue of good men and philoſophers without thinking better of myſelf, becauſe it makes me enter⯑tain a more favourable opinion of mankind: I am particularly ſtruck with one who writes theſe words upon the paper that encloſed his benefaction. The [95] mite of an Engliſhman, a citizen of the world, to Frenchmen, priſoners of war, and naked. I only wiſh that he may find as much pleaſure from his virtues, as I have done in reflecting upon them, that alone will amply reward him. Such a one, my friend, is an honour to human nature; he makes no private diſtinctions of party; all that are ſtampt with the divine image of their creator are friends to him; he is a native of the world; and the emperor of China may be proud that he has ſuch a countryman.

To rejoice at the deſtruction of our enemies, is a foible ingrafted upon human nature, and we muſt be permitted to indulge it: the true way of atoning for ſuch an ill founded pleaſure, is thus to turn our triumph into an act of benevolence, and to teſtify our own joy by endeavouring to baniſh anxiety from others.

Hamti, the beſt and wiſeſt emperor that ever filled the throne, after having gained three ſignal victories over the Tartars, who had invaded his dominions, re⯑turned to Nankin in order to enjoy the glory of his conqueſt. After he had reſted for ſome days, the people who are naturally fond of proceſſions, impa⯑tiently expected the triumphal entry, which emperors upon ſuch occaſions were accuſtomed to make. Their murmurs came to the emperor's ear. He loved his people, and was willing to do all in his power to ſatisfy their juſt deſires. He therefore aſſured them, that he intended, upon the next feaſt of the Lanthorns, to exhibit one of the moſt glorious triumphs that had ever been ſeen in China.

[96] The people were in raptures at his condeſcenſion; and, on the appointed day, aſſembled at the gates of the palace with the moſt eager expectations. Here they waited for ſome time without ſeeing any of thoſe preparations which uſually precede a pageant. The lanthorn, with ten thouſand tapers, was not yet brought forth; the fire-works, which uſually covered the city walls, were not yet lighted; the people once more began to murmur at this delay; when in the midſt of their impatience, the palace gates flew open, and the emperor himſelf appeared, not in ſplendor or magni⯑ficence, but in an ordinary habit, followed by the blind, the maimed, and the ſtrangers of the city, all in new cloaths, and each carrying in his hand money enough to ſupply his neceſſities for the year. The people were at firſt amazed, but ſoon perceived the wiſdom of their king, who taught them, that to make one man happy was more truly great than having ten thouſand captives groaning at the wheels of his chariot.

Adieu.

LETTER XXIV.
To the ſame.

WHatever may be the merits of the Engliſh in other ſciences, they ſeem peculiarly excellent in the art of healing. There is ſcarcely a diſorder in⯑cident to humanity, againſt which they are not poſ⯑ſeſſed with a moſt infallible antidote. The profeſſors of other arts confeſs the inevitable intricacy of things; talk with doubt, and decide with heſitation; but doubting is entirely unknown in medicine; the adver⯑tiſing [97] profeſſors here delight in caſes of difficulty; be the diſorder never ſo deſperate or radical, you will find numbers in every ſtreet, who, by levelling a pill at the part affected, promiſe a certain cure without loſs of time, knowledge of a bedfellow, or hindrance of buſineſs.

When I conſider the aſſiduity of this profeſſion, their benevolence amazes me. They not only in ge⯑neral give their medicines for half value, but uſe the moſt perſuaſive remonſtrances to induce the ſick to come and be cured. Sure there muſt be ſomething ſtrangely obſtinate in an Engliſh patient, who refuſes ſo much health upon ſuch eaſy terms; does he take a pride in being bloated with a dropſy? Does he find pleaſure in the alternations of an intermittent fever? Or feel as much ſatisfaction in nurſing up his gout, as he found pleaſure in acquiring it? He muſt, otherwiſe he would never reject ſuch repeated aſſurances of inſtant relief. What can be more convincing than the manner in which the ſick are invited to be well? The doctor firſt begs the moſt earneſt attention of the public to what he is going to propoſe; he ſolemnly affirms the pill was never found to want ſucceſs; he produces a liſt of thoſe who have been reſcued from the grave by taking it. Yet, notwithſtanding all this, there are many here who now and then think proper to be ſick; only ſick did I ſay? There are ſome who even think proper to die! Yes, by the head of Confucius they die; though they might have pur⯑chaſed the health-reſtoring ſpecific for half a crown at every corner.

I am amazed, my dear Fum Hoam, that theſe doctors who know what an obſtinate ſet of people [98] they have to deal with, have never thought of at⯑tempting to revive the dead. When the living are found to reject their preſcriptions, they ought in con⯑ſcience to apply to the dead, from whom they can expect no ſuch mortifying repulſes; they would find in the dead the moſt complying patients imaginable; and what gratitude might they not expect from the patient's ſon, now no longer an heir, and his wife now no longer a widow.

Think not, my friend, that there is any thing chimerical in ſuch an attempt; they already perform cures equally ſtrange: What can be more truly aſtoniſhing than to ſee old age reſtored to youth, and vigour to the moſt feeble conſtitutions; yet this is per⯑formed here every day; a ſimple electuary effects theſe wonders, even without the bungling ceremonies of having the patient boiled up in a kettle, or ground down in a mill.

Few phyſicians here go through the ordinary courſes of education, but receive all their knowledge of medi⯑cine by immediate inſpiration from heaven. Some are thus inſpired even in the womb; and what is very remarkable, underſtand their profeſſion as well at three years old as at threeſcore. Others have ſpent a great part of their lives unconſcious of any latent excellence, 'til a bankruptcy, or a reſidence in goal, have called their miraculous powers into exertion. And others ſtill there are indebted to their ſuperlative ignorance alone for ſucceſs. The more ignorant the practitioner, the leſs capable is he thought of deceiving. The people here judge, as they do in the eaſt; where it is thought abſolutely requiſite that a man ſhould be an [99] ideot before he pretend to be either a conjurer or a doctor.

When a phyſician by inſpiration is ſent for, he never perplexes the patient by previous examination; he aſks very few queſtions, and thoſe only for form ſake. He knows every diſorder by intuition. He adminiſters the pill or drop for every diſtemper; nor is more inqui⯑ſitive than the farrier while he drenches an horſe. If the patient lives, then has he one more to add to the ſurviving liſt; if he dies, then it may be juſtly ſaid of the patient's diſorder, that as it was not cured, the diſorder was incurable.

LETTER XXV.
From the ſame.

I WAS ſome days ago in company with a politician, who very pathetically declaimed upon the miſerable ſituation of his country: he aſſured me, that the whole political machine was moving in a wrong track, and that ſcarce ever abilities like his own could ever ſet it right again. "What have we, ſaid he, to do with the wars on the continent; we are a commercial nation; we have only to cultivate commerce like our neighbours the Dutch; it is our buſineſs to encreaſe trade by ſettling new colonies: riches are the ſtrength of a nation; and for the reſt, our ſhips, our ſhips alone will protect us." I found it vain to oppoſe my feeble arguments to thoſe of a man who thought himſelf wiſe enough to direct even the mini⯑ſtry; I fancied, however, that I ſaw with more cer⯑tainty, [100] becauſe I reaſoned without prejudice: I there⯑fore begged leave, inſtead of argument, to relate a ſhort hiſtory. He gave me a ſmile at once of con⯑deſcenſion and contempt, and I proceeded as follows to deſcribe, THE RISE AND DECLENSION OF THE KINGDOM OF LAO.

Northward of China, and in one of the doublings of the great wall, the fruitful province of Lao enjoyed its liberty and a peculiar government of its own. As the inhabitants were on all ſides ſurrounded by the wall, they feared no ſudden invaſion from the Tartars; and being each poſſeſſed of property, they were zealous in its defence.

The natural conſequences of ſecurity and affluence in any country is a love of pleaſure; when the wants of nature are ſupplied, we ſeek after the conveniencies; when poſſeſſed of theſe, we deſire the luxuries of life; and when every luxury is provided, it is then ambition takes up the man, and leaves him ſtill ſomething to wiſh for: the inhabitants of the country from primitive ſimplicity ſoon began to aim at elegance, and from elegance proceeded to refinement. It was now found abſolutely requiſite, for the good of the ſtate, that the people ſhould be divided: formerly the ſame hand that was employed in tilling the ground, or in dreſſing up the manufactures, was alſo in time of need a ſoldier; but the cuſtom was now changed; for it was per⯑ceived, that a man bred up from childhood to the arts either of peace or war, became more eminent by this means in his reſpective profeſſion. The inhabitants were therefore now diſtinguiſhed into artizans and ſoldiers; and while thoſe improved the luxuries of life, theſe watched for the ſecurity of the people.

[101] A country poſſeſſed of freedom has always two ſorts of enemies to fear: foreign foes who attack its exiſtence from without, and internal miſcreants who betray its liberties within. The inhabitants of Lao were to guard againſt both. A country of artizans were moſt likely to preſerve internal liberty; and a nation of ſoldiers were fitteſt to repel a foreign invaſion. Hence naturally aroſe a diviſion of opinion between the artizans and the ſoldiers of the kingdom. The artizans ever complaining, that freedom was threatened by an armed internal force, were for diſbanding the ſoldiers, and inſiſted that their walls, their walls alone were ſufficient to repel the moſt formidable invaſion: the warriors, on the contrary, repreſented the power of the neighbouring kings, the combinations formed againſt their ſtate, and the weakneſs of the wall which every earthquake might overturn. While this alter⯑cation continued, the kingdom might be juſtly ſaid to enjoy its greateſt ſhare of vigour: every order in the ſtate, by being watchful over each other, contributed to diffuſe happineſs equally, and ballanced the ſtate. The arts of peace flouriſhed, nor were thoſe of war neglected; the neighbouring powers, who had nothing to apprehend from the ambition of men whom they only ſaw ſolicitous not for riches but freedom, were contented to traffick with them: They ſent their goods to be manufactured in Lao, and paid a large price for them upon their return.

By theſe means this people at length became mode⯑rately rich, and their opulence naturally invited the invader: a Tartar prince led an immenſe army againſt them, and they as bravely ſtood up in their own [102] defence; they were ſtill inſpired with a love of their country; they fought the barbarous enemy with forti⯑tude, and gained a complete victory.

From this moment, which they regarded as the completion of their glory, hiſtorians date their down⯑fall. They had riſen in ſtrength by a love of their country, and fell by indulging ambition. The country poſſeſſed by the invading Tartars, ſeemed to them a prize that would not only render them more formidable for the future, but which would encreaſe their opulence for the preſent; it was unanimouſly reſolved, there⯑fore, both by ſoldiers and artizans, that thoſe deſolate regions ſhould be peopled by colonies from Lao. When a trading nation begins to act the conqueror, it is then perfectly undone: it ſubſiſts in ſome meaſure by the ſupport of its neighbours; while they continue to regard it without envy or apprehenſion, trade may flouriſh; but when once it preſumes to aſſert as its right what it only enjoyed as a favour, each country reclaims that part of commerce which it has power to take back, and turns it into ſome other channel more honourable, though perhaps leſs convenient.

Every neighbour now began to regard with jealous eyes this ambitious common-wealth, and forbade their ſubjects any future intercourſe with them. The inhabitants of Lao, however, ſtill purſued the ſame ambitious maxims; it was from their colonies alone they expected riches; and riches, ſaid they, are ſtrength, and ſtrength is ſecurity. Numberleſs were the migrations of the deſperate and enterprizing of this country to people the deſolate dominions lately [103] poſſeſſed by the Tartar; between theſe colonies and the mother country, a very advantageous traffic was at firſt carried on, the republic ſent their colonies large quantities of the manufactures of the country, and they in return provided the republic with an equivalent in ivory and ginſeng. By this means the inhabitants became immenſely rich, and this produced an equal degree of voluptuouſneſs; for men who have much money will always find ſome fantaſtical modes of enjoyment. How ſhall I mark the ſteps by which they declined! Every colony in proceſs of time ſpreads over the whole country where it firſt was planted. As it grows more populous, it becomes more polite; and thoſe manufactures for which it was in the beginning obliged to others, it learns to dreſs up itſelf: ſuch was the caſe with the colonies of Lao; they in leſs than a century became a powerful and a polite people, and the more polite they grew, the leſs advantageous was the commerce which ſtill ſubſiſted between them and others. By this means the mother country being abridged in its commerce grew poorer but not leſs luxurious. Their former wealth had introduced luxury; and wherever luxury once fixes, no art can either leſſen or remove it. Their commerce with their neighbours was totally deſtroyed; and that with their colonies was every day naturally and neceſſarily declining; they ſtill, however, preſerved the inſolence of wealth, without a power to ſupport it, and perſevered in being luxurious while contemptible from poverty. In ſhort, the ſtate reſembled one of thoſe bodies bloated with diſeaſe, whoſe bulk is only a ſymptom of its wretchedneſs. Their former opulence only rendered them more im⯑potent, as thoſe individuals who are reduced from [104] riches to poverty, are of all men the moſt unfortunate and helpleſs. They had imagined, becauſe their colonies tended to make them rich upon the firſt acquiſition, they would ſtill continue to do ſo; they now found however, that on themſelves alone they ſhould have depended for ſupport; that colonies ever afford but temporary affluence, and when cultivated and polite are no longer uſeful. From ſuch a concurrence of circum⯑ſtances they ſoon became contemptible. The emperor Honti invaded them with a powerful army. Hiſtorians do not ſay whether their colonies were too remote to lend aſſiſtance, or elſe were deſirous of ſhaking off their dependance: But certain it is, they ſcarce made any reſiſtance; their walls were now found but a weak defence; and they at length were obliged to acknow⯑ledge ſubjection to the empire of China.

Happy, very happy might they have been, had they known when to bound their riches and their glory. Had they known that extending empire is often diminiſhing power, that countries are ever ſtrongeſt which are inter⯑nally powerful; that colonies by draining away the brave and enterprizing, leave the country in the hands of the timid and the avaritious; that walls give little protection, unleſs manned with reſolu⯑tion; that too much commerce may injure a nation as well as too little; and that there is a wide dif⯑ference between a conquering and a flouriſhing empire.

Adieu.

LETTER XXV.
From the ſame.

THO' fond of many acquaintances, I deſire an intimacy only with a few. The man in black whom I have often mentioned, is one whoſe friendſhip I cou'd wiſh to acquire, becauſe he poſſeſſes my eſteem. His manners it is true, are tinctured with ſome ſtrange inconſiſtencies; and he may be juſtly termed an hu⯑mouriſt in a nation of humouriſts. Tho' he is gene⯑rous even to profuſion, he affects to be thought a pro⯑digy of parſimony and prudence; though his conver⯑ſation be replete with the moſt ſordid and ſelfiſh maxims, his heart is dilated with the moſt unbounded love. I have known him profeſs himſelf a man-hater, while his cheek was glowing with compaſſion; and while his looks were ſoftened into pity, I have heard him uſe the language of the moſt unbounded ill nature. Some affect humanity and tenderneſs, others boaſt of having ſuch diſpoſitions from nature; but he is the only man I ever knew who ſeemed aſhamed of his natural benevolence. He takes as much pains to hide his feelings as any hypocrite would to conceal his indifference; but on every unguarded moment the maſk drops off, and reveals him to the moſt ſuperficial obſerver.

In one of our late excurſions into the country, hap⯑pening to diſcourſe upon the proviſion that was made for the poor in England, he ſeemed amazed how any of his countrymen could be ſo fooliſhly weak as to relieve occaſional objects of charity, when the laws had made ſuch ample proviſion for their ſupport. In every [106] pariſh houſe, ſays he, the poor are ſupplied with food, cloaths, fire, and a bed to lie on; they want no more, I deſire no more myſelf; yet ſtill they ſeem diſcontented. I'm ſurprized at the inactivity of our magiſtrates, in not taking up ſuch vagrants who are only a weight upon the induſtrious; I'm ſurprized that the people are [...]ound to relieve them, when they muſt be at the ſame time ſenſible, that it in ſome meaſure encourages, idle⯑neſs, extravagance, and impoſture. Were I to adviſe any man for whom I had the leaſt regard, I would caution him by all means not to be impoſed upon by their falſe pretences: let me aſſure you, Sir, they are impoſtors, every one of them; and rather merit a priſon than relief.

He was procceeding in this ſtrain earneſtly, to diſ⯑ſuade me from an imprudence of which I am ſeldom guilty; when an old man who ſtill had about him the remnants of tattered finery, implored our compaſſion. He aſſured us that he was no common beggar, but forced into the ſhameful profeſſion, to ſupport a dying wife and five hungry children. Being prepoſſeſſed againſt ſuch falſhoods, his ſtory had not the leaſt in⯑fluence upon me; but it was quite otherwiſe with the man in black; I could ſee it viſibly operate upon his countenance, and effectually interrupt his harangue. I could eaſily perceive that his heart burned to relieve the five ſtarving children, but he ſeemed aſhamed to diſcover his weakneſs to me. While he thus heſitated between compaſſion and pride, I pretended to look another way, and he ſeized this opportunity of giving the poor petitioner a piece of ſilver, bidding him at the ſame time, in order that I ſhould hear, go work for his [107] bread, and not teize paſſengers with ſuch impertinent falſehoods for the future.

As he had fancied himſelf quite unperceived, he continued, as we proceeded, to rail againſt beggars with as much animoſity as before; he threw in ſome epiſodes on his own amazing prudence and oeconomy, with his profound ſkill in diſcovering impoſtors, he explained the manner in which he would deal with beggars were he a magiſtrate, hinted at enlarging ſome of the priſons for their reception, and told two ſtories of ladies that were robbed by beggarmen. He was be⯑ginning a third to the ſame purpoſe, when a ſailor with a wooden leg once more croſſed our walks, deſiring our pity, and bleſſing our limbs. I was for going on without taking any notice, but my friend looking wiſh⯑fully upon the poor petitioner, bid me ſtop, and he would ſhew me with how much eaſe he could at any time detect an impoſtor.

He now therefore aſſumed a look of importance, and in an angry tone began to examine the ſailor, demanding in what engagement he was thus diſabled and rendered unfit for ſervice. The ſailor replied in a tone as angrily as he, that he had been an officer on board a private ſhip of war, and that he had loſt his leg abroad in defence of thoſe who did nothing at home. At this reply, all my friend's importance vaniſhed in a moment; he had not a ſingle queſtion more to aſk; he now only ſtudied what method he ſhould take to relieve him unobſerved. He had however no eaſy part to act, as he was obliged to preſerve the appearance of ill nature before me, and yet relieve himſelf by relieving the ſailor. Caſting therefore a furious look upon ſome [108] bundles of chips which the fellow carried in a ſtring at his back, my friend demanded how he ſold his matches; but not waiting for a reply, deſired, in a ſurly tone, to have a ſhilling's worth. The ſailor ſeemed at firſt ſurpriſed at his demand, but ſoon recollecting him⯑ſelf, and preſenting his whole bundle, Here, maſter, ſays he, take all my cargo, and a bleſſing into the bargain.

It is impoſſible to deſcribe with what an air of triumph my friend marched off with his new purchaſe, he aſſured me that he was firmly of opinion that thoſe fellows muſt have ſtolen their goods, who could thus afford to ſell them for half value; he informed me of ſeveral different uſes to which thoſe chips might be applied; he expatiated largely upon the ſavings that would reſult from lighting candles with a match inſtead of thruſting them into the fire. He averred, that he would as ſoon have parted with a tooth as his money to thoſe vagabonds, unleſs for ſome valuable conſidera⯑tion. I cannot tell how long this panegyrick upon frugality and matches might have continued, had not his attention been called off by another object more diſtreſsful than either of the former. A woman in rags, with one child in her arms, and another on her back, was attempting to ſing ballads, but with ſuch a mournful voice that it was difficult to determine whe⯑ther ſhe was ſinging or crying. A wretch, who, in the deepeſt diſtreſs ſtill aimed at good humour, was an object my friend was by no means capable of with⯑ſtanding: his vivacity, and his diſcourſe were inſtantly interrupted; upon this occaſion his very diſſimulation had forſaken him. Even, in my preſence, he imme⯑diately applied his hands to his pockets, in order to re⯑lieve [109] her: but gueſs his confuſion, when he found he had already given away all the money he carried about him to former objects. The miſery painted in the woman's viſage, was not half ſo ſtrongly expreſſed as the agony in his. He continued to ſearch for ſome time, but to no purpoſe, till, at length, recollecting himſelf, with a face of ineffable good nature, as he had no money, he put into her hands his ſhillings worth of matches.

LETTER XXVI.
To the ſame.

AS there appeared ſomething reluctantly good in the character of my companion, I muſt own it ſurprized me what could be his motives for thus con⯑cealing virtues which others take ſuch pains to diſplay. I was unable to repreſs my deſire of knowing the hiſ⯑tory of a man who thus ſeemed to act under continual reſtraint, and whoſe benevolence was rather the effect of appetite than reaſon.

It was not however till after repeated ſolicitations he thought proper to gratify my curioſity. "If you are fond, ſays he, of hearing hair breadth'ſcapes, my hiſtory muſt certainly pleaſe; for I have been for twenty years upon the very verge of ſtarving, with⯑out ever being ſtarved."

"My father, the younger ſon of a good family, was poſſeſſed of a ſmall living in the church. His edu⯑cation was above his fortune, and his generoſity [110] greater than his education. Poor as he was, he had his flatterers ſtill poorer than himſelf; for every din⯑ner he gave them, they returned him an equivalent in praiſe; and this was all he wanted; the ſame am⯑bition that actuates a monarch at the head of an army, influenced my father at the head of his table: he told the ſtory of the ivy-tree, and that was laughed at; he repeated the jeſt of the two ſcholars and one pair of breeches, and the company laughed at that; but the ſtory of Taffy in the ſedan chair was ſure to ſet the table in a roar; thus his pleaſure encreaſed; in proportion to the pleaſure he gave; he loved all the world, and he fancied all the world loved him."

"As his fortune was but ſmall, he lived up to the very extent of it; he had no intentions of leaving his children money, for that was droſs; he was re⯑ſolved they ſhould have learning; for learning, he uſed to obſerve, was better than ſilver or gold. For this purpoſe he undertook to inſtruct us himſelf; and took as much pains to form our morals, as to im⯑prove our underſtanding. We were told that uni⯑verſal benevolence was what firſt cemented ſociety; we were taught to conſider all the wants of mankind as our own; to regard the human face divine with affection and eſteem; he wound us up to be mere ma⯑chines of pity, and rendered us incapable of with⯑ſtanding the ſlighteſt impulſe made either by real or fictitious diſtreſs; in a word, we were perfectly in⯑ſtructed in the art of giving away thouſands, be⯑fore we were taught the more neceſſary qualifica⯑tions of getting a farthing."

[111] "I cannot avoid imagining, that, thus refined by his leſſons out of all my ſuſpicion, and diveſted of even all the little cunning which nature had given me, I reſembled, upon my firſt entrance into the buſy and inſidious world, one of thoſe gladiators who were ex⯑poſed without armour in the amphitheatre at Rome. My father, however, who had only ſeen the world on one ſide, ſeemed to triumph in my ſuperior diſ⯑cernment; though my whole ſtock of wiſdom con⯑ſiſted in being able to talk like himſelf upon ſubjects that once were uſeful, becauſe they were then topics of the buſy world; but that now were utterly uſeleſs, becauſe connected with the buſy world no longer."

"The firſt opportunity he had of finding his ex⯑pectations diſappointed, was at the very middling figure I made in the univerſity: he had flattered himſelf that he ſhould ſoon ſee me riſing into the foremoſt rank in literary reputation, but was mor⯑tified to find me utterly unnoticed and unknown. His diſappointment might have been partly aſcribed to his having over-rated my talents, and partly to my diſlike of mathematical reaſonings at a time, when my imagination and memory yet unſatisfied, were more eager after new objects, than deſirous of reaſoning upon thoſe I knew. This did not, however, pleaſe my tutors, who obſerved, indeed, that I was a little dull; but at the ſame time allowed that I ſeemed to be very good natured, and had no harm in me."

"After I had reſided at college ſeven years, my father died, and left me—his bleſſing. Thus ſhoved [112] from ſhore without ill nature to protect, or cunning to guide, or proper ſtores to ſubſiſt me in ſo dan⯑gerous a voyage, I was obliged to embark in the wide world at twenty-one. But in order to ſettle in life, my friends adviſed (for they always adviſe when they begin to deſpiſe us) they adviſed me, I ſay, to go into orders."

"To be obliged to wear a long wig, when I liked a ſhort one, or a black coat when I generally dreſſed in brown, I thought was ſuch a reſtraint upon my liberty, that I abſolutely rejected the propoſal. A prieſt in England is not the ſame mortified creature with a bonze in China; with us, not he that faſts beſt, but eats beſt, is reckoned the beſt liver; yet I rejected a life of luxury, indolence and eaſe, from no other conſideration but that boyiſh one of dreſs. So that my friends were now perfectly ſatisfied I was undone, and yet they thought it a pity for one who had not the leaſt harm in him, and was ſo very good natured."

"Poverty naturally begets dependance, and I was admitted as flatterer to a great man. At firſt I was ſurpriſed, that the ſituation of a flatterer at a great man's table could be thought diſagreeable; there was no great trouble in liſtening attentively when his lordſhip ſpoke, and laughing when he looked round for applauſe. This even good man⯑ners might have obliged me to perform. I found, however, too ſoon, that his lordſhip was a greater dunce than myſelf; and from that very moment my power of flattery was at an end. I now rather aimed at ſetting him right than at receiving his ab⯑ſurdities [113] with ſubmiſſion: to flatter thoſe we do not know is an eaſy taſk; but to flatter our inti⯑mate acquaintances, all whoſe foibles are ſtrongly in our eye, is drudgery inſupportable. Every time I now opened my lips in praiſe, my falſhood went to my conſcience; his lordſhip ſoon perceived me to be unfit for ſervice; I was therefore diſcharged; my patron at the ſame time being graciouſly pleaſed to obſerve, that he believed I was tolerably good⯑natured and had not the leaſt harm in me."

"Diſappointed in ambition I had recourſe to love. A young lady who lived with her aunt, and was poſſeſſed of a very pretty fortune, in her own diſpo⯑ſal, had given me, as I fancied, ſome reaſons to ex⯑pect ſucceſs. The ſymptoms by which I was guided were ſtriking; ſhe had always laughed with me at her aukward acquaintance, and at her aunt among the number; ſhe always obſerved, that a man of ſenſe would make a better huſband than a fool, and I as conſtantly applied the obſervation in my own favour. She continually talked in my com⯑pany of friendſhip and the beauties of the mind, and ſpoke of Mr. Shrimp my rival's high-heel'd ſhoes with deteſtation. Theſe were circumſtances which I thought ſtrongly in my favour; ſo after reſolving and re-reſolving, I had courage enough to tell her my mind. Miſs heard my propoſal with ſerenity, ſeeming at the ſame time to ſtudy the figures of her fan. Out at laſt it came. There was but one ſmall objection to complete our happineſs, which was no more than—that ſhe was married three months be⯑fore to Mr. Shrimp with high-heeled ſhoes! By way of conſolation however ſhe obſerved, that tho' [114] I was diſappointed in her, my addreſſes to her aunt would probably kindle her into ſenſibility; as the old lady always allowed me to be very good na⯑tured, and not to have the leaſt ſhare of harm in me."

"Yet ſtill I had friends, numerous friends, and to them I was reſolved to apply. O friendſhip! thou fond ſoother of the human breaſt, to thee we fly in every calamity; to thee the wretched ſeek for ſuc⯑cour; on thee the care tired ſon of miſery fondly re⯑lies; from thy kind aſſiſtance the unfortunate al⯑ways hopes relief, and may be ever ſure of—diſ⯑appointment! my firſt application was to a city ſcrivener, who had frequently offered to lend me money when he knew I did not want it. I informed him that now was the time to put his friendſhip to the teſt; that I wanted to borrow a couple of hundreds for a certain occaſion, and was reſolved to take it up from him. And pray, Sir, cried my friend, do you want all this money? Indeed I never wanted it more, returned I. I am ſorry for that, cries the ſcrivener, with all my heart; for they who want money when they come to borrow, will always want money when they ſhould come to pay."

"From him I flew with indignation to one of the beſt friends I had in the world, and made the ſame requeſt. Indeed, Mr. Drybone, cries my friend, I always thought it would come to this. You know, ſir, I would not adviſe you but for your own good; but your conduct has hitherto been ridiculous in the higheſt degree, and ſome of your acquaintance always thought you a very ſilly fellow; let me ſee, you want two [115] hundred pounds; do you want only two hundred, ſir, exactly? To confeſs a truth, returned I, I ſhall want three hundred; but then I have another friend from whom I can borrow the reſt. Why then, replied my friend, if you would take my ad⯑vice; and you know I ſhould not preſume to adviſe you but for your own good, I would recommend it to you to borrow the whole ſum from that other friend; and then one note will ſerve for all, you know."

"Poverty now began to come faſt upon me, yet inſtead of growing more provident or cautious as I grew poor, I became every day more indolent and ſimple. A friend was arreſted for fifty pounds, I was unable to extricate him except by becoming his bail. When at liberty he fled from his creditors, and left me to take his place. In priſon I expected greater ſatisfactions than I had enjoyed at large. I hoped to converſe with men in this new world ſimple and believing like myſelf, but I found them as cunning and as cautious as thoſe in the world I had left behind. They ſpunged upon my money whilſt it laſted, borrowed my coals and never paid them, and cheated me when I played at cribbage. All this was done becauſe they believed me to be very good⯑natured, and knew that I had no harm in me."

"Upon my firſt entrance into this manſion, which is to ſome the abode of deſpair, I felt no ſenſations different from theſe I experienced abroad. I was now on one ſide the door, and thoſe who were un⯑confined were on the other; this was all the dif⯑ference between us. At firſt indeed I felt ſome un⯑eaſineſs, [116] in conſidering how I ſhould be able to pro⯑vide this week for the wants of the week enſuing; but after ſome time, if I found myſelf ſure of eating one day, I never troubled my head how I was to be ſupplied another I ſeized every precarious meal with the utmoſt good humour, indulged no rants of ſpleen at my ſituation, never called down heaven and all the ſtars to behold me dining upon an half⯑penny-worth of radiſhes; my very companions were taught to believe that I liked ſallad better than mutton. I contented myſelf with thinking, that all my life I ſhould either eat white bread or brown; conſidered that all that happened was beſt, laughed when I was not in pain, took the world [...] it went, and read Tacitus often, for want of more books and company."

"How long I might have continued in this torpid ſtate of ſimplicity I cannot tell, had I not been rouzed by ſeeing an old acquaintance, whom I knew to be a prudent blockhead preferred to a place in the go⯑vernment. I now found that I had purſued a wrong track, and that the true way of being able to relieve others, was firſt to aim at independence myſelf. My immediate care, therefore, was to leave my pre⯑ſent habitation, and make an entire reformation in my conduct and behaviour. For a free, open, undeſigning deportment, I put on that of cloſeneſs, prudence and oeconomy. One of the moſt heroic actions I ever performed, and for which I ſhall praiſe myſelf as long as I live, was the refuſing half a crown to an old acquaintance, at the time when he wanted [117] it, and I had it to ſpare; for this alone I deſerve to be decreed an ovation."

"I now therefore purſued a courſe of uninterrupted frugality, ſeldom wanted a dinner, and was conſe⯑quently invited to twenty. I ſoon began to get the character of a ſaving hunks that had money; and inſenſibly grew into eſteem. Neighbours have aſk'd my advice in the diſpoſal of their daughters, and I have always taken care not to give any. I have con⯑tracted a friendſhip with an alderman, only by ob⯑ſerving, that if we take a farthing from a thouſand pound it will be a thouſand pound no longer. I have been invited to a pawnbroker's table by pretend⯑ing to hate gravy; and am now actually upon treaty of marriage with a rich widow, for only having obſerved that the bread was riſing. If ever I am aſked a queſtion whether I know it or not, inſtead of anſwering, I only ſmile and look wiſe. If a charity is propoſed, I go about with the hat, but put no⯑thing in myſelf. If a wretch ſolicits my pity, I ob⯑ſerve that the world is filled with impoſtors, and take a certain method of not being deceived by never relieving. In ſhort, I now find the trueſt way of finding eſteem even from the indigent, is to give away nothing, and thus have much in our power to give."

LETTER XXVII.
To the ſame.

LATELY in company with my friend in black, whoſe converſation is now both my amuſement and inſtruction, I could not avoid obſerving the great numbers of old bachelors and maiden ladies with which this city ſeems to be over-run. Sure marriage, ſaid I, is not ſufficiently encouraged, or we ſhould never be⯑hold ſuch crowds of battered beaux and decayed co⯑quets ſtill attempting to drive a trade they have been ſo long unfit for, and ſwarming upon the gaiety of the age. I behold an old bachelor in the moſt contemp⯑tible light, as an animal that lives upon the common ſtock without contributing his ſhare: he is a beaſt of prey, and the laws ſhould make uſe of as many ſtrata⯑gems and as much force to drive the reluctant ſavage into the toils, as the Indians when they hunt the hyena or the rhinoceros. The mob ſhould be permitted to halloo after him, boys might play tricks on him with impunity, every well-bred company ſhould laugh at him, and if, when turned of ſixty, he offered to make love, his miſtreſs might ſpit in his face, or what would be perhaps a greater puniſhment, ſhould fairly grant him the favour.

As for old maids, continued I, they ſhould not be treated with ſo much ſeverity, becauſe I ſuppoſe none would be ſo if they could. No lady in her ſenſes would chuſe to make a ſubordinate figure at chriſten⯑ings and lyings-in, when ſhe might be the principal her⯑ſelf; nor curry favour with a ſiſter-in-law, when ſhe [119] might command an huſband, nor toil in preparing cuſ⯑tards when ſhe might lie a bed and give directions how they ought to be made, nor ſtifle all her ſenſations in de⯑mure formality, when ſhe might with matrimonial free⯑dom ſhake her acquaintance by the hand, and wink at a double entendre. No lady could be ſo very ſilly as to live ſingle, if ſhe could help it. I conſider an unmarried lady declining into the vale of years, as one of thoſe charming countries bordering on China that lies waſte for want of proper inhabitants We are not to accuſe the country, but the ignorance of its neighbours, who are inſenſible of its beauties, though at liberty to enter and cultivate the ſoil.

"Indeed, Sir, replied my companion, you are very little acquainted with the Engliſh ladies to think they are old maids againſt their will. I dare venture to affirm that you can hardly ſelect one of them all, but has had frequent offers of marriage, which, either pride or avarice has not made her reject. Inſtead of thinking it a diſgrace, they take every occaſion to boaſt of their former cruelty; a ſoldier does not exult more when he counts over the wounds he has received, than a female veteran when ſhe re⯑lates the wounds ſhe has formerly given: exhauſtleſs when ſhe begins a narrative of the former death⯑dealing power of her eyes. She tells of the knight in gold lace who died with a ſingle frown, and never roſe again till—he was married to his maid: Of the ſquire who being cruelly denied fell in a rage, flew to the window, and lifting up the ſaſh, threw him⯑ſelf in an agony—into his arm chair: Of the parſon, who croſſed in love, reſolutely ſwallowed opium, [120] which baniſhed the ſtings of deſpiſed love by—mak⯑ing him ſleep. In ſhort, ſhe talks over her former loſſes with pleaſure, and, like ſome tradeſmen, finds conſolation in the many bankruptcies ſhe has ſuffer⯑ed."

"For this reaſon, whenever I ſee a ſuperannuated beauty ſtill unmarried, I tacitly accuſe her either of pride, avarice, coquetry, or affectation. There's Miſs Jenny Tinderbox, I once remember her to have had ſome beauty, and a moderate fortune. Her elder ſiſter happened to marry a man of quality, and this ſeemed as a ſtatute of virginity againſt poor Jane. Becauſe there was one lucky hit in the family, ſhe was reſolved not to diſgrace it by introducing a tradeſman; by thus rejecting her equals, and ne⯑glected or deſpiſed by her ſuperiors, ſhe now acts in the capacity of tutoreſs to her ſiſter's children, and undergoes the drudgery of three ſervants without receiving the wages of one."

"Miſs Squeeze was a pawnbroker's daughter; her father had early taught her that money was a very good thing, and left her a moderate fortune at his death. She was ſo perfectly ſenſible of the value of what ſhe had got, that ſhe was reſolved never to part with a farthing without an equality on the part of her ſuitor; ſhe thus refuſed ſeveral offers made her by people who wanted to better themſelves, as the ſaying is; and grew old and ill-natured, with⯑out ever conſidering that ſhe ſhould have made an abatement in her pretenſions, from her face being pale and marked with the ſmall-pox."

[121]"Lady Betty Tempeſt on the contrary had beauty, with fortune and family. But, fond of conqueſt, ſhe paſſed from triumph to triumph; ſhe had read plays and romances, and there had learned that a plain man of common ſenſe was no better than a fool; ſuch ſhe refuſed, and ſighed only for the gay, giddy, inconſtant and thoughtleſs; after ſhe had thus rejected hundreds who liked her, and ſigh⯑ed for hundreds who deſpiſed her, ſhe found herſelf inſenſibly deſerted: at preſent ſhe is company only for her aunts and couſins, and ſometimes makes one in a country-dance, with only one of the chairs for a partner, caſts off round a joint-ſtool, and ſets to a corner cupboard. In a word, ſhe is treated with civil contempt from every quarter, and placed, like a piece of old faſhioned lumber, merely to fill up a corner."

"But Sophronia, the ſagacious Sophronia; how ſhall I mention her? She was taught to love Greek, and hate the men from her very infancy: ſhe has rejected fine gentlemen, becauſe they were not pe⯑dants, and pedants becauſe they were not fine gentle⯑men; her exquiſite ſenſibility has taught her to diſcover every fault in every lover, and her inflexible juſtice has prevented her pardoning them; thus ſhe rejected ſeveral offers, till the wrinkles of age had overtaken her; and now, without one good feature in her face, ſhe talks inceſſantly of the beauties of the mind."

Farewell.

LETTER XXVIII.
From the ſame.

WERE we to eſtimate the learning of the Engliſh by the number of books that are every day publiſhed among them, perhaps no country, not even China itſelf, could equal them in this particular. I have reckoned not leſs than twenty-three new books publiſhed in one day; which upon computation, makes eight thouſand three hundred and ninety-five in one year. Moſt of theſe are not confined to one ſingle ſcience, but embrace the whole circle. Hiſtory, po⯑liticks, poetry, mathematics, metaphyſics, and the philoſophy of nature are all comprized in a manual not larger than that in which our children are taught the letters. If then we ſuppoſe the learned of England to read but an eighth part of the works which daily come from the preſs (and ſure none can pretend to learning upon leſs eaſy terms) at this rate every ſcholar will read a thouſand books in one year. From ſuch a calculation you may conjecture what an amazing fund of literature a man muſt be poſſeſſed of, who thus reads three new books every day, not one of which but contains all the good things that ever were ſaid or written.

And yet I know not how it happens, but the En⯑gliſh are not in reality ſo learned as would ſeem from this calculation. We meet but few who know all arts and ſciences to perfection; whether it is that the ge⯑nerality are incapable of ſuch extenſive knowledge, or that the authors of thoſe books are not adequate in⯑ſtructors. [123] In China, the emperor himſelf takes cog⯑niſance of all the doctors in the kingdom who profeſs authorſhip. In England, every man may be an author that can write; for they have by law a liberty not only of ſaying what they pleaſe, but of being alſo as dull as they pleaſe.

Yeſterday I teſtified my ſurprize to the man in black, where writers could be found in ſufficient number to throw off the books I daily ſaw crowding from the preſs. I at firſt imagined, that their learned ſeminaries might take this method of inſtructing the world. But to obviate this objection, my companion aſſured me, that the doctors of colleges never wrote, and that ſome of them had actually forgot their reading; but if you deſire, continued he, to ſee a collection of authors, I fancy, I can introduce you this evening to a club, which aſſembles every Saturday at ſeven, at the ſign of the Broom near Iſlington, to talk over the buſineſs of the laſt, and the entertainment of the week enſuing. I accepted his invitation, we walked together, and en⯑tered the houſe ſome time before the uſual hour for the company aſſembling.

My friend took this opportunity of letting me into the characters of the principal members of the club, not even the hoſt excepted, who, it ſeems, was once an author himſelf, but preferred by a bookſeller to this ſituation as a reward for his former ſervices.

The firſt perſon, ſaid he, of our ſociety, is doctor Nonentity, a metaphyſician. Moſt people think him a profound ſcholar; but as he ſeldom ſpeaks, I cannot be poſitive in that particular; he generally ſpreads [124] himſelf before the fire, ſucks his pipe, talks little, drinks much, and is reckoned very good company. I'm told he writes indexes to perfection, he makes eſſays on the origin of evil, philoſophical enquiries upon any ſubject, and draws up an anſwer to any book upon twenty-four hours warning. You may diſtin⯑guiſh him from the reſt of the company by his long grey wig, and the blue handkerchief round his neck.

The next to him in merit and eſteem is Tim Sylla⯑bub, a drole creature; he ſometimes ſhines as a ſtar of the firſt magnitude among the choice ſpirits of the age; he is reckoned equally excellent at a rebus, a riddle, a baudy ſong, and an hymn for the tabernacle. You will know him by his ſhabby finery, his powdered wig, dirty ſhirt, and broken ſilk ſtockings.

After him ſucceeds Mr. Tibs, a very uſeful hand; he writes receipts for the bite of a mad dog, and throws off an eaſtern tale to perfection; he under⯑ſtands the buſineſs of an author as well as any man; for no bookſeller alive can cheat him; you may diſtinguiſh him by the peculiar clumſineſs of his figure and the coarſeneſs of his coat: however, though it be coarſe, (as he frequently tells the company) he has paid for it.

Lawyer Squint is the politician of the ſociety; he makes ſpeeches for parliament, writes addreſſes to his fellow ſubjects, and letters to noble commanders; he gives the hiſtory of every new play, and finds ſeaſon⯑able thoughts upon every occaſion.—My companion [12] was proceeding in his deſcription, when the hoſt came running in with terror on his countenance to tell us, that the door was beſet with bailiffs. If that be the caſe then, ſays my companion, we had as good be going; for I am poſitive we ſhall not ſee one of the company this night. Wherefore diſappointed we were both obliged to return home, he to enjoy the oddities which compoſe his character alone, and I to write as uſual to my friend the occurrences of the day.

Adieu.

LETTER XXIX.
From the ſame.

BY my laſt advices from Moſcow, I find the caravan has not yet departed for China: I ſtill continue to write, expecting that you may receive a large number of my letters at once. In them you will find rather a minute detail of Engliſh pecu⯑liarities, than a general picture of their manners or diſ⯑poſition. Happy it were for mankind if all travellers would thus, inſtead of characteriſing a people in general terms, lead us into a detail of thoſe minute circumſtan⯑ces which firſt influenced their opinion: the genius of a country ſhould be inveſtigated with a kind of experi⯑mental enquiry: by this means we ſhould have more preciſe and juſt notions of foreign nations, and detect travellers themſelves when they happened to form wrong concluſions.

[26] My friend and I repeated our viſit to the club of au⯑thors; where, upon our entrance, we found the mem⯑bers all aſſembled and engaged in a loud debate.

The poet, in ſhabby finery, holding a manuſcript in his hand, was earneſtly endeavouring to perſuade the company to hear him read the firſt book of an heroic poem, which he had compoſed the day before. But againſt this, all the members very warmly objected. They knew no reaſon why any member of the club ſhould be indulged with a particular hearing, when many of them had publiſhed whole volumes which had never been looked in. They inſiſted that the law ſhould be obſerved, where reading in company was expreſly noticed. It was in vain that the plaintiff pleaded the peculiar merit of his piece; he ſpoke to an aſſembly inſenſible to all his remonſtrances; the book of laws was opened, and read by the ſecretary, where it was expreſly enacted, "That whatſoever poet, ſpeech-maker, c [...]itic, or hiſtorian, ſhould preſume to engage the company by reading his own works, he was to lay down ſixpence previous to opening the manuſcript, and ſhould be charged one ſhilling an hour while he continued reading; the ſaid ſhilling to be equally diſtributed among the company as a recompence for their trouble."

Our poet ſeemed at firſt to ſhrink at the penalty, heſitating for ſome time whether he ſhould depoſit the fine, or ſhut up the poem; but looking round, and perceiving two ſtrangers in the room, his love of fame out-weighed his prudence, and laying down the ſum by law eſtabliſhed, he inſiſted on his prerogative.

[127] A profound ſilence enſuing, he began by explaining his deſign. "Gentlemen, ſays he, the preſent piece is not one of your common epic poems, which come from the preſs like paper kites in ſummer; there are none of your Turnuſes or Dido's in it; it is an heroical deſcrip⯑tion of nature. I only beg you'll endeavour to make your ſouls in uniſon with mine, and hear with the ſame enthuſiaſm with which I have written. The poem begins with the deſcription of an author's bed-chamber: the picture was ſketched in my own apartment; for you muſt know, gentlemen, that I am myſelf the heroe. Then putting himſelf into the attitude of an orator, with all the emphaſis of voice and action, he proceeded.

With this laſt line he ſeemed ſo much elated, that he was unable to proceed: "There gentlemen, cries he, there is a deſcription for you; Rabelais's bed⯑chamber is but a fool to it:

There is ſound and ſenſe, and truth, and nature in the trifling compaſs of ten little ſyllables."

He was too much employed in ſelf-admiration to obſerve the company: who by nods, winks, ſhrugs, and ſtifled laughter, teſtified every mark of contempt. He turned ſeverally to each for their opinion, and found all however ready to applaud. One ſwore it was ini⯑mitable; another ſaid it was damn'd fine; and a third cried out in rapture Cariſſimo. At laſt addreſſing himſelf to the preſident, and pray, Mr. Squint, ſays he, let us have your opinion. Mine, anſwered the preſident, (taking the manuſcript out of the author's hand's) may this glaſs ſuffocate me, but I think it equal to any thing I have ſeen; and I fancy, (continued he doubling up the poem, and forcing it into the author's pocket, that you will get great honour when it comes out; ſo I ſhall beg leave to put it in We will not intrude upon your good-nature, in deſiring to hear more of it at preſent; ex ungue Herculem, we are ſatisfied, perfectly ſatisfied. The author made two or three attempts to pull it out a ſecond time, and the preſident made as many to prevent him. Thus, though with reluctance, he was at laſt obliged to ſit down, con⯑tented with the commendations for which he had paid.

[129] When this tempeſt of poetry and praiſe was blown over, one of the company changed the ſubject, by wondering how any man could be ſo dull as to write poetry at preſent, ſince proſe itſelf would hardly pay. Would you think it, gentlemen, continued he, I have actually written laſt week ſixteen prayers, twelve bawdy jeſts, and three ſermons, all at the rate of ſix⯑pence a-piece; and what is ſtill more extraordinary the bookſeller has loſt by the bargain. Such ſermons would once have gain'd me a prebend's ſtall; but now alas we have neither piety, taſte, nor humour among us. Poſitively if this ſeaſon does not turn out better than it has begun, unleſs the miniſtry commit ſome blunders to furniſh us with a new topic of abuſe, I ſhall reſume my old buſineſs of working at the preſs, inſtead of finding it employment.

The whole club ſeemed to join in condemning the ſea⯑ſon, as one of the worſt that had come for ſome time; a gentleman particularly obſerved that the nobility were never known to ſubſcribe worſe than at preſent. "I know not how it happens, ſaid he, though I follow them up as cloſe as poſſible, yet I can hardly get a ſingle ſubſcription in a week. The houſes of the great are as inacceſſible as a frontier garriſon at mid-night. I never ſee a nobleman's door half opened that ſome ſurly porter or footman does not ſtand full in the breach. I was yeſterday to wait with a ſubſcription propoſal upon my lord Squaſh the creolian. I had poſted myſelf at his door the whole morning, and juſt as he was getting into his coach, thruſt my propoſal ſnugg into his hand folded up in the form of a letter from myſelf. He juſt glanced [...] the ſuperſcription, and, not knowing the hand, conſigned it to his valet de chambre; this reſpectable perſonage treated it as his [130] maſter, and put it into the hands of the porter. The porter graſped my propoſal frowning; and, meaſuring my figure from top to toe, put it back into my own hands unopened.

"To the devil I pitch all the nobility, cries a little man, in a peculiar accent, I am ſure they have of late uſed me moſt ſcurvily. You muſt know, gentlemen, ſome time ago, upon the arrival of a certain noble duke from his travels, I ſet myſelf down, and vamped up a fine flaunting, poetical panegyric, which I had written in ſuch a ſtrain, that I fancied it would have even wheedled milk from a mouſe. In this I repre⯑ſented the whole kingdom welcoming his grace to his native ſoil, not forgetting the loſs France and Italy would ſuſtain in their arts by his departure. I expected to touch for a bank bill at leaſt; ſo folding up my verſes in gilt paper, I gave my laſt half crown to a genteel ſervant to be the bearer. My letter was ſafely con⯑veyed to his grace, and the ſervant after four hours abſence, during which time I led the life of a fiend, returned with a letter four times as big as mine. Gueſs my extaſy at the proſpect of ſo fine a return. I eagerly took the pacquet into my hands, that trembled to receive it. I kept it ſome time unopened before me brooding over the expected treaſure it contained; when opening it, as I hope to be ſaved, gentlemen, his grace had ſent me in payment for my poem no Bank bills, but ſix copies of verſe, each longer than mine, addreſſed to him upon the ſame occaſion."

"A nobleman, cries a member, who had hitherto been ſilent, is created as much for the confuſion of us authors as the catch-pole. I'll tell you a ſtory, gen⯑tlemen, [131] which is as true as that this pipe is made of clay. When I was delivered of my firſt book, I owed my taylor for a ſuit of cloaths, but that is nothing new, you know, and may be any man's caſe as well as mine. Well, owing him for a ſuit of cloaths, and hearing that my book took very well, he ſent for his money, and inſiſted upon being paid immediately: though I was at that time rich in fame, for my book run like wild fire, yet I was very ſhort in money, and being unable to ſatisfy his demand, prudently reſolved to keep my chamber, preferring a p iſon of my own chuſing at home, to one of my taylor's chuſing abroad. In vain the bailiffs uſed all their arts to decoy me from my citadel, in vain they ſent to let me know that a gentleman wanted to ſpeak with me at the next tavern, in vain they came with an urgent meſſage from my aunt in the country; in vain I was told that a particular friend was at the point of death, and deſired to take his laſt farewell; I was deaf, inſenſible, rock, adamant, the bailiffs could make no impreſſion on my hard heart, for I effectually kept my liberty by never ſtirring out of the room.

"This was very well for a fortnight; when one morning I received a moſt ſplendid meſſage from the earl of Doomſday, importing, that he had read my book, and was in raptures with every line of it; he impatiently longed to ſee the author, and had ſome de⯑ſigns which might turn out greatly to my advantage. I pauſed upon the contents of this meſſage, and found there could be no deceit, for the card was gilt at the edges, and the bearer, I was told, had quite the looks of a gentleman. Witneſs ye powers, how my heart triumphed at my own importance; I ſaw a long per⯑ſpective [132] of felicity before me, I applauded the taſte of the times, which never ſaw genius forſaken; I had prepared a ſet introductory ſpeech for the occaſion, five glaring compliments for his lordſhip, and two more modeſt for myſelf. The next morning, therefore, in order to be punctual to my appointment, I took coach, and ordered the fellow to drive to the ſtreet and houſe mentioned in his lordſhip's addreſs. I had the pre⯑caution to pull up the windows as I went along to keep off the buſy part of mankind, and, big with expectation, fancied the coach never went faſt enough. At length, however, the wiſh'd for moment of its ſtop⯑ping arrived, this for ſome time I impatiently expected, and letting down the door in a tranſport, in order to take a previous view of his lordſhip's magnificent palace and ſituation, I found—poiſon to my ſight! I found myſelf, not in an elegant ſtreet, but a paltry lane, not at a nobleman's door, but the door of a ſpunging⯑houſe; I found the coachman had all this while been driving me to jail, and I ſaw the bailiff with a devil's face, coming out to ſecure me.

To a philoſopher, no circumſtance, however trifling, is too minute; he finds inſtruction and entertainment in occurrences, which are paſſed over by the reſt of man⯑kind as low, trite, and indifferent; it is from the num⯑ber of theſe particulars, which, to many, appear inſig⯑nificant, that he is at laſt enabled to form general con⯑cluſions; this, therefore, muſt be my excuſe for ſend⯑ing ſo far as China accounts of manners and follies, which, though minute in their own nature, ſerve more truly to characteriſe this people than hiſtories of their public treaties, courts, miniſters, negotiations, and am⯑baſſadors.

Adieu.

LETTER XXX.
From the ſame.

THE Engliſh have not yet brought the art of gar⯑dening to the ſame perfection with the Chineſe, but have lately begun to imitate them; nature is now followed with greater aſſiduity than formerly; the trees are ſuffered to ſhoot out into the utmoſt luxuri⯑ance; the ſtreams, no longer forced from their native beds, are permitted to wind along the vallies: ſponta⯑neous flowers take place of the finiſhed parterre, and the enamelled meadow of the ſhaven green.

Yet ſtill the Engliſh are far behind us in this charm⯑ing art; their deſigners have not yet attained a power of uniting inſtruction with beauty. An European will ſcarcely conceive my meaning, when I ſay that there is ſcarce a garden in China which does not contain ſome fine moral, couch'd under the general deſign, where one is not taught wiſdom as he walks, and feels the force of ſome noble truth, or delicate precept reſulting from the diſpoſition of the groves, ſtreams or grotto's. Permit me to illuſtrate what I mean by a de⯑ſcription of my gardens at Quamſi. My heart ſtill hovers round thoſe ſcenes of former happineſs with pleaſure; and I find ſatisfaction in enjoying them at this diſtance, though but in imagination.

You deſcended from the houſe between two groves of trees, planted in ſuch a manner, that they were im⯑penetrable to the eye; while on each hand the way was adorned with all that was beautiful in porcelaine, ſtatuary, and painting. This paſſage from the houſe [134] opened into an area ſurrounded with rocks, flowers, trees and ſhrubs, but all ſo diſpoſed as if each was the ſpontaneous production of nature. As you proceeded forward on this lawn, to your right and left-hand were two gates, oppoſite each other, of very different architecture and deſign; and before you lay a temple built rather with minute elegance than oſtentation.

The right-hand gate was planned with the utmoſt ſimplicity, or rather rudeneſs; ivy claſp'd round the pillars, the baleful cypreſs hung over it; time ſeemed to have deſtroyed all the ſmoothneſs and regularity of the ſtone: two champions with lifted clubs appeared in the act of guarding its acceſs; dragons and ſerpents were ſeen in the moſt hideous attitudes, to deter the ſpectator from approaching; and the perſpective view that lay behind ſeemed dark and gloomy to the laſt de⯑gree; the ſtranger was tempted to enter only from the motto: PERVIA VIRTUTI.

The oppoſite gate was formed in a very different manner; the architecture was light, elegant, and invi⯑ting; flowers hung in wreaths round the pillars; all was finiſhed in the moſt exact and maſterly manner; the very ſtone of which it was built ſtill preſerved its poliſh; nymphs, wrought by the hand of a maſter, in the moſt alluring attitudes, beckoned the ſtranger to approach; while all that lay behind, as far as the eye could reach, ſeemed gay, luxuriant, and capable of affording endleſs pleaſure. The motto itſelf contri⯑buted to invite him; for over the gate was written theſe words, FACILIS DESCENSUS.

By this time I fancy you begin to perceive that the [135] gloomy gate was deſigned to repreſent the road to vir⯑tue; the oppoſite, the more agreeable paſſage to vice. It is but natural to ſuppoſe, that the ſpectator was always tempted to enter by the gate which offered him ſo many allurements; I always in theſe caſes left him to his choice; but generally found that he took to the left, which promiſed moſt entertainment.

Immediately upon his entering the gate of vice, the trees and flowers were diſpoſed in ſuch a manner as to make the moſt pleaſing impreſſion; but as he walked farther on he inſenſibly found the garden aſſume the air of a wilderneſs, the landſkips began to darken, the paths grew more intricate, he appeared to go down⯑wards, frightful rocks ſeemed to hang over his head, gloomy caverns, unexpected precipices, awful ruins, heaps of unburied bones, and terrifying ſounds, cauſed by unſeen waters, began to take place of what at firſt appeared ſo lovely: it was in vain to attempt returning, the labyrinth was too much perplexed for any but myſelf to find the way back. In ſhort, when ſufficiently im⯑preſſed with the horrors of what he ſaw, and the im⯑prudence of his choice, I brought him by an hidden door, a ſhorter way back into the area from whence at firſt he had ſtrayed.

The gloomy gate now preſented itſelf before the ſtranger; and though there ſeemed little in its appear⯑ance to tempt his curioſity, yet encouraged by the motto, he generally proceeded. The darkneſs of the entrance, the frightful figures that ſeemed to obſtruct his way, the trees of a mournful green, conſpired at firſt to diſguſt him: as he went forward, however, all began to open and wear a more pleaſing appearance, [136] beautiful caſcades, beds of flowers, trees loaded with fruit or bloſſoms, and unexpected brooks, improved the ſcene; he now found that he was aſcending, and, as he proceeded, all nature grew more beautiful, the proſpect widened as he went higher, even the air itſelf ſeemed to become more pure. Thus pleaſ⯑ed and happy from unexpected beauties, I at laſt led him to an arbour, from whence he could view the garden and the whole country around, and where he might own, that the road to Virtue terminated in Hap⯑pineſs.

Though from this deſcription you may imagine, that a vaſt tract of ground was neceſſary to exhibit ſuch a pleaſing variety in, yet be aſſured, that I have ſeen ſeveral gardens in England take up ten times the ſpace which mine did, without half the beauty. A very ſmall extent of ground is enough for an elegant taſte; the greater room is required if magnificence is in view. There is no ſpot, tho' ever ſo little, which a ſkilful deſigner might not thus improve, ſo as to convey a delicate allegory, and impreſs the mind with truths the moſt uſeful and neceſſary.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXI.
From the ſame.

IN a late excurſion with my friend into the country, a gentleman with a blue ribbon tied round his ſhoulder, and in a chariot drawn by ſix horſes paſſed ſwiftly by us, attended with a numerous train of captains, [137] lacquies, and coaches filled with women. When we were recovered from the duſt raiſed by his cavalcade, and could continue our diſcourſe without danger of ſuffocation, I obſerved to my companion, that all this ſtate and equipage which he ſeemed to deſpiſe, would in China be regarded with the utmoſt reverence, be⯑cauſe ſuch diſtinctions were always the reward of me⯑rit; the greatneſs of a Mandarine's retinue being a moſt certain mark of the ſuperiority of his abilities or virtue.

The gentleman who has now paſſed us, replied my companion, has no claims from his own merit to diſtinc⯑tion; he is poſſeſſed neither of abilities nor virtue; it is enough for him that one of his anceſtors was poſ⯑ſeſſed of theſe qualities two hundred years before him. There was a time, indeed, when his family deſerved their titles, but they are long ſince degenerated, and his anceſtors for more than a century have been more and more ſolicitous to keep up the breed of their dogs and horſes than that of their children. This very no⯑bleman, ſimple as he ſeems, is deſcended from a race of ſtateſmen and heroes; but unluckily his great grand⯑father marrying a cook maid, and ſhe having a trifling paſſion for his lordſhip's groom, they ſome-how croſſed the ſtrain, and produced an heir, who took after his mother in his great love to good eating, and his father in a violent affection for horſe fleſh. Theſe paſſions have for ſome generations paſſed on from father to ſon, and are now become the characteriſtics of the family, his preſent lordſhip being equally remarkable for his kitchen and ſtable.

But ſuch a nobleman, cried I, deſerves our pity thus placed in ſo high a ſphere of life, which only the more [138] expoſes to contempt. A king may confer titles, but it is perſonal merit alone that inſures reſpect. I ſuppoſe, added I, that ſuch men who are ſo very unfit to fill up their dignity, are deſpiſed by their equals, neglected by their inferiors, and condemned to live among involun⯑tary dependants in irkſome ſolitude?

You are ſtill under a miſtake, replied my companion, for though this nobleman is a ſtranger to generoſity; though he takes twenty opportunities in a day of letting his gueſts know how much he deſpiſes them; though he is poſſeſſed neither of taſte, wit, nor wiſdom; though incapable of improving others by his converſa⯑tion, and never known to enrich any by his bounty, yet for all this, his company is eagerly ſought after: he is a lord, and that is as much as moſt people deſire in a companion. Quality and title have ſuch allure⯑ments, that hundreds are ready to give up all their own importance, to cringe, to flatter, to look little, and to pall every pleaſure in conſtraint, merely to be among the great, though without the leaſt hopes of improving their underſtanding or ſharing their generoſity; they might be happy among th [...] equals, but thoſe are deſ⯑piſed for company, where they are deſpiſed in turn. You ſaw what a crowd of humble couſins, card-ruined beaus, and captains on half pay, were willing to make up this great man's retinue down to his country ſeat. Not one of all theſe that could not lead a more com⯑fortable life at home in their little lodging of three ſhillings a week, with their lukewarm dinner, ſerved up between two pewter plates from a cook's ſhop. Yet poor devils, they are willing to undergo the imperti⯑nence and pride of their entertainer, merely to be thought to live among the great: they are willing to [139] paſs the ſummer in bondage, though conſcious they are taken down only to approve his lordſhip's taſte upon every occaſion, to tag all his ſtupid obſervations with a very true, to praiſe his ſtable, and deſcant upon his claret and cookery.

The pitiful humiliations of the gentlemen you are now deſcribing, ſaid I, puts me in mind of a cuſtom among the Tartars of Koreki, not entirely diſſimilar to this we are now conſidering^*. The Ruſſians, who trade with them carry thither a kind of muſhrooms, which they exchange for furrs of ſquirrels, ermins, ſables, and foxes. Theſe muſhrooms the rich tartars lay up in large quantities for the winter; and when a nobleman makes a muſhroom feaſt, all the neighbours around are invited. The muſhrooms are prepared by boiling, by which the water acquires an intoxicating quality, and is a ſort of drink which the Tartars prize beyond all other. When the nobility and ladies are aſſembled, and the ceremonies uſual between people of diſtinction over, the muſhroom broth goes freely round; they laugh, talk double entendre, grow fuddled, and become excellent company. The poorer ſort, who love muſhroom broth to diſtraction as well as the rich, but cannot afford it at the firſt hand, poſt them⯑ſelves on theſe occaſions round the huts of the rich, and watch the opportunities of the ladies and gentle⯑men as they come down to paſs their liquor, and hold⯑ing a wooden bowl, catch the delicious fluid very little altered by filtration, being ſtill ſtrongly tinctured with the intoxicating quality. Of this they drink with the [140] utmoſt ſatisfaction, and thus they get as drunk and as jovial as their betters.

Happy nobility, cries my companion, who can fear no diminution of reſpect, unleſs by being ſeized with a ſtrangury; and who when moſt drunk are moſt uſe⯑ful; though we have not this cuſtom among us, I foreſee, that if it were introduced, we might have many a toad-eater in England ready to drink from the wooden bowl on theſe occaſions, and to praiſe the flavour of his lordſhip's liquor: As we have different claſſes of gentry, who knows but we might ſee a lord holding the bowl to a miniſter, a knight holding it to his lord⯑ſhip, and a ſimple 'ſquire drinking it doubled diſtilled from the loins of knighthood. For my part, I ſhall never for the future hear a great man's flatterers ha⯑ranguing in his praiſe, that I ſhall not fancy I behold the wooden bowl; for I can ſee no reaſon why a man who can live eaſily and happily at home, ſhould bear the drudgery of decorum and the impertinence of his entertainer, unleſs intoxicated with a paſſion for all that was quality; unleſs he thought that whatever came from the great was delicious, and had the tincture of the muſhroom in it.

Adieu.

LETTER. XXXII.
From the ſame.

I AM diſguſted, O Fum Hoam, even to ſickneſs diſ⯑guſted. Is it poſſible to bear the preſumption of thoſe iſlanders, when they pretend to inſtruct me in the ceremonies of China! They lay it down as a maxim, that every perſon who comes from thence muſt expreſs [141] himſelf in metaphor; ſwear by Alla, rail againſt wine, and behave, and talk and write like a Turk or Perſian. They make no diſtinction between our elegant manners, and the voluptuous barbarities of our eaſtern neigh⯑bours. Where-ever I come, I raiſe either diffidence or aſtoniſhment; ſome fancy me no Chineſe, becauſe I am formed more like a man than a monſter; and others wonder to find one born five thouſand miles from England endued with common ſenſe. Strange, ſay they, that a man who has received his education at ſuch a diſtance from London, ſhould have common ſenſe; to be born out of England and yet have com⯑mon ſenſe! impoſſible! He muſt be ſome Engliſhman in diſguiſe; his very viſage has nothing of the true ex⯑otic barbarity.

I yeſterday received an invitation from a lady of diſ⯑tinction, who it ſeems had collected all her knowledge of eaſtern manners from fictions every day propagated here, under the titles of eaſtern tales, and oriental hiſto⯑ries: ſhe received me very politely, but ſeemed to won⯑der that I neglected bringing opium and a tobacco-box; when chairs were drawn for the reſt of the company, I was aſſigned my place on a cuſhion on the floor. It was in vain that I proteſted the Chineſe uſed chairs as in Europe; ſhe underſtood decorums too well to enter⯑tain me with the ordinary civilities.

I had ſcarce been ſeated according to her directions, when the footman was ordered to pin a napkin under my chin; this I proteſted againſt, as being no way Chineſe; however, the whole company, who it ſeems were a club of connoiſſeurs, gave it unanimouſly againſt me, and the napkin was pinned accordingly.

[142] It was impoſſible to be angry with people, who ſeem⯑ed to err only from an exceſs of politeneſs, and I ſat contented, expecting their importunities were now at an end; but as ſoon as ever dinner was ſerved, the lady demanded whether I was for a plate of Bears claws, or a ſlice of Birds neſts? As theſe were diſhes with which I was utterly unacquainted, I was deſirous of eating only what I knew, and therefore begged to be helped from a piece of beef that lay on the ſide table: my requeſt at once diſconcerted the whole company. A Chineſe eat beef! that could never be! there was no local propriety in Chineſe beef, whatever there might be in Chineſe pheaſant. Sir, ſaid my entertainer, I think I have ſome reaſons to fancy myſelf a judge of theſe matters: in ſhort, the Chineſe never eat beef; ſo that I muſt be permitted to recommend the Pilaw, there was never better dreſſed at Pekin; the ſaffron and rice are well boiled, and the ſpices in perfection.

I had no ſooner begun to eat what was laid before me, than I found the whole company as much aſtoniſh⯑ed as before; it ſeems I made no uſe of my chop-ſticks. A grave gentleman, whom I take to be an author, ha⯑rangued very learnedly (as the company ſeemed to think) upon the uſe which was made of them in China: he entered into a long argument with himſelf about their firſt introduction, without once appealing to me, who might be ſuppoſed beſt capable of ſilencing the enquiry. As the gentleman therefore took my ſilence for a mark of his own ſuperior ſagacity, he was reſolved to purſue the triumph: he talked of our cities, moun⯑tains, and animals, as familiarly as if he had been born in Quamſi, but as erroneouſly as if a native of the moon; he attempted to prove that I had nothing of the true [143] Chineſe cut in my viſage; ſhewed that my cheek bones ſhould have been higher, and my forehead broader; in ſhort, he almoſt reaſoned me out of my country, and effectually perſuaded the reſt of the company to be of his opinion.

I was going to expoſe his miſtakes, when it was in⯑ſiſted that I had nothing of the true eaſtern manner in my delivery. This gentleman's converſation (ſays one of the ladies, who was a great reader) is like our own mere chit chat and common ſenſe; there is nothing like ſenſe in the true eaſtern ſtyle, where nothing more is required but ſublimity. Oh for an hiſtory of Aboul⯑faouris, the grand voyager, of genii, magicians, rocks, bags of bullets, giants, and enchanters, where all is great obſcure, magnificent, and unintelligible! I have written many a ſheet of eaſtern tale myſelf, interrupts the author, and I defy the ſevereſt critic to ſay but that I have ſtuck cloſe to the true manner. I have com⯑pared a lady's chin to the ſnow upon the mountains of Bomek; a ſoldier's ſword, to the clouds that obſcure the face of heaven. If riches are mentioned, I compare them to the flocks that graze the verdant Tefflis; if poverty, to the miſts that veil the brow of mount Baku. I have uſed thee and thou upon all occaſions, I have deſcribed fallen ſtars, and ſplitting mountains, not for⯑getting the little Houries who make a very pretty figure in every deſcription. But you ſhall hear how I generally begin. "Eben-ben-bolo, who was the ſon of Ban, was born on the foggy ſummits of Bender⯑abaſſi. His beard was whiter than the feathers which veil the breaſt of the Penguin; his eyes were like the eyes of doves, when waſhed by the dews of the morn⯑ing; his hair, which hung like the willow weeping over [144] the glaſſy ſtream, was ſo beautiful that it ſeemed to re⯑flect its own brightneſs; and his feet were as the feet of a wild deer which fleeth to the tops of the moun⯑tains." There, there is the true eaſtern taſte for you; every advance made towards ſenſe, is only a deviation from ſound. Eaſtern tales ſhould always be ſonorous, lofty, muſical and unmeaning.

I could not avoid ſmiling to hear a native of England attempt to inſtruct me in the true eaſtern idiom, and after he had looked round ſome time for applauſe, I preſumed to aſk him whether he had ever travelled into the eaſt; to which he replied in the negative: I demanded whether he underſtood Chineſe or Arabic, to which alſo he anſwered as before. Then how, Sir, ſaid I, can you pretend to determine upon the eaſtern ſtile, who are intirely unacquainted with the eaſtern writings? Take, Sir, the word of one who is pro⯑feſſedly a Chineſe, and who is actually acquainted with the Arabian writers, that what is palm'd upon you daily for an imitation of eaſtern writing, no ways re⯑ſembles their manner, either in ſentiment or diction. In the eaſt, ſimiles are ſeldom uſed, and metaphors al⯑moſt wholly unknown; but in China particularly, the very reverſe of what you allude to, takes place; a cool phlegmatic method of writing prevails there. The writers of that country, ever more aſſiduous to inſtruct than to pleaſe, addreſs rather the judgment than the fancy. Unlike many authors of Europe, who have no conſideration of the reader's time, they generally leave more to be underſtood than they expreſs.

Beſides, Sir, you muſt not expect from an inhabi⯑tant of China the ſame ignorance, the ſame unlettered [145] ſimplicity, that you find in a Turk, Perſian, or native of Peru. The Chineſe are verſed in the ſciences as well as you, and are maſters of ſeveral arts unknown to the people of Europe. Many of them are inſtructed not only in their own national learning, but are perfectly well acquainted with the languages and learning of the weſt. If my word in ſuch a caſe, is not to be taken, conſult your own travellers on this head, who affirm, that the ſcholars of Pekin and Siam ſuſtain theological theſes in Latin, The college of Maſprend, which is but a league from Siam (ſays one of your travellers^* )came in a body to ſalute our ambaſſador. Nothing gave me more ſincere pleaſure than to behold a number of prieſts venerable both from age and modeſty, followed by a number of youths of all nations, Chineſe, Japoneſe, Tonquineſe, of Cochin China, Pegu and Siam, all will⯑ing to pay their reſpects in the moſt polite manner ima⯑ginable. A Cochin Chineſe made an excellent Latin oration upon this occaſion: he was ſucceeded, and even out-done, by a ſtudent of Tonquin, who was as well ſkilled in the weſtern learning as any ſcholar of Paris. Now, Sir, if youths, who never ſtirred from home, are ſo perfectly ſkilled in your laws and learning, ſurely more muſt be expected from one like me, who have travelled ſo many thouſand miles, who have converſed familiarly for ſeveral years with the Engliſh factors eſtabliſhed at Canton, and the miſſionaries ſent us from every part of Europe. The unaffected of every country nearly reſemble each other, and a page of our Confucius and your Tillotſon have ſcarce any material [146] difference. Paltry affectation, ſtrained alluſions, and diſguſting finery, are eaſily attained by thoſe who chuſe to wear them; they are but too frequently the badges of ignorance, or of ſtupidity whenever it would endea⯑vour to pleaſe.

I was proceeding in my diſcourſe, when, looking round, I perceived the company no way attentive to what I attempted, with ſo much earneſtneſs to enforce. One lady was whiſpering her that ſat next, another was ſtudying the merits of a fan, a third began to yawn, and the author himſelf fell faſt aſleep: I thought it, therefore, high time to make a retreat, nor did the company ſeem to ſhew any regret at my preparations for departure; even the lady who had invited me, with the moſt mortifying inſenſibility, ſaw me ſeize my hat and riſe from my cuſhion; nor was I invited to repeat my viſit, becauſe it was found that I aimed at appearing rather a reaſonable creature, than an outlandiſh ideot.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXIII.
To the ſame.

THE polite arts are in this country ſubject to as many revolutions as its laws or politics; not only the objects of fancy and dreſs, but even of de⯑licacy and taſte, are directed by the capricious influence of faſhion. I am told there has been a time when poetry was univerſally encouraged by the great, when men of the firſt rank not only patronized the poet, but produced the fineſt models for his imitation; it was [147] then that the Engliſh ſent forth thoſe glowing rhapſo⯑dies, which we have ſo often read over together with rapture; poems big with all the ſublimity of Mentius, and ſupported by reaſoning as ſtrong as that of Zimpo.

The nobility are ever fond of wiſdom, but they alſo are fond of having it without ſtudy; to read poetry required thought, and the Engliſh nobility were not fond of thinking; they ſoon therefore placed their affections upon muſic, becauſe in this they might in⯑dulge an happy vacancy, and yet ſtill have pretenſions to delicacy and taſte as before. They ſoon brought their numerous dependents into an approbation of their pleaſures; who in turn led their thouſand imitators to feel or feign a ſimilitude of paſſion. Colonies of ſingers were now imported from abroad at a vaſt expence, and it was expected the Engliſh would ſoon be able to ſet examples to Europe; all theſe expectations how⯑ever were ſoon diſſipated; in ſpite of the zeal which fired the great, the ignorant vulgar refuſed to be taught to ſing; and refuſed to undergo the ceremonies which were to initiate them in the ſinging fraternity; thus the colony from abroad dwindled by degrees; for they were of themſelves unfortunately incapable of propagating the breed.

Muſic having thus loſt its ſplendour, Painting is now become the ſole object of faſhionable care; the title of connoiſſeur in that art is at preſent the ſafeſt paſſ⯑port into every faſhionable ſociety; a well timed ſhrug, an admiring attitude, and one or two exotic tones of exclamation are ſufficient qualifications for men of low circumſtances to curry favour; even ſome of the [148] young nobility are themſelves early inſtructed in hand⯑ling the pencil, while their happy parents, big with expectation, foreſee the walls of every apartment co⯑vered with the manufactures of their poſterity.

But many of the Engliſh are not content with giv⯑ing all their time to this art at home; ſome young men of diſtinction are found to travel through Europe with no other intent than that of underſtanding, and collecting pictures, ſtudying ſeals, and deſcribing ſta⯑tues; on they travel from this cabinet of curioſities to that gallery of pictures, waſte the prime of life in wonder, ſkilful in pictures, ignorant in men; yet im⯑poſſible to be reclaimed, becauſe their follies take ſhelter under the names of delicacy and taſte.

It is true, Painting ſhould have due encourage⯑ment; as the painter can undoubtedly fit up our apartments in a much more elegant manner than the upholſterer; but I ſhould think a man of faſhion makes but an indifferent exchange, who lays out all that time in furniſhing his houſe which he ſhould have employed in the furniture of his head; a perſon who ſhews no other ſymptoms of taſte than his cabinet or gallery, might as well boaſt to me of the furniture of his kitchen.

I know no other motive but vanity that induces the great to teſtify ſuch an inordinate paſſion for pic⯑tures; after the piece is bought, and gazed at eight or ten days ſucceſſively, the purchaſer's pleaſure muſt ſurely be over; all the ſatisfaction he can then have, is to ſhew it to others; he may be conſidered as the guardian of a treaſure of which he makes no manner of uſe; his gallery is furniſhed not for himſelf, but the [149] connoiſſeur, who is generally ſome humble flatterer, ready to feign a rapture he does not feel; and as ne⯑ceſſary to the happineſs of a picture-buyer, as gazers are to the magnificence of an Aſiatic proceſſion.

I have encloſed a letter from a youth of diſtinction, on his travels, to his father in England; in which he appears addicted to no vice, ſeems obedient to his governor, of a good natural diſpoſition, and fond of improvement; but at the ſame time early taught to regard cabinets and galleries as the only proper ſchools of improvement, and to conſider a ſkill in pictures as the propereſt knowledge for a man of quality.

LETTER XXXIV.
From Hingpo, a ſlave in Perſia, to Altangi, a travel⯑ling philoſopher of China, by the way of Moſcow.

FORTUNE has made me the ſlave of another, but nature and inclination render me entirely ſub⯑ſervient to you; a tyrant commands my body, but you are maſter of my heart. And yet let not thy inflexible nature condemn me when I confeſs that I find my ſoul [150] [...] [151] [...] [152] ſhrink with my circumſtances. I feel my mind not leſs than my body, bend beneath the rigours of ſervi⯑tude; the maſter whom I ſerve grows every day more formidable. In ſpite of reaſon which ſhould teach me to deſpiſe him, his hideous image fills even my dreams with horror.

A few days ago a chriſtian ſlave, who wrought in the gardens, happening to enter an arbour where the tyrant was entertaining the ladies of his Haram with coffee, the unhappy captive was inſtantly ſtabbed to the heart for his intruſion. I have been preferred to his place, which though leſs laborious than my former ſtation, is yet more ungrateful, as it brings me nearer him whoſe preſence excites ſenſations at once of diſguſt and apprehenſion.

Into what a ſtate of miſery are the modern Perſians fallen! A nation once famous for ſetting the world an example of freedom, is now become a land of tyrants, and a den of ſlaves. The houſeleſs Tartar of Kam⯑katſha, who enjoys his herbs and his fiſh in unmoleſted freedom, may be envied, if compared to the thouſands who pine here in hopeleſs ſervitude, and curſe the day that gave them being. Is this juſt dealing, heaven! to render millions wretched to ſwell up the happineſs of a few; cannot the powerful of this earth be happy without our ſighs and tears; muſt every luxury of the great be woven from the calamities of the poor! It muſt, it muſt ſurely be, that this jarring diſcordant life is but the prelude to ſome future harmony; the ſouls attuned to virtue here, ſhall go from hence to fill up the univerſal choir where Tien preſides in per⯑ſon; where there ſhall be no tyrants to frown, no [153] ſhackles to bind, nor no whips to threaten; where I ſhall once more meet my father with rapture, and give a looſe to filial piety; where I ſhall hang on his neck, and hear the wiſdom of his lips, and thank him for all the happineſs to which he has introduced me.

The wretch whom fortune has made my maſter, has lately purchaſed ſeveral ſlaves of both ſexes; among the reſt I hear a chriſtian captive talked of with admi⯑ration. The eunuch who bought her, and who is accuſtomed to ſurvey beauty with indifference, ſpeaks of her with emotion! Her pride, however, aſtoniſhes her attendant ſlaves not leſs than her beauty; it is re⯑ported that ſhe refuſes the warmeſt ſolicitations of her haughty lord; he has even offered to make her one of his four wives upon changing her religion, and con⯑forming to his. It is probable ſhe cannot refuſe ſuch extraordinary offers, and her delay is perhaps intended to enhance her favours.

I have juſt now ſeen her, ſhe inadvertently approach⯑ed the place without a veil, where I ſat waiting. She ſeemed to regard the heavens alone with fixed atten⯑tion; there her moſt ardent gaze was directed. Genius of the ſun! what unexpected ſoftneſs! what animated grace! her beauty ſeemed the tranſparent covering of virtue. Celeſtial beings could not wear a look of more perfection, while ſorrow humanized her form, and mixed my admiration with pity. I roſe from the bank on which I ſat, and ſhe retired; happy that none obſerved us, for ſuch an interview might have been fatal.

[154] I have regarded, till now, the opulence and the power of my tyrant, without envy; I ſaw him with a mind incapable of enjoying the gifts of fortune, and conſequently regarded him as one loaded, rather than enriched with its favours. But at preſent, when I think that ſo much beauty is reſerved only for him, that ſo many charms ſhall be laviſhed on a wretch in⯑capable of feeling the greatneſs of the bleſſing, I own I feel a reluctance to which I have hitherto been a ſtranger.

But let not my father impute theſe uneaſy ſenſations to ſo trifling a cauſe as love. No, never let it be thought that your ſon, and the pupil of the wiſe Fum Hoam could ſtoop to ſo degrading a paſſion. I am only diſpleaſed at ſeeing ſo much excellence ſo unjuſtly diſpoſed of.

The uneaſineſs which I feel is not for myſelf, but for the beautiful chriſtian. When I reflect on the bar⯑barity of him for whom ſhe is deſigned, I pity, indeed I pity her. When I think that ſhe muſt only ſhare one heart, who deſerves to command a thouſand, ex⯑cuſe me, if I feel an emotion, which univerſal bene⯑volence extorts from me. As I am convinced, that you take a pleaſure in thoſe ſallies of humanity, and are particularly pleaſed with compaſſion, I could not avoid diſcovering the ſenſibility with which I felt this beautiful ſtranger's diſtreſs. I have for a while forgot in hers, the miſeries of my own hopeleſs ſituation. Our tyrant grows every day more ſevere, and love which ſoftens all other minds into tenderneſs, ſeems only to have encreaſed his ſeverity.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXV.
From the ſame.

THE whole Haram is filled with a tumultuous joy; Zelis, the beautiful captive, has conſented to embrace the religion of Mahomet, and become one of the wives of the faſtidious Perſian. It is impoſſible to deſcribe the tranſport that ſits on every face on this occaſion. Muſic and feaſting fill every apartment, the moſt miſerable ſlave ſeems to forget his chains, and ſympathizes with the happineſs of Moſtadad. The herb we tread beneath our feet is not made more for our uſe, than every ſlave around him for their impe⯑rious maſter; mere machines of obedience they wait with ſilent aſſiduity, feel his pains, and rejoice in his exultation. Heavens! how much is requiſite to make one man happy!

Twelve of the moſt beautiful ſlaves, and I among the number, have got orders to prepare for carrying him in triumph to the bridal apartment. The blaze of perfumed torches are to imitate the day; the dancers and ſingers are hired at a vaſt expenſe. The nuptials are to be celebrated on the approaching feaſt of Bar⯑boura, when an hundred taels in gold are to be diſtri⯑buted among the barren wives, in order to pray for fertility from the approaching union.

What will not riches procure! an hundred domeſ⯑tics, who curſe the tyrant in their ſouls, are commanded to wear a face of joy, and they are joyful. An hun⯑dred flatterers are ordered to attend, and they fill his ears with praiſe. Beauty, all commanding beauty, ſues [156] for admittance, and ſcarcely receives an anſwer; even love itſelf ſeems to wait upon fortune, or though the paſſion be only feigned, yet it wears every appearance of ſincerity; and what greater pleaſure can even true ſincerity confer, or what would the rich have more?

Nothing can exceed the intended magnificence of the bridegroom, but the coſtly dreſſes of the bride, ſix eunuchs in the moſt ſumptuous habits are to conduct him to the nuptial couch, and wait his orders. Six ladies, in all the magnificence of Perſia, are directed to undreſs the bride. Their buſineſs is to aſſiſt, to encou⯑rage her, to diveſt her of every encumbering part of her dreſs, all but the laſt covering, which, by an artful complication of ribbons, is purpoſely made difficult to unlooſe, and with which ſhe is to part reluctantly even to the joyful poſſeſſor of her beauty.

Moſtadad, O my father, is no philoſopher; and yet he ſeems perfectly contented with his ignorance. Poſ⯑ſeſſed of numberleſs ſlaves, camels, and women, he deſires no greater poſſeſſion. He never opened the page of Mentius, and yet all the ſlaves tell me that he is happy.

Forgive the weakneſs of my nature, if I ſometimes feel my heart rebellious to the dictates of wiſdom, and eager for happineſs like his. Yet why wiſh for his wealth with his ignorance; to be like him, incapable of ſentimental pleaſures, incapable of feeling the hap⯑pineſs of making others happy, incapable of teaching the beautiful Zelis philoſophy.

What, ſhall I in a tranſport of paſſion give up the [157] golden mean, the univerſal harmony, the unchanging eſſence, for the poſſeſſion of an hundred camels, as many ſlaves, thirty-five beautiful horſes, and ſeventy⯑three fine women: firſt blaſt me to the centre! De⯑grade me beneath the moſt degraded! Pare my nails, ye powers of heaven! ere I would ſtoop to ſuch an exchange. What, part with philoſophy, which teaches me to ſuppreſs my paſſions inſtead of gratifying them, which teaches me even to diveſt my ſoul of paſſion, which teaches ſerenity in the midſt of tortures; philo⯑ſophy, by which even now I am ſo very ſerene, and ſo very much at eaſe, to be perſuaded to part with it for any other enjoyment! Never, never, even though per⯑ſuaſion ſpoke in the accents of Zelis!

A female ſlave informs me that the bride is to be arrayed in a tiſſue of ſilver, and her hair adorned with the largeſt pearls of Ormus; but why teize you with particulars, in which we both are ſo little concerned; the pain I feel in ſeparation throws a gloom over my mind, which in this ſcene of univerſal joy I fear may be attributed to ſome other cauſe; how wretched are thoſe who are like me, denied even the laſt reſource of miſery, their tears.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXVI.
From the ſame.

I Begin to have doubts whether wiſdom be alone ſuf⯑ficient to make us happy. Whether every ſtep we make in refinement is not an inlet into new diſquie⯑tudes. A mind too vigorous and active, ſerves only to [158] conſume the body to which it is joined, as the richeſt jewels are ſooneſt found to wear their ſettings.

When we riſe in knowledge as the proſpect widens, the objects of our regard become more obſcure, and the unlettered peaſant, whoſe views are only directed to the narrow ſphere around him, beholds nature with a finer reliſh, and taſtes her bleſſings with a keener appetite than the philoſopher, whoſe mind attempts to graſp an univerſal ſyſtem.

As I was ſome days ago purſuing this ſubject among a circle of my fellow ſlaves, an ancient Guebre of the number, equally remarkable for his piety and wiſdom, ſeemed touched with my converſation, and deſired to il⯑luſtrate what I had been ſaying with an allegory taken from the Zendaveſta of Zoroaſter; by this we ſhall be taught, ſays he, that they who travel in purſuit of wiſ⯑dom, walk only in a circle; and after all their labour, at laſt return to their priſtine ignorance; and in this alſo we ſhall ſee that enthuſiaſtic confidence, or unſa⯑tisfying doubts terminate all our enquiries.

In early times, before myriads of nations covered the earth, the whole human race lived together in one val⯑ley. The ſimple inhabitants, ſurrounded on every ſide by lofty mountains, knew no other world but the little ſpot to which they were confined. They fancied the heavens bent down to meet the mountain tops, and formed an impenetrable wall to ſurround them. None had ever yet ventured to climb the ſteepy cliff, in or⯑der to explore thoſe regions that lay beyond it; they knew the nature of the ſkies only from a tradition, which mentioned their being made of adamant; tradi⯑tions make up the reaſonings of the ſimple, and ſerve to ſilence every enquiry.

[159] In this ſequeſtered vale, bleſs'd with all the ſponta⯑neous productions of nature, the honey'd bloſſom, the refreſhing breeze, the gliding brook, and golden fruitage, the ſimple inhabitants ſeemed happy in themſelves, in each other; they deſired no greater pleaſures, for they knew of none greater; ambition, pride and envy, were vices unknown among them; and from this peculiar ſimplicity of its poſſeſſors, the country was called the valley of ignorance.

At length, however, an unhappy youth more aſpir⯑ring than the reſt undertook to climb the mountain's ſide, and examine the ſummits which were hitherto deemed inacceſſible. The inhabitants from below, gazed with wonder at his intrepidity, ſome applauded his courage, others cenſured his folly, ſtill however he proceeded towards the place where the earth and hea⯑vens ſeemed to unite, and at length arrived at the wiſh'd for height with extreme labour and aſſiduity.

His firſt ſurprize was to find the ſkies, not as he ex⯑pected within his reach, but ſtill as far off as before; his amazement encreaſed when he ſaw a wide extended region lying on the oppoſite ſide of the mountain, but it roſe to aſtoniſhment when he beheld a country at a diſtance, more beautiful and alluring than even that he had juſt left behind.

As he continued to gaze with wonder, a genius, with a look of infinite modeſty, approaching, offered to be his guide and inſtructor. The diſtant country which you ſo much admire, ſays the Angelic being, is called the Land of Certainty, in that charming retreat, ſenti⯑ment contributes to refine every ſenſual banquet; the inhabitants are bleſſed with every ſolid enjoyment, and [160] ſtill more bleſſed in a perfect conſciouſneſs of their own felicity: ignorance in that country is wholly unknown, all there is ſatisfaction without allay, for every plea⯑ſure firſt undergoes the examination of reaſon. As for me I am called the genius of Demonſtration, and am ſtationed here in order to conduct every adventurer to that land of happineſs thro' thoſe intervening regions you ſee over-hung with fogs and darkneſs, and horrid with foreſts, cataracts, caverns, and various other ſhapes of danger. But follow me, and in time I may lead you to that diſtant deſirable land of tranquillity.

The intrepid traveller immediately put himſelf under the direction of the genius, and both journeying on to⯑gether with a ſlow but agreeable pace, deceived the tediouſneſs of the way by converſation. The begin⯑ning of the journey ſeemed to promiſe true ſatisfaction, but as they proceeded forward, the ſkies became more gloomy and the way more intricate, they often inad⯑vertently approached the brow of ſome frightful pre⯑cipice, or the brink of a torrent, and were obliged to meaſure back their former way; the gloom encreaſing as they proceeded, their pace became more ſlow; they pauſed at every ſtep, frequently ſtumbled, and their diſtruſt and timidity encreaſed. The genius of Demon⯑ſtration, now, therefore adviſed his pupil to grope upon hands and feet, as a method though more ſlow, yet leſs liable to error.

In this manner they attempted to purſue their jour⯑ney for ſome time, when they were overtaken by ano⯑ther genius, who, with a precipitate pace ſeem'd tra⯑velling the ſame way. He was inſtantly known by the other to be the genius of Probability. He wore two [161] wide extended wings at his back, which inceſſantly waved, without increaſing the rapidity of his motion; his countenance betrayed a confidence that the igno⯑rant might miſtake for ſincerity, and he had but one eye, which was fixed in the middle of his forehead.

Servant of Hormizda, cried he, approaching the mortal pilgrim, if thou art travelling to the Land of Certainty, how is it poſſible to arrive there under the guidance of a genius, who proceeds forward ſo ſlowly, and is ſo little acquainted with the way; follow me, we ſhall ſoon perform the journey to where every plea⯑ſure awaits our arrival.

The peremptory tone in which this genius ſpoke, and the ſpeed with which he moved forward, induced the traveller to change his conductor, and leaving his modeſt companion behind, he proceeded forward with his more confident director, ſeeming not a little pleaſed at the encreaſed velocity of his motion.

But ſoon he found reaſons to repent. Whenever a torrent croſſed their way, his guide taught him to de⯑ſpiſe the obſtacle by plunging him in; whenever a pre⯑cipice preſented, he was directed to fling himſelf for⯑ward. Thus each moment miraculouſly eſcaping; his repeated eſcapes only ſerved to encreaſe his guide's temerity. He led him therefore forward, amidſt infi⯑nite difficulties, till they arrived at the borders of an ocean which appeared unnavigable from the black miſts that lay upon its ſurface. It's unquiet waves were of the darkeſt hue, and gave a lively repreſentation of the various agitations of the human mind.

[162] The genius of Probability now confeſſed his teme⯑rity, own'd his being an improper guide to the Land of Certainty, a country where no mortal had ever been permitted to arrive; but at the ſame time offered to ſupply the traveller with another conductor, who ſhould carry him to the Land of Confidence, a region where the inhabitants lived with the utmoſt tranquil⯑lity, and taſted almoſt as much ſatisfaction as if in the Land of Certainty. Not waiting for a reply, he ſtamp'd three times on the ground, and called forth the Daemon of Error, a gloomy fiend of the ſervants of Arimanes. The yawning earth gave up the reluctant ſavage, who ſeemed unable to bear the light of the day. His ſtature was enormous, his colour black and hideous, his aſpect betrayed a thouſand varying paſſi⯑ons, and he ſpread forth pinions that were fitted for the moſt rapid flight. The traveller at firſt was ſhock⯑ed at the ſpectre; but finding him obedient to ſupe⯑rior power, he aſſumed his former tranquillity.

I have called you to duty, cries the genius to the daemon, to bear on your back a ſon of mortality over the Ocean of Doubts into the Land of Confidence: I ex⯑pect you'll perform your commiſſion with punctuality. And as for you, continued the genius, addreſſing the traveller, when once I have bound this fillet round your eyes, let no voice of perſuaſion, nor threats the moſt terrifying, perſuade you to unbind it in order to look round; keep the fillet faſt, look not at the ocean below, and you may certainly expect to arrive at a re⯑gion of pleaſure.

Thus ſaying, and the traveller's eyes being covered, the daemon muttering curſes, raiſed him on his back, [163] and inſtantly up-borne by his ſtrong pinions, directed his flight among the clouds. Neither the loudeſt thun⯑der, nor the moſt angry tempeſt, could perſuade the traveller to unbind his eyes. The daemon directed his flight downwards, and ſkimmed the ſurface of the ocean; a thouſand voices, ſome with loud invective, others in the ſarcaſtic tones of contempt, vainly endea⯑voured to perſuade him to look round; but he ſtill continued to keep his eyes covered, and would in all probability have arrived at the happy land, had not flattery effected what other means could not perform. For now he heard himſelf welcomed on every ſide to the promiſed land, and an univerſal ſhout of joy was ſent forth at his ſafe arrival; the wearied traveller, de⯑ſirous of ſeeing the long wiſhed-for country, at length pulled the fillet from his eyes, and ventured to look round him. But he had unlooſed the band too ſoon; he was not yet above half way over. The daemon, who was ſtill hovering in the air, and had produced thoſe ſounds only in order to deceive, was now freed from his commiſſion; wherefore throwing the aſto⯑niſhed traveller from his back, the unhappy youth fell headlong into the ſubjacent Ocean of Doubts, from whence he never after was ſeen to riſe.

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

WHEN Parmenio, the Grecian, had done ſomething which excited an univerſal ſhout [164] from the ſurrounding multitude, he was inſtantly ſtruck with the doubt, that what had their approba⯑tion muſt certainly be wrong; and turning to a philo⯑ſopher who ſtood near him, Pray ſir, ſays he, pardon me; I fear I have been guilty of ſome abſurdity.

You know that I am not leſs than him a deſpiſer of the multitude; you know that I equally deteſt flattery to the great; yet ſo many circumſtances have concur⯑red to give a luſtre to the latter part of the preſent Eng⯑liſh monarch's reign, that I cannot withhold my con⯑tribution of praiſe; I cannot avoid the acknowledging the crowd for once juſt, in their unanimous approba⯑tion.

Yet think not that battles gained, dominion ex⯑tended, or enemies brought to ſubmiſſion, are the vir⯑tues which at preſent claim my admiration. Were the reigning monarch only famous for his victories, I ſhould regard his character with indifference; the boaſt of heroiſm in this enlightened age is juſtly re⯑garded as a qualification of a very ſubordinate rank, and mankind now begin to look with becoming horror on theſe foes to man; the virtue in this aged monarch which I have at preſent in view, is one of a much more exalted nature, is one of the moſt difficult of at⯑tainment, is the leaſt praiſed of all kingly virtues, and yet deſerves the greateſt praiſe; the virtue I mean is JUSTICE; a ſtrict adminiſtration of juſtice, without ſeverity and without favour.

Of all virtues this is the moſt difficult to be practiſed by a king who has a power to pardon. All men, even [165] tyrants themſelves, lean to mercy when unbiaſſed by paſſions or intereſt, the heart naturally perſuades to forgiveneſs, and purſuing the dictates of this pleaſing deceiver, we are led to prefer our private ſatisfaction to public utility; what a thorough love for the public, what a ſtrong command over the paſſions, what a fine⯑ly conducted judgment muſt he poſſeſs who oppoſes the dictates of reaſon to thoſe of his heart, and prefers the future intereſt of his people to his own immediate ſatisfaction.

If ſtill to a man's own natural biaſs for tenderneſs, we add the numerous ſolicitations made by a criminal's friends for mercy; if we ſurvey a king not only oppo⯑ſing his own feelings, but reluctantly refuſing thoſe he regards, and this to ſatisfy the public, whoſe cries he may never hear, whoſe gratitude he may never receive, this ſurely is true greatneſs! Let us fancy ourſelves for a moment in this juſt old man's place, ſurrounded by numbers, all ſoliciting the ſame favour, a favour that nature diſpoſes us to grant, where the inducements to pity are laid before us in the ſtrongeſt light, ſuppliants at our feet, ſome ready to reſent a refuſal, none oppo⯑ſing a compliance; let us, I ſay, ſuppoſe ourſelves in ſuch a ſituation, and I fancy we ſhould find ourſelves more apt to act the character of good natured men than of upright magiſtrates.

What contributes to raiſe juſtice above all other kingly virtues is, that it is ſeldom attended with a due ſhare of applauſe, and thoſe who practiſe it muſt be in⯑fluenced by greater motives than empty fame; the people are generally well pleaſed with a remiſſion of puniſhment, and all that wears the appearance of hu⯑manity; [166] it is the wiſe alone who are capable of diſ⯑cerning that impartial juſtice is the trueſt mercy: they know it to be difficult very difficult, at once to compaſ⯑ſionate, and yet condemn an object that pleads for ten⯑derneſs.

I have been led into this common-place train of thought by a late ſtriking inſtance in this country of the impartiality of juſtice, and of the king's inflexible reſo⯑lution of inflicting puniſhment where it was juſtly due. A man of the firſt quality in a fit either of paſſion, me⯑lancholy, or madneſs, murdered his ſervant; it was ex⯑pected that his ſtation in life would have leſſened the ignominy of his puniſhment; however, he was arraign⯑ed, condemned, and underwent the ſame degrading death with the meaneſt malefactor. It was well con⯑ſidered that virtue alone is true nobility; and that he whoſe actions ſink him even beneath the vulgar, has no right to thoſe diſtinctions which ſhould be the re⯑wards only of merit; it was perhaps conſidered that crimes were more heinous among the higher claſſes of people, as neceſſity expoſes them to fewer temptations.

Over all the eaſt, even China not excepted, a per⯑ſon of the ſame quality guilty of ſuch a crime, might, by giving up a ſhare of his fortune to the judge, buy off his ſentence; there are ſeveral countries even in Europe, where the ſervant is entirely the property of his maſter; if a ſlave kills his lord, he dies by the moſt excruciating tortures; but if the circumſtances are re⯑verſed, a ſmall fine buys off the puniſhment of the of⯑fender. Happy the country where all are equal, and where thoſe who ſit as judges have too much integrity to receive a bribe, and too much honour to pity from a [167] ſimilitude of the priſoner's title or circumſtances with their own. Such is England; yet think not that it was always equally famed for this ſtrict impartiality. There was a time even here when titles ſoftned the ri⯑gours of the law, when dignified wretches were ſuffer⯑ed to live, and continue for years an equal diſgrace to juſtice and nobility.

To this day in a neighbouring country, the great are often moſt ſcandalouſly pardoned for the moſt ſcan⯑dalous offences. A perſon is ſtill alive among them who has more than once deſerved the moſt ignomini⯑ous ſeverity of juſtice. His being of the blood royal, however, was thought a ſufficient atonement for his being a diſgrace to humanity. This remarkable per⯑ſonage took pleaſure in ſhooting at the paſſengers be⯑low, from the top of his palace; and in this moſt princely amuſement he uſually ſpent ſome time every day. He was at length arraigned by the friends of a perſon whom in this manner he had killed, was found guilty of the charge, and condemned to die. His merciful monarch pardoned him in conſideration of his rank and quality. The unrepenting criminal ſoon af⯑ter renewed his uſual entertainment, and in the ſame manner killed another man. He was a ſecond time condemned; and ſtrange to think, a ſecond time re⯑ceived his majeſty's pardon! Would you believe it? A third time the very ſame man was guilty of the very ſame offence; a third time therefore the laws of his country found him guilty—I wiſh for the honour of humanity I could ſuppreſs the reſt!—A third time he was pardoned! Will you not think ſuch a ſtory too extraordinary for belief, will you not think me deſcrib⯑ng the ſavage inhabitants of Congo; alas, the ſtory is [168] but too true, and the country where it was tranſacted, regards itſelf as the politeſt in Europe!

Adieu.

LETTER XXXVIII.
From Lien Cbi Altangi to ***, Merchant in Amſter⯑dam.

CEremonies are different in every country, but true politeneſs is every where the ſame. Ceremonies, which take up ſo much of our attention, are only arti⯑ficial helps which ignorance aſſumes, in order to imi⯑tate politeneſs, which is the reſult of good ſenſe and good-nature. A perſon poſſeſſed of thoſe qualities, though he had never ſeen a court, is truly agreeable; and if without them, would continue a clown, though he had been all his life a gentleman uſher.

How would a Chineſe, bred up in the formalities of an eaſtern court, be regarded, ſhould he carry all his good manners beyond the Great Wall? How would an Engliſhman, ſkilled in all the decorums of weſtern good breeding, appear at an eaſtern entertainment? Would he not be reckoned more fantaſtically ſavage than even his unbred footman!

Ceremony reſembles that baſe coin which circulates through a country by the royal mandate; it ſerves eve⯑ry purpoſe of real money at home, but is entirely uſe⯑leſs if carried abroad; a perſon who ſhould attempt to circulate his native traſh in another country, would be thought either ridiculous or culpable. He is truly well [169] bred who knows when to value and when to deſpiſe thoſe national peculiarities which are regarded by ſome with ſo much obſervance, a traveller of taſte at once perceives that the wiſe are polite all the world over; but that fools are polite only at home.

I have now before me two very faſhionable letters upon the ſame ſubject, both written by ladies of diſ⯑tinction; one of whom leads the faſhion in England, and the other ſets the ceremonies of China: they are both regarded in their reſpective countries by all the beau-monde, as ſtandards of taſte, and models of true politeneſs, and both give us a true idea of what they imagine elegant in their admirers; which of them un⯑derſtands true politeneſs, or whether either, you ſhall be at liberty to determine: the Engliſh lady writes thus to her female confidant.

The Chineſe lady addreſſes her confidant, a poor relation of the family, upon the ſame occaſion; in which ſhe ſeems to underſtand decorums even better than the weſtern beauty. You who have reſided ſo long in China will readily acknowledge the picture to be taken from nature; and, by being acquainted with the Chineſe cuſtoms, will better apprehend the lady's meaning.

LETTER XXXIX.
From the ſame.

YOU have always teſtified the higheſt eſteem for the Engliſh poets, and thought them not inferior to the Greeks, Romans, or even the Chineſe in the art. But it is now thought even by the Engliſh them⯑ſelves that the race of their poets is extinct, every day produces ſome pathetic exclamation upon the deca⯑dence of taſte and genius. Pegaſus, ſay they, has ſlipped the bridle from his mouth, and our modern bards attempt to direct his flight by catching him by the tail.

[174] Yet, my friend, it is only among the ignorant that ſuch diſcourſes prevail, men of true diſcernment can ſee ſeveral poets ſtill among the Engliſh, ſome of whom equal if not ſurpaſs their predeceſſors. The ignorant term that alone poetry which is couched in a certain number of ſyllables in every line, where a vapid thought is drawn out into a number of verſes of equal length, and perhaps pointed with rhymes at the end. But glowing ſentiment, ſtriking imagery, conciſe expreſſion, natural deſcription, and modulated periods are full ſufficient entirely to fill up my idea of this art, and make way to every paſſion.

If my idea of poetry therefore be juſt, the Engliſh are not at preſent ſo deſtitute of poetical merit as they ſeem to imagine. I can ſee ſeveral poets in diſguiſe among them; men furniſhed with that ſtrength of ſoul, ſublimity of ſentiment, and grandeur of expreſſion, which conſtitutes the character. Many of the writers of their modern odes, ſonnets, tragedies or rebuſſes, it is true, deſerve not the name, though they have done nothing but clink rhymes and meaſure ſyllables for years together: their Johnſons and Smollets are truly poets; though for aught I know they never made a ſingle verſe in their whole lives.

In every incipient language the poet and the proſe writer are very diſtinct in their qualifications; the poet ever proceeds firſt, treading unbeaten paths, en⯑riching his native funds, and employed in new adven⯑tures. The other follows with more cautious ſteps, and though ſlow in his motions, treaſures up every uſeful or pleaſing diſcovery. But when once all the extent and force of the language is known, the poet [175] then ſeems to reſt from his labour, and is at length overtaken by his aſſiduous purſuer. Both characters are then blended into one, the hiſtorian and orator catch all the poet's fire, and leave him no real mark of diſ⯑tinction except the iteration of numbers regularly returning. Thus in the decline of ancient European learning, Seneca, though he wrote in proſe, is as much a poet as Lucan, and Longinus, though but a critic, more ſublime than Apollonius.

From this then it appears that poetry is not diſcon⯑tinued, but altered among the Engliſh at preſent; the outward form ſeems different from what it was, but poetry ſtill continues internally the ſame; the only queſtion remains whether the metric feet uſed by the good writers of the laſt age, or the proſaic numbers employed by the good writers of this, be preferable. And here the practice of the laſt age appears to me ſuperior; they ſubmitted to the reſtraint of numbers and ſimilar ſounds; and this reſtraint, inſtead of dimi⯑niſhing, augmented the force of their ſentiment and ſtile. Fancy reſtrained may be compared to a fountain which plays higheſt by diminiſhing the aperture. Of the truth of this maxim in every language, every fine writer is perfectly ſenſible from his own experience, and yet to explain the reaſon would be perhaps as difficult as to make a frigid genius profit by the diſ⯑covery.

There is ſtill another reaſon in favour of the practice of the laſt age, to be drawn from the variety of modu⯑lation. The muſical period in proſe is confined to a very few changes, the numbers in verſe are capable of infinite variation. I ſpeak not now from the prac⯑tice [176] of modern verſe writers, few of whom have any idea of muſical variety, but run on in the ſame mo⯑notonous flow through the whole poem; but rather from the example of their former poets, who were to⯑lerable maſters of this variety, and alſo from a capacity in the language of ſtill admitting various unanticipated muſic.

Several rules have been drawn up for varying the poetic meaſure, and critics have elaborately talked of accents and ſyllables, but good ſenſe and a fine ear which rules can never teach, are what alone can in ſuch a caſe determine. The rapturous flowings of joy, or the interruptions of indignation, require accents placed entirely different, and a ſtructure conſonant to the emo⯑tions they would expreſs. Changing paſſions, and numbers changing with thoſe paſſions make the whole ſecret of weſtern as well as eaſtern poetry. In a word, the great faults of the modern profeſſed Engliſh poets are, that they ſeem to want numbers which ſhould vary with the paſſion, and are more employed in de⯑ſcribing to the imagination than ſtriking at the heart.

Adieu.

LETTER XL.
To the ſame.

SOME time ſince I ſent thee, oh holy diſciple of Confucius, an account of the grand abbey or mauſoleum of the kings and heroes of this nation. I have ſince been introduced to a temple not ſo antient, but far ſuperior in beauty and magnificence. In this, [177] which is the moſt conſiderable of the empire, there are no pompous inſcriptions, no flattery paid the dead, but all is elegant and awfully ſimple. There are however a few rags hung round the walls, which have at a vaſt expence been taken from the enemy in the preſent war. The ſilk of which they are compoſed when new, might be valued at half a ſtring of copper money in China; yet this wiſe people fitted out a fleet and an army in order to ſeize them; though now grown old, and ſcarce capable of being patched up into a handkerchief. By this conqueſt the Engliſh are ſaid to have gained, and the French to have loſt much honour. Is the honour of European nations placed only in tattered ſilk?

In this temple I was permitted to remain during the whole ſervice; and were you not already acquainted with the religion of the Engliſh, you might, from my deſcription, be inclined to believe them as groſly ido⯑latrous as the diſciples of Lao. The idol which they ſeem to addreſs, ſtrikes like a coloſſus over the door of the inner temple, which here, as with the Jews, is eſteemed the moſt ſacred part of the building. Its oracles are delivered in an hundred various tones, which ſeem to inſpire the worſhippers with enthuſiaſm and awe: an old woman who appeared to be the prieſteſs, was employed in various attitudes, as ſhe felt the inſpiration. When it began to ſpeak, all the peo⯑ple remained fixed in ſilent attention, nodding aſſent, looking approbation, appearing highly edified by thoſe ſounds, which to a ſtranger might ſeem inarticulate and unmeaning.

[178] When the idol had done ſpeaking, and the prieſteſs had locked up its lungs with a key, obſerving almoſt all the company leaving the temple, I concluded the ſervice was over, and taking my hat, was going to walk away with the crowd, when I was ſtopt by the man in black, who aſſured me that the ceremony had ſcarcely yet begun! What, cried I, do I not ſee almoſt the whole body of the worſhippers leaving the church? Would you perſuade me that ſuch numbers who pro⯑feſs religion and morality, would in this ſhameleſs manner quit the temple before the ſervice was con⯑cluded? you ſurely miſtake; not even the Kalmouks would be guilty of ſuch an indecency, though all the object of their worſhip was but a joint ſtool. My friend ſeemed to bluſh for his countrymen, aſſuring me that thoſe whom I ſaw running away, were only a par⯑cel of muſical blockheads, whoſe paſſion was merely for ſounds, and whoſe heads were as empty as a fiddle caſe; thoſe who remain behind, ſays he, are the true Religious; they make uſe of muſic to warm their hearts, and to lift them to a proper pitch of rapture; examine their behaviour, and you will confeſs there are ſome among us who practiſe true devotion.

I now looked round me as he directed, but ſaw no⯑thing of that fervent devotion, which he had promiſed; one of the worſhippers appeared to be ogling the com⯑pany through a glaſs; another was fervent not in ad⯑dreſſes to heaven, but to his miſtreſs; a third whiſ⯑pered, a fourth took ſnuff, and the prieſt himſelf, in a drowſy tone, read over the duties of the day.

Bleſs my eyes, cried I, as I happened to look to⯑wards the door, what do I ſee; one of the worſhip⯑pers [179] fallen faſt aſleep, and actually ſunk down on his cuſhon: is he now enjoying the benefit of a trance, or does he receive the influence of ſome myſterious viſion! Alas, alas, replied my companion, no ſuch thing; he has only had the misfortune of eating too hearty a dinner, and finds it impoſſible to keep his eyes open. Turning to another part of the temple, I per⯑ceived a young lady juſt in the ſame circumſtances and attitude; ſtrange, cried I, can ſhe too have over⯑eaten herſelf? O fie, replied my friend, you now grow cenſorious. She grow drowſy from eating too much; that would be profanation! She only ſleeps now from having ſat up all night at a brag party. Turn me where I will then, ſays I, I can perceive no ſingle ſymptom of devotion among the worſhippers, except from that old woman in the corner, who ſits groaning behind the long ſticks of a mourning fan; ſhe indeed ſeems greatly edified with what ſhe hears. Aye replied my friend, I knew we ſhould find ſome to catch you; I know her; that is the deaf lady who lives in the cloyſters.

In ſhort, the remiſſneſs of behaviour in almoſt all the worſhippers, and ſome even of the guardians, ſtruck me with ſurprize; I had been taught to be⯑lieve that none were ever promoted to offices in the temple, but men remarkable for their ſuperior ſanctity, learning, and rectitude; that there was no ſuch thing heard of as perſons being introduced into the church merely to oblige a ſenator, or provide for the younger branch of a noble family: I expected, as their minds were continually ſet upon heavenly things, to ſee their eyes directed there alſo, and hoped from their beha⯑viour to perceive their inclinations correſponding with [180] their duty. But I am ſince informed, that ſome are appointed to preſide over temples they never viſit; and, while they receive all the money, are contented with letting others do all the good.

Adieu.

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

MUST I ever continue to condemn thy perſe⯑verence, and blame that curioſity, which de⯑ſtroys thy happineſs! What yet untaſted banquet, what luxury yet unknown, has rewarded thy painful adventures! Name a pleaſure which thy native country could not amply procure; frame a wiſh that might not have been ſatisfied in China! Why then ſuch toil, and ſuch danger, in purſuit of raptures within your reach at home.

The Europeans, you will ſay, excel us in ſciences and in arts; thoſe ſciences which bound the aſpiring wiſh, and thoſe arts which tend to gratify even unre⯑ſtrained deſire. They may perhaps outdo us in the arts of building ſhips, caſting cannons or meaſuring mountains, but are they ſuperior in the greateſt of all arts, the art of governing kingdoms and ourſelves?

When I compare the hiſtory of China with that of Europe, how do I exult in being a native of that king⯑dom which derives its original from the ſun. Upon opening the Chineſe hiſtory, I there behold an antient [181] extended empire, eſtabliſhed by laws which nature and reaſon ſeem to have dictated. The duty of children to their parents, a duty which nature implants in every breaſt, forms the ſtrength of that government which has ſubſiſted for time immemorial. Filial obedience is the firſt and greateſt requiſite of a ſtate; by this we be⯑come good ſubjects to our emperors, capable of be⯑having with juſt ſubordination to our ſuperiors, and grateful dependants on heaven; by this we become fonder of marriage, in order to be capable of exacting obedience from others in our turn: by this we become good magiſtrates; for early ſubmiſſion is the trueſt leſſon to thoſe who would learn to rule. By this the whole ſtate may be ſaid to reſemble one family, of which the Emperor is the protector, father, and friend.

In this happy region, ſequeſtered from the reſt of mankind, I ſee a ſucceſſion of princes who in general conſidered themſelves as the fathers of their people; a race of philoſophers who bravely combated idolatry, prejudice, and tyranny, at the expence of their private happineſs and immediate reputation. Whenever an uſurper or a tyrant intruded into the adminiſtration, how have all the good and great been united againſt him? Can European hiſtory produce an inſtance like that of the twelve mandarines, who all reſolved to ap⯑prize the vicious emperor Tiſiang of the irregularity of his conduct. He who firſt undertook the dange⯑rous taſk was cut in two by the emperor's order [...] ▪ the ſecond was ordered to be tormented, and then put to a cruel death; the third undertook the taſk with intrepidity, and was inſtantly ſtabbed by the tyrant's [182] hand: in this manner they all ſuffered except one. But net to be turned from his purpoſe, the brave ſur⯑vivor entering the palace with the inſtruments of tor⯑ture in his hand. Here, cried he, addreſſing himſelf to the throne, here, O Tiſiang, are the marks your faithful ſubjects receive for their loyalty; I am wearied with ſerving a tyrant, and now come for my reward. The emperor, ſtruck with his intrepidity, inſtantly forgave the boldneſs of his conduct, and reformed his own. What European annals can boaſt! of a tyrant thus reclaimed to lenity.

When five brethren had ſet upon the great emperor Ginſong alone; with his ſabre he ſlew four of them; he was ſtruggling with the fifth, when his guards coming up were going to cut the conſpirator into a thouſand pieces. No, no, cried the emperor, with a calm and placid countenance, of all his brothers he is the only one remaining, at leaſt let one of the family be ſuffered to live, that his aged parents may have ſome body left to feed and comfort them.

When Haitong, the laſt emperor of the houſe of Ming, ſaw himſelf beſieged in his own city by the uſurper, he was reſolved to iſſue from his palace with ſix hundred of his guards, and give the enemy battle; but they forſook him. Being thus without hopes, and chuſing death rather than to fall alive into the hands of a rebel, he retired to his garden, conducting his little daughter, an only child in his hand. There, in a private arbour unſheathing his ſword, he ſtabbed the young innocent to the heart, and then diſpatching himſelf, left the following words written with his blood on the border of his veſt. Forſaken by my ſubjects, [183] abandoned by my friends, uſe my body as you will, but ſpare, O ſpare my people.

An empire which has thus continued invariably the ſame for ſuch a long ſucceſſion of ages, which though at laſt, conquered by the Tartars, ſtill preſerves its antient laws and learning; and may more properly be ſaid to annex the dominions of Tartary to its empire, than to admit a foreign conqueror; an empire as large as Europe, governed by one law, acknowledging ſub⯑jection to one prince, and experiencing but one revo⯑lution of any continuance in the ſpace of four thouſand years; this is ſomething ſo peculiarly great, that I am naturally led to deſpiſe all other nations on the compa⯑riſon. Here we ſee no religious perſecutions, no en⯑mity between mankind, for difference in opinion. The diſciples of Lao Kium, the idolatrous ſectaries of Fohi, and the philoſophical children of Confucius, only ſtrive to ſhew by their actions the truth of their doctrines.

Now turn from this happy peaceful ſcene to Europe the theatre of intrigue, avarice and ambition. How many revolutions does it not experience in the compaſs even of one age; and to what do theſe re⯑volutions tend but the deſtruction of thouſands. Every great event is replete with ſome new calamity. The ſeaſons of ſerenity are paſſed over in ſilence, their hiſtories ſeem to ſpeak only of the ſtorm.

There we ſee the Romans extending their power over barbarous nations, and in turn becoming a prey to thoſe whom they had conquered. We ſee thoſe barbarians, when become chriſtians, engaged in con⯑tinual wars with the followers of Mahomet; or more [184] dreadful ſtill, deſtroying each other. We ſee councils in the earlier ages authorizing every iniquity; cruſades ſpreading deſolation in the country le [...]t, as well as that to be conquered. Excommunications freeing ſubjects from natural allegiance, and perſuading to ſedition; blood flowing in the fields and on ſcaffolds; tortures uſed as arguments to convince the recuſant; to heigh⯑ten the horror of the piece, behold it ſhaded with wars, rebellions, treaſons, plots, politicks, and poiſon!

And what advantage has any country of Europe obtained from ſuch calamities? Scarce any. Their diſſentions for more than a thouſand years have ſerved to make each other unhappy, but have enriched none. All the great nations ſtill nearly preſerve their antient limits; none have been able to ſubdue the other, and ſo terminate the diſpute. France, in ſpite of the conqueſts of Edward the third, and Henry the fifth, notwithſtanding the efforts of Charles the fifth and Philip the ſecond, ſtill remains within its antient limits. Spain, Germany, Great Britain, Poland, the ſtates of the north, are nearly ſtill the ſame. What effect then has the blood of ſo many thouſands, the deſtruction of ſo many cities, produced? Nothing neither great or conſiderable. The chriſtian princes have loſt indeed much from the enemies of chriſtendom, but they have gained nothing from each other. Their princes, be⯑cauſe they preferred ambition to juſtice, deſerve the character of enemies to mankind; and their prieſts by neglecting morality for opinion, have miſtaken the in⯑tereſts of ſociety.

On whatever ſide we regard the hiſtory of Europe, we ſhall perceive it to be a tiſſue of crimes, follies and [185] misfortunes, of politics without deſign, and wars with⯑out conſequence; in this long liſt of human infirmity, a great character or a ſhining virtue may ſometimes happen to ariſe, as we often meet a cottage or a culti⯑vated ſpot, in the moſt hideous wilderneſs. But for an Alfred, an Alphonſo, a Frederic, or one Alexander III. we meet a thouſand princes who have diſgraced humanity.

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

WE have juſt received accounts here, that Vol⯑taire the poet and philoſopher of Europe is dead! He is now beyond the reach of the thouſand enemies, who while living, degraded his writings, and branded his character. Scarce a page of his latter pro⯑ductions that does not betray the agonies of an heart bleeding under the ſcourge of unmerited reproach. Happy therefore at laſt in eſcaping from calumny, happy in leaving a world that was unworthy of him and his writings.

Let others, my friend, beſtrew the hearſes of the great with panegyric; but ſuch a loſs as the world has now ſuffered affects me with ſtronger emotions. When a philoſopher dies, I conſider myſelf as loſing a patron, an inſtructor, and a friend. I conſider the world as loſing one who might ſerve to conſole her amidſt the deſolations of war and ambition. Nature every day produces in abundance men capable of fill⯑ing [186] all the requiſite duties of authority; but ſhe is nigard in the birth of an exalted mind, ſcarcely pro⯑ducing in a century a ſingle genius to bleſs and en⯑lighten a degenerate age. Prodigal in the production of king's, governors, mandarines, chams, and courtiers, ſhe ſeems to have forgotten for more than three thou⯑ſand years, the manner in which ſhe once formed the brain of a Confucius; and well it is ſhe has forgotten, when a bad world gave him ſo very bad a recep⯑tion.

Whence, my friend, this malevolence which has ever purſued the great even to the tomb; whence this more than fiend-like diſpoſition of embittering the lives of thoſe who would make us more wiſe and more happy?

When I caſt my eye over the fates of ſeveral philo⯑ſophers, who have at different periods enlightened mankind, I muſt confeſs, it inſpires me with the moſt degrading reflections on humanity. When I read of the ſtripes of Mentius, the tortures of Tchin, the bowl of Socrates, and the bath of Seneca; when I hear of the perſecutions of Dante, the impriſonment of Galileo, the indignities ſuffered by Montagne, the baniſhment of Carteſius, the infamy of Bacon; and that even Locke himſelf eſcaped not without reproach; when I think on ſuch ſubjects, I heſitate whether moſt to blame, the ignorance or the villany of my fellow creatures.

Should you look for the character of Voltaire among the journaliſts and illiterate writers of the age; you will there find him characterized as a monſter, with a [187] head turned to wiſdom, and an heart inclining to vice; the powers of his mind and the baſeneſs of his princi⯑ples forming a deteſtable contraſt. But ſeek for his character among writers like himſelf, and you find him very differently deſcribed. You perceive him in their accounts poſſeſſed of good nature, humanity, greatneſs of ſoul, fortitude, and almoſt every virtue; in this de⯑ſcription thoſe who might be ſuppos'd beſt acquainted with his character are unanimous. The royal Pruſ⯑ſian^*, D'argens^†, Diderot^‡, D'alambert, and Fonte⯑nelle conſpire in drawing the picture, in deſcribing the friend of man and the patron of every riſing genius.

An inflexible perſeverance in what he thought was right, and a generous deteſtation of flattery, formed the ground-work of this great man's character. From theſe principles many ſtrong virtues and few faults a⯑roſe; as he was warm in his friendſhip, and ſevere in reſentment, all that mention him ſeem poſſeſſed of the ſame qualities, and ſpeak of him with rapture or deteſ⯑tation. A perſon of his eminence can have few indif⯑ferent as to his character; every reader muſt be an enemy or an admirer.

This poet began the courſe of glory ſo early as the age of eighteen, and even then was author of a trage⯑dy which deſerves applauſe; poſſeſſed of a ſmall pa⯑trimony he preſerved his independance, in an age of venality, and ſupported the dignity of learning, by teaching his cotemporary writers to live like him, above the favours of the great. He was baniſhed his native country for a ſatire upon the royal concubine. He had [188] accepted the place of hiſtorian to the French king, but refuſed to keep it, when he found it was preſented only in order that he ſhould be the firſt flatterer of the ſtate.

The great Pruſſian received him as an ornament to his kingdom, and had ſenſe enough to value his friend⯑ſhip, and profit by his inſtructions. In this court he continued till an intrigue, with which the world ſeems hitherto unacquainted, obliged him to quit that coun⯑try. His own happineſs, the happineſs of the mon⯑arch, of his ſiſter, of a part of the court, rendered his departure neceſſary.

Tired at length of courts, and all the follies of the great, he retired to Switzerland, a country of liberty, where he enjoyed tranquillity and the muſe. Here, though without any taſte for magnificence himſelf, he uſually entertained at his table the learned and polite of Europe, who were attracted by a deſire of ſeeing a perſon from whom they had received ſo much ſatis⯑faction. The entertainment was conducted with the utmoſt elegance, and the converſation was that of phi⯑loſophers. Every country that at once united liberty and ſcience, were his peculiar favourites. The being an Engliſhman was to him a character that claimed ad⯑miration and reſpect.

Between Voltaire and the diſciples of Confucius, there are many differences; however, being of a dif⯑ferent opinion does not in the leaſt diminiſh my eſteem; I am not diſpleaſed with my brother, becauſe he hap⯑pens to aſk our father for favours in a different man⯑ner from me. Let his errors reſt in peace, his excel⯑lencies [189] deſerve admiration; let me with the wiſe admire his wiſdom; let the envious and the ignorant ridicule his foibles; the folly of others is ever moſt ridiculous to thoſe who are themſelves moſt fooliſh.

Adieu.

LETTER XLIII.
From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo, a ſlave in Perſia.

IT is impoſſible to form a philoſophic ſyſtem of happineſs which is adapted to every condition in life, ſince every perſon who travels in this great pur⯑ſuit takes a ſeparate road. The differing colours which ſuit different complections, are not more various than the different pleaſures appropriated to particular minds. The various ſects who have pretended to give leſſons to inſtruct men in happineſs, have deſcribed their own particular ſenſations without conſidering ours, have only loaded their diſciples with conſtraint, without add⯑ing to their real felicity.

If I find pleaſure in dancing, how ridiculous would it be in me to preſcribe ſuch an amuſement for the en⯑tertainment of a cripple; ſhould he, on the other hand, place his chief delight in painting, yet would he be abſurd in recommending the ſame reliſh to one, who had loſt the power of diſtinguiſhing colours. General directions are therefore commonly uſeleſs; and to be particular would exhauſt volumes, ſince each indivi⯑dual may require a peculiar ſyſtem of precepts to direct his choice.

[190] Every mind ſeems capable of entertaining a certain, quantity of happineſs, which no inſtitutions can en⯑creaſe, no circumſtances alter, and entirely indepen⯑dent on fortune. Let any man compare his preſent fortune with the paſt, and he will probably find him⯑ſelf, upon the whole, neither better nor worſe than formerly.

Gratified ambition, or irreparable calamity may produce tranſient ſenſations of pleaſure or diſtreſs. Thoſe ſtorms may diſcompoſe in proportion as they are ſtrong, or the mind is pliant to their impreſſion. But the ſoul, though at firſt lifted up by the event, is every day ope⯑rated upon with diminiſh'd influence; and at length ſubſides into the level of its uſual tranquillity. Should ſome unexpected turn of fortune take thee from fet⯑ters, and place thee on a throne, exultation would be natural upon the change; but the temper, like the face, would ſoon reſume its native ſerenity.

Every wiſh therefore which leads us to expect hap⯑pineſs ſomewhere elſe but where we are, every inſti⯑tution which teaches us that we ſhould be better, by being poſſeſſed of ſomething new, which promiſes to lift us a ſtep higher than we are, only lays a founda⯑tion for uneaſineſs, becauſe it contracts debts which it cannot repay; it calls that a good, which when we have found it, will in fact add nothing to our happi⯑neſs.

To enjoy the preſent, without regret for the paſt, or ſolicitude for the future, has been the advice rather of poets than philoſophers. And yet the precept ſeems more rational than is generally imagined. It is the only [191] general precept reſpecting the purſuit of happineſs, that can be applied with propriety to every condition of life. The man of pleaſure, the man of buſineſs, and the philoſopher are equally intereſted in its diſqui⯑ſition. If we do not find happineſs in the preſent mo⯑ment, in what ſhall we find it? Either in reflecting on the paſt, or prognoſticating the future. But let us ſee how theſe are capable of producing ſatisfaction.

A remembrance of what is paſt, and an anticipation of what is to come, ſeem to be the two faculties by which man differs moſt from other animals. Though brutes enjoy them in a limited degree, yet their whole life ſeems taken up in the preſent, regardleſs of the paſt and the future. Man, on the contrary, endeavours to derive his happineſs, and experiences moſt of his miſe⯑ries from theſe two ſources.

Is this ſuperiority of reflection a prerogative of which we ſhould boaſt, and for which we ſhall thank nature; or is it a misfortune of which we ſhould complain and be humble. Either from the abuſe, or from the nature of things, it certainly makes our condition more miſe⯑rable.

Had we a privilege of calling up, by the power of memory, only ſuch paſſages as were pleaſing, unmixed with ſuch as were diſagreeable, we might then excite at pleaſure an ideal happineſs, perhaps more poignant than actual ſenſation. But this is not the caſe; the paſt is never repreſented without ſome diſagreeable circumſtance, which tarniſhes all its beauty; the re⯑membrance of an evil carries in it nothing agreeable, and to remember a good is always accompanied with [192] regret. Thus we loſe more than we gain by remem⯑brance.

And we ſhall find our expectation of the future to be a gift more diſtreſsful even than the former. To fear an approaching evil is certainly a moſt diſagreeable ſen⯑ſation; and in expecting an approaching good, we ex⯑perience the inquietude of wanting actual poſſeſſion.

Thus, whichever way we look, the proſpect is diſ⯑agreeable. Behind, we have left pleaſures we ſhall ne⯑ver more enjoy, and therefore regret; and before, we ſee pleaſures which we languiſh to poſſeſs, and are con⯑ſequently uneaſy till we poſſeſs them. Was there any method of ſeizing the preſent, unimbittered by ſuch reflections, then would our ſtate be tolerably eaſy.

This, indeed, is the endeavour of all mankind, who untutored by philoſophy, purſue as much as they can a life of amuſement and diſſipation. Every rank in life, and every ſize of underſtanding, ſeems to follow this alone; or not purſuing it, deviates from happineſs. The man of pleaſure purſues diſſipation by profeſſion; the man of buſineſs purſues it not leſs, as every volun⯑tary labour he undergoes is only diſſipation in diſguiſe. The philoſopher himſelf, even while he reaſons upon the ſubject, does it unknowingly with a view of diſſi⯑pating the thoughts of what he was, or what he muſt be.

The ſubject therefore comes to this. Which is the moſt perfect ſort of diſſipation: pleaſure, buſineſs, or philoſophy; which beſt ſerves to exclude thoſe un⯑eaſy [193] ſenſations, which memory or anticipation pro⯑duce.

The enthuſiaſm of pleaſure charms only by intervals. The higheſt rapture laſts only for a moment, and all the ſenſes ſeem ſo combined, as to be ſoon tired into languor by the gratification of any one of them. It is only among the poets we hear of men changing to one delight, when ſatiated with another. In nature, it is very different: the glutton, when ſated with the full meal, is unqualified to feel the real pleaſure of drink⯑ing; the drunkard in turn finds few of thoſe tranſports which lovers boaſt in enjoyment; and the lover, when cloyed, finds a diminution of every other appetite. Thus, after a full indulgence of any one ſenſe, the man of pleaſure finds a languor in all, is placed in a chaſin between paſt and expected enjoyment, perceives an in⯑terval which muſt be filled up. The preſent can give no ſatisfaction, becauſe he has already robbed it of eve⯑ry charm; a mind thus left without immediate em⯑ployment, naturally recurs to the paſt or the future: the reflector finds that he was happy, and knows that he cannot be ſo now; he ſees that he may yet be hap⯑py, and wiſhes the hour was come: thus every period of his continuance is miſerable, except that very ſhort one of immediate gratification. Inſtead of a life of diſ⯑ſipation, none has more frequent converſations with diſagreeable ſelf than he: his enthuſiaſms are but few and tranſient; his appetites, like angry creditors, con⯑tinually making fruitleſs demands for what he is unable to pay; and the greater his former pleaſure, the more ſtrong his regret, the more impatient his expectations; a life of pleaſure is therefore the moſt unpleaſing life in the world.

[194] Habit has rendered the man of buſineſs more cool in his deſires, he finds leſs regret for paſt pleaſures, and leſs ſolicitude for thoſe to come. The life he now leads, tho' tainted in ſome meaſure with hope, is yet not afflicted ſo ſtrongly with regret, and is leſs divided between ſhort-lived rapture and laſting anguiſh. The pleaſures he has enjoyed are not ſo vivid, and thoſe he has to expect cannot conſequently create ſo much anxiety.

The philoſopher, who extends his regard to all mankind, muſt have ſtill a ſmaller concern for what has already affected, or may hereafter affect himſelf; the concerns of others make his whole ſtudy, and that ſtudy is his pleaſure; and this pleaſure is continuing in its nature becauſe it can be changed at will, leaving but few of theſe anxious intervals which are employed in remembrance or anticipation. The philoſopher by this means leads a life of almoſt continued diſſipation; and reflection, which makes the uneaſineſs and miſery of others, ſerves as a companion and inſtructor to him.

In a word, poſitive happineſs is conſtitutional, and in⯑capable of increaſe; miſery is artificial, and generally proceeds from our folly. Philoſophy can add to our happineſs in no other manner, but by diminiſhing our miſery: it ſhould not pretend to encreaſe our preſent ſtock, but make us oeconomiſts of what we are poſſeſſed of. The great ſource of calamity lies in regret or anti⯑cipation: he, therefore, is moſt wiſe who thinks of the preſent alone, regardleſs of the paſt or the future. This is impoſſible to the man of pleaſure; it is difficult to the man of buſineſs; and is in ſome meaſure at⯑tainable by the philoſopher. Happy were we all born [195] philoſophers, all born with a talent of thus diſſipating our own cares, by ſpreading them upon all mankind!

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

THO' the frequent invitations I receive from men of diſtinction here might excite the vanity of ſome, I am quite mortified however when I conſider the motives that inſpire their civility. I am ſent for not to be treated as a friend, but to ſatisfy curioſity; not to be entertained ſo much as wondered at; the fame earneſtneſs which excites them to ſee a Chineſe, would have made them equally proud of a viſit from the rhinoceros.

From the higheſt to the loweſt, this people ſeem fond of ſights and monſters. I am told of a perſon here who gets a very comfortable livelihood by making wonders, and then ſelling or ſhewing them to the peo⯑ple for money, no matter how inſignificant they were in the beginning; by locking them up cloſe, and ſhew⯑ing for money, they ſoon became prodigies! His firſt eſſay in this way was to exhibit himſelf as a wax-work figure behind a glaſs door at a puppet ſhow. Thus keeping the ſpectators at a proper diſtance, and having his head adorned with a copper crown, he looked ex⯑treamly natural, and very like the life itſelf. He con⯑tinued this exhibition with ſucceſs, till an involuntary fit of ſneezing brought him to life before all the ſpecta⯑tors, and conſequently rendered him for that time as [196] entirely uſeleſs, as the peaceable inhabitant of a cata⯑comb.

Determined to act the ſtatue no more, he next le⯑vied contributions under the figure of an Indian king; and by painting his face, and counterfeiting the ſavage howl, he frighted ſeveral ladies and children with ama⯑zing ſucceſs: in this manner therefore he might have lived very comfortably, had he not been arreſted for a debt that was contracted when he was the figure in wax-work: thus his face underwent an involuntary ablution, and he found himſelf reduced to his primitive complexion and indigence.

After ſome time, being freed from gaol, he was now grown wiſer, and inſtead of making himſelf a wonder, was reſolved only to make wonders. He learned the art of paſting up mummies; was never at a loſs for an artificial luſus naturae; nay, it has been reported, that he has ſold ſeven petrified lobſters of his own manu⯑facture to a noted collector of rarities; but this the learned Cracovius Putridus has undertaken to refute in a very elaborate diſſertation.

His laſt wonder was nothing more than an halter, yet by this halter he gained more than by all his former exhibitions. The people, it ſeems, had got it in their heads, that a certain noble criminal was to be hanged with a ſilken rope. Now there was nothing they ſo much deſired to ſee as this very rope; and he was re⯑ſolved to gratify their curioſity: he therefore got one made, not only of ſilk, but to render it the more ſtri⯑king, ſeveral threads of gold were intermixed. The people paid their money only to ſee ſilk, but were [197] highly ſatisfied when they found it was mixed with gold into the bargain. It is ſcarce neceſſary to men⯑tion, that the projector ſold his ſilken-rope for almoſt what it had coſt him, as ſoon as the criminal was known to be hanged in hempen materials.

By their fondneſs of ſights, one would be apt to ima⯑gine, that inſtead of deſiring to ſee things as they ſhould be, they are rather ſolicitous of ſeeing them as they ought not to be. A cat with four legs is diſregarded, though never ſo uſeful; but if it has but two, and is conſequently incapable of catching mice, it is reckoned ineſtimable, and every man of taſte is ready to raiſe the auction. A man, though in his perſon faultleſs as an aerial genius, might ſtarve; but if ſtuck over with hi⯑deous warts like a porcupine, his fortune is made for ever, and he may propagate the breed with impunity and applauſe.

A good woman in my neighbourhood, who was bred an habit-maker, though ſhe handled her needle tolerably well, could ſcarcely get employment. But being obliged by an accident to have both her hands cut off from the elbows, what would in another coun⯑try have been her ruin, made her fortune here, ſhe now was thought more fit for her trade than before; buſi⯑neſs flowed in apace, and all people paid for ſeeing the mantua-maker who wrought without hands.

A gentleman ſhewing me his collection of pictures, ſtopped at one with peculiar admiration; there, cries he, is an ineſtimable piece. I gazed at the picture for ſome time, but could ſee none of thoſe graces with which he ſeemed enraptured; it appeared to me the [198] moſt paltry piece of the whole collection: I therefore demanded where thoſe beauties lay, of which I was yet inſenſible. Sir, cries he, the merit does not con⯑ſiſt in the piece, but in the manner in which it was done. The painter drew the whole with his foot, and held the pencil between his toes: I bought it at a very great price; for peculiar merit ſhould ever be re⯑warded.

But theſe people are not more ſond of wonders than liberal in rewarding thoſe who ſhew them. From the wonderful dog of knowledge at preſent under the pa⯑tronage of the nobility, down to the man with the box, who profeſſes to ſhew the moſt imitation of na⯑ture that was ever ſeen; they all live in luxury. A ſinging woman ſhall collect ſubſcriptions in her own coach and fix; a fellow ſhall make a fortune by toſſing a ſtraw from his toe to his noſe; one in particular has found that eating fire was the moſt ready way to live; and another who gingles ſeveral bells fixed to his cap, is the only man that I know of who has received emo⯑lument from the labours of his head.

A young author, a man of good nature and learning was complaining to me ſome nights ago of this miſ⯑placed generoſity of the times. Here, ſays he, have I ſpent part of my youth in attempting to inſtruct and amuſe my fellow creatures, and all my reward has been ſolitude, poverty, and reproach; while a fellow, poſſeſſed of even the ſmalleſt ſhare of fiddling merit, or who has perhaps learned to whiſtle double, is rewarded, applauded, and careſſed! Prythee, young man, ſays I to him, are you ignorant, that in ſo large a city as this, it is better to be an amuſing than an uſeful mem⯑ber [199] of ſociety? Can you leap up, and touch your feet four times before you come to the ground? No Sir. Can you pimp for a man of quality? No, Sir. Can you ſtand upon two horſes at full ſpeed? No Sir. Can you ſwallow a pen-knife? I can do none of theſe tricks. Why then, cried I, there is no other prudent means of ſubſiſtence left but to apprize the town that you ſpeedily intend to eat up your own noſe, by ſub⯑ſcription.

I have frequently regretted that none of our eaſtern poſture maſters or ſhow men have ever ventured to England. I ſhould be pleaſed to ſee that money circu⯑late in Aſia, which is now ſent to Italy and France, in order to bring their vagabonds hither. Several of our tricks would undoubtedly give the Engliſh high ſatisfaction. Men of faſhion would be greatly pleaſed with the poſtures as well as the condeſcention of our dancing girls; and ladies would equally admire the conductors of our fire-works. What an agreeable ſur⯑prize would it be to ſee a huge fellow with whiſkers flaſh a charged blunderbuſs full in a lady's face, with⯑out ſinging her hair, or melting her pomatum. Per⯑haps when the firſt ſurprize was over, ſhe might then grow familiar with danger; and the ladies might vie with each other in ſtanding fire with intrepidity.

But of all the wonders of the eaſt, the moſt uſeful, and I ſhould fancy, the moſt pleaſing, would be the looking-glaſs of Lao, which reflects the mind as well as the body. It is ſaid that the emperor Chuſi uſed to make his concubines dreſs their heads and their hearts in one of theſe glaſſes every morning; while the lady was at her toilet, he would frequently look over her [200] ſhoulder; and it is recorded that among the three hundred which compoſed his ſeraglio, not one was found whoſe mind was not even more beautiful than her perſon.

I make no doubt but a glaſs in this country would have the very ſame effect. The Engliſh ladies, concu⯑bines and all, would undoubtedly cut very pretty fi⯑gures in ſo faithful a monitor. There, ſhould we hap⯑pen to peep over a lady's ſhoulder while dreſſing, we might be able to ſee neither gaming nor ill nature; nei⯑ther pride, debauchery, nor a love of gadding. We ſhould find her, if any ſenſible defect appeared in the mind, more careful in rectifying it, than plaiſtering up the irreparable decays of the perſon; nay, I am even apt to fancy, that ladies would find more real pleaſure in this utenſil in private, than in any other bauble im⯑ported from China, though never ſo expenſive, or amuſing.

LETTER XLV.
To the ſame.

UPON finiſhing my laſt letter I retired to reſt, reflecting upon the wonders of the glaſs of Lao, wiſhing to be poſſeſſed of one here, and reſolved in ſuch a caſe to oblige every lady with a ſight of it for nothing. What fortune denied me waking, fancy ſup⯑plied in a dream; the glaſs, I know not how, was put into my poſſeſſion, and I could perceive ſeveral ladies approaching, ſome voluntarily, others driven forward [201] againſt their wills by a ſet of diſcontented genii, whom by intuition I knew were their huſbands.

The apartment in which I was to ſhow away was filled with ſeveral gaming tables, as if juſt forſaken; the candles were burnt to the ſocket, and the hour was five o'clock in the morning. Placed at one end of the room, which was of prodigious length, I could more eaſily diſtinguiſh every female figure as ſhe marched up from the door; but gueſs my ſurprize, when I could ſcarce perceive one blooming or agreeable face among the number. This, however, I attributed to the early hour, and kindly conſidered that the face of a lady juſt riſen from bed ought always to find a compaſſionate advocate.

The firſt perſon who came up in order to view her intellectual face was a commoner's wife, who, as I af⯑terwards found, being bred during her virginity in a pawn-broker's ſhop, now attempted to make up the defects of breeding and ſentiment by the magnificence of her dreſs, and the expenſiveneſs of her amuſements. Mr. Showman, cried ſhe, approaching, I am told you has ſomething to ſhew in that there ſort of magic lan⯑thorn, by which folks can ſee themſelves on the inſide; I proteſt, as my lord Beetle ſays, I am ſure it will be vaſtly pretty, for I have never ſeen any thing like it be⯑fore. But how; are we to ſtrip off our cloaths and be turned inſide out? if ſo, as lord Beetle ſays, I abſolutely declare off; for I would not ſtrip for the world be⯑fore a man's face, and ſo I tells his lordſhip almoſt eve⯑ry night of my life." I informed the lady that I would diſpenſe with the ceremony of ſtripping, and immedi⯑ately preſented my glaſs to her view.

[202] As when a firſt-rate beauty, after having with dif⯑ficulty eſcaped the ſmall pox, reviſits her favourite mirror, that mirror which had repeated the flattery of every lover, and even added force to the compliment; expecting to ſee what had ſo often given her pleaſure, ſhe no longer beholds the cherried lip, the poliſhed forehead, and ſpeaking bluſh, but an hateful phyz, quilted into a thouſand ſeams by the hand of deformi⯑ty; grief, reſentment, and rage fill her boſom by turns; ſhe blames the fates and the ſtars, but moſt of all the unhappy glaſs feels her reſentment. So it was with the lady in queſtion; ſhe had never ſeen her own mind before, and was now ſhocked at its deformity. One ſingle look was ſufficient to ſatisfy her curioſity; I held up the glaſs to her face, and ſhe ſhut her eyes; no en⯑treaties could prevail upon her to gaze once more! ſhe was even going to ſnatch it from my hands, and break it in a thouſand pieces. I found it was time therefore to diſmiſs her as incorrigible, and ſhew away to the next that offered.

This was an unmarried lady, who continued in a ſtate of virginity till thirty ſix, and then admitted a lover when ſhe deſpaired of an huſband. No woman was louder at a revel than ſhe, perfectly free-hearted, and almoſt in every reſpect a man; ſhe underſtood ri⯑dicule to perfection, and was once known even to ſally out in order to beat the watch. "Here, you my dear with the outlandiſh face, (ſaid ſhe addreſſing me) let me take a ſingle peep. Not that I care three dams what figure I may cut in the glaſs of ſuch an old faſhioned creature; if I am allowed the beauties of the face by people of faſhion, I know the world will be complai⯑ſant enough to toſs me the beauties of the mind into [203] the bargain." I held my glaſs before her as ſhe deſired, and muſt confeſs, was ſhocked with the reflection. The lady, however, gazed for ſome time with the utmoſt complacency; and at laſt turning to me with the moſt ſatisfied ſmile ſaid, ſhe never could think ſhe had been half ſo handſome.

Upon her diſmiſſion a lady of diſtinction was reluc⯑tantly hawled along to the glaſs by her huſband; in bringing her forward, as he came firſt to the glaſs him⯑ſelf, his mind appeared tinctured with immoderate jea⯑louſy, and I was going to reproach him for uſing her with ſuch ſeverity; but when the lady came to preſent herſelf, I immediately retracted; for alas it was ſeen that he had but too much reaſon for his ſuſpicions.

The next was a lady who uſually teized all her ac⯑quaintance in deſiring to be told of her faults, and then never mended any. Upon approaching the glaſs, I could readily perceive vanity, affectation, and ſome other ill-looking blots on her mind; wherefore by my advice ſhe immediately ſet about mending. But I could eaſily find ſhe was not earneſt in the work: for as ſhe repaired them on one ſide, they generally broke out on another. Thus, after three or four attempts, ſhe be⯑gan to make the ordinary uſe of the glaſs in ſettling her hair.

The company now made room for a woman of learning, who approached with a ſlow pace and a ſo⯑lemn countenance, which, for her own ſake, I could wiſh had been cleaner. "Sir, cried the lady, flouriſh⯑ing her hand, which held a pinch of ſnuff, I ſhall be enraptured by having preſented to my view a mind with [204] which I have ſo long ſtudied to be acquainted: but, in order to give the ſex a proper example, I muſt inſiſt, that all the company be permitted to look over my ſhoulder." I bowed aſſent, and preſenting the glaſs, ſhewed the lady a mind by no means ſo fair as ſhe had expected to ſee. Ill-nature, ill placed pride, and ſpleen, were too legible to be miſtaken. Nothing could be more amuſing than the mirth of her female compa⯑nions who had looked over. They had hated her from the beginning, and now the apartment ecchoed with an univerſal laugh. Nothing but a fortitude like her's could have withſtood their raillery: ſhe ſtood it however; and when the burſt was exhauſted, with great tranquillity ſhe aſſured the company, that the whole was a deceptio viſus, and that ſhe was too well acquainted with her own mind to believe any falſe re⯑preſentations from another. Thus ſaying, ſhe retired with a fullen ſatisfaction, reſolved not to mend her faults, but to write a criticiſm on the mental reflector.

I muſt own, by this time I began myſelf to ſuſpect the fidelity of my mirror; for as the ladies appeared at leaſt to have the merit of riſing early, ſince they were up at five, I was amazed to find nothing of this good quality pictured upon their minds in the reflec⯑tion; I was reſolved therefore to communicate my ſuſpicions to a lady, whoſe intellectual countenance ap⯑peared more fair than any of the reſt, not having a⯑bove ſeventy-nine ſpots in all, beſides ſlips and foibles. "I own, young woman, ſaid I, that there are ſome virtues upon that mind of your's; but there is ſtill one which I do not ſee repreſented; I mean that of ri⯑ſing betimes in the morning; I fancy the glaſs falſe in that particular." The young lady ſmiled at my ſimpli⯑city; [205] and, with a bluſh, confeſſed, that ſhe and the whole company had been up all night gaming.

By this time all the ladies, except one, had ſeen them⯑ſelves ſucceſſively, and diſliked the ſhow, or ſcolded the ſhow-man; I was reſolved, however, that ſhe who ſeemed to neglect herſelf, and was neglected by the reſt, ſhould take a view; and going up to a corner of the room, where ſhe ſtill continued ſitting, I preſented my glaſs full in her face. Here it was that I exulted in my ſucceſs; no blot, no ſtain, appeared on any part of the faithful mirror. As when the large, unwritten page preſents its ſnowy ſpotleſs boſom to the writer's hand; ſo appeared the glaſs to my view. Here, O ye daughters of Engliſh anceſtors, cried I, turn hither and behold an object worthy imitation: look upon the mir⯑ror now, and acknowledge its juſtice, and this woman's pre-eminence! The ladies obeying the ſummons, came up in a groupe and, looking on, acknowledged there was ſome truth in the picture, as the perſon now re⯑preſented had been deaf, dumb, and a fool from her cradle.

Thus much of my dream I diſtinctly remember, the reſt was filled with chimaeras, enchanted caſtles, and flying dragons as uſual. As you, my dear Fum Hoam, are particularly verſed in the interpretation of thoſe midnight warnings, what pleaſure ſhould I find in your explanation: but that our diſtance prevents; I make no doubt, however, but that from my deſcription you will very much venerate the good qualities of the Eng⯑liſh ladies in general, ſince dreams, you know, go al⯑ways by contraries.

Adieu.

LETTER XLVI.
From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo, a ſlave in Perſia^*.

YOUR laſt letters betray a mind ſeemingly fond of wiſdom, yet tempeſted by a thouſand va⯑rious paſſions. You would fondly perſuade me that my former leſſons ſtill influence your conduct, and yet your mind ſeems not leſs enſlaved than your body. Knowledge, wiſdom, erudition, arts and elegance what are they, but the mere trappings of the mind, if they do not ſerve to encreaſe the happineſs of the poſſeſſor? A mind rightly inſtituted in the ſchool of philoſophy, acquires at once the ſtability of the oak, and the flexi⯑bility of the oſier. The trueſt manner of leſſening our agonies, is to ſhrink from their preſſure; is to confeſs that we feel them.

The fortitude of European ſages is but a dream; for where lies the merit in being inſenſible to the ſtrokes of fortune, or in diſſembling our ſenſibility; if we are inſenſible, that ariſes only from an happy conſtitution; that is a bleſſing previouſly granted by heaven, and which no art can procure, no inſtitutions improve.

If we diſſemble our feelings, we only artificially en⯑deavour to perſuade others that we enjoy privileges which we actually do not poſſeſs. Thus while we en⯑deavour to appear happy, we feel at once all the pangs [207] of internal miſery, and all the ſelf-reproaching conſci⯑ouſneſs of endeavouring to deceive.

I know but of two ſects of philoſophers in the world that have endeavoured to inculcate that fortitude is but an imaginary virtue; I mean the followers of Con⯑fucius, and thoſe who profeſs the doctrines of Chriſt. All other ſects teach pride under misfortunes; they alone teach humility. Night, ſays our Chineſe philo⯑ſopher, not more ſurely follows day, than groans and tears grow out of pain; when misfortunes, therefore, oppreſs, when tyrants threaten, it is our intereſt, it is our duty, to fly even to diſſipation forſupport, to ſeek redreſs from friendſhip, to ſeek redreſs from that beſt of friends who loved us into being.

Philoſophers, my ſon, have long declaimed againſt the paſſions, as being the ſource of all our miſe⯑ries; they are the ſource of all our misfortunes I own; but they are the ſource of our pleaſures too: and every endeavour of our lives, and all the inſtituti⯑ons of philoſophy, ſhould tend to this, not to diſſem⯑ble an abſence of paſſion, but to repel thoſe which lead to vice, by thoſe which direct to virtue.

The ſoul may be compared to a field of battle, where two armies are ready every moment to encounter; not a ſingle vice but has a more powerful opponent; and not one virtue but may be over-borne by a combina⯑tion of vices. Reaſon guides the bands of either hoſt, nor can it ſubdue one paſſion but by the aſſiſtance of another. Thus, as a bark on every ſide beſet with ſtorms, enjoys a ſtate of reſt, ſo does the mind, when influenced by a juſt equipoiſe of the paſſions, enjoy tranquillity.

[208] I have uſed ſuch means as my little fortune would admit to procure your freedom. I have lately written to the governor of Argun to pay your ranſom, though at the expence of all the wealth I brought with me from China. If we become poor we ſhall at leaſt have the pleaſure of bearing poverty together; for what is fa⯑tigue or famine, when weighed againſt friendſhip and freedom.

Adieu.

LETTER. XLVII.
From Lien Chi Altangi to ***** merchant in Amſterdam.

HAPPENING ſome days ago to call at a pain⯑ter's to amuſe my ſelf in examining ſome pictures (I had no deſign to buy) it ſurpriſed me to ſee a young Prince in the working room, dreſſed in a painter's apron, and aſſiduouſly learning the trade. We inſtantly re⯑membered to have ſeen each other; and, after the uſual compliments, I ſtood by while he continued to paint on. As every thing done by the rich is praiſed, as princes here, as well as in China, are never without followers, three or four perſons, who had the appear⯑ance of gentlemen, were placed behind to comfort and applaud him at every ſtroke.

Need I tell, that it ſtruck me with very diſagree⯑able ſenſations to ſee a youth who, by his ſtation in life, had it in his power to be uſeful to thouſands, thus let⯑ting his mind run to waſte upon canvas, at the ſame time fancying himſelf improving in taſte, and filling his rank with proper decorum.

[209] As ſeeing an error, and attempting to redreſs it, are only one and the ſame with me, I took occaſion, upon his lordſhip's deſiring my opinion of a Chineſe ſcroll, intended for the frame of a picture, to aſſure him, that a mandarine of China thought a minute acquaintance with ſuch mechanical trifles below his dignity.

This reply raiſed the indignation of ſome, and the contempt of others: I could hear the names of Vandal, Goth, taſte, polite arts, delicacy, and fire, repeated in tones of ridicule or reſentment. But conſidering that it was vain to argue againſt people who had ſo much to ſay, without contradicting them, I begged leave to repeat a fairy tale. This requeſt redoubled their laughter; but not eaſily abaſhed at the rallery of boys, I perſiſted, obſerving that it would ſet the abſur⯑dity of placing our affections upon trifles, in the ſtrongeſt point of view, and adding that it was hoped the moral would compenſate for its ſtupidity. For heaven's ſake, cried the great man, waſhing his bruſh in water, let us have no morality at preſent; if we muſt have a ſtory let it be without any moral. I pre⯑tended not to hear; and while he handled the bruſh, proceeded as follows.

IN the Kingdom of Bonbobbin, which, by the Chi⯑neſe annal, appears to have flouriſhed twenty thouſand years ago, there reigned a prince, endowed with every accompliſhment which generally diſtin⯑guiſhes the ſons of kings. His beauty was brighter than the ſun. The ſun, to which he was nearly re⯑lated, would ſometimes ſtop his courſe in order to look down and admire him.

[210] His mind was not leſs perfect than his body: he knew all things without having ever read; philoſophers, poets, and hiſtorians, ſubmitted their works to his de⯑ciſion; and ſo penetrating was he, that he could tell the merit of a book by looking on the cover. He made epic poems, tragedies, and paſtorals, with ſurpriſing facility; ſong, epigram, or rebus, was all one to him, tho' it is obſerved, he could never finiſh an acroſtic. In ſhort, the fairy, who preſided at his birth, had endow⯑ed him with almoſt every perfection, or what was juſt the ſame, his ſubjects were ready to acknowledge he poſſeſſed them all; and, for his own part, he knew nothing to the contrary. A prince ſo accompliſhed, received a name ſuitable to his merit; and he was called Bonbenin bonbobbin bonbobbinet, which ſignifies Enlightener of the Sun.

As he was very powerful, and yet unmarried, all the neighbouring kings earneſtly ſought his alliance. Each ſent his daughter, dreſſed out in the moſt mag⯑nificent manner, and with the moſt ſumptuous retinue imaginable, in order to allure the prince: ſo that at one time there were ſeen at his court not leſs than ſe⯑ven hundred foreign princeſſes of exquiſite ſentiment and beauty, each alone ſufficient to make ſeven hun⯑dred ordinary men happy.

Diſtracted in ſuch a variety, the generous Bonben⯑nin, had he not been obliged by the laws of the empire to make choice of one, would very willingly have mar⯑ried them all, for none underſtood gallantry better. He ſpent numberleſs hours of ſolicitude in endeavour⯑ing to determine whom he ſhould chuſe; one lady was poſſeſſed of every perfection, but he diſliked her eye⯑brows; [211] another was brighter than the morning ſtar, but he diſapproved her fong whang; a third did not lay white enough on her cheek; and a fourth did not ſufficiently blacken her nails. At laſt after numberleſs diſappointments on the one ſide and the other, he made choice of the incomparable Nanhoa, queen of the ſcar⯑let dragons.

The preparations for the royal nuptials, or the envy of the diſappointed ladies, needs no deſcription; both the one and the other were as great as they could be; the beautiful princeſs was conducted amidſt admiring multitudes to the royal couch, where after being di⯑veſted of every encumbering ornament, ſhe was placed, in expectance of the youthful bridegroom, who did not keep her long in expectation. He came more chearful than the morning, and printing on her lips a burning kiſs, the attendants took this as a proper ſignal to withdraw.

Perhaps I ought to have mentioned in the beginning that, among ſeveral other qualifications, the prince was fond of collecting and breeding mice, which being an harmleſs paſtime, none of his counſellors thought proper to diſſuade him from: he therefore kept a great variety of theſe pretty little animals in the moſt beau⯑tiful cages enriched with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, and other precious ſtones: thus he innocently ſpent four hours each day, in comtemplating their in⯑nocent little paſtimes.

But to proceed, the Prince and Princeſs were now in bed; one with all the love and expectation, the other with all the modeſty and fear, which is natural to ſup⯑poſe, both willing, yet afraid to begin; when the [212] Prince happening to look towards the outſide of the bed, perceived one of the moſt beautiful animals in the world, a white mouſe with green eyes, playing about the floor, and performing an hundred pretty tricks. He was already maſter of blue mice, red mice, and even white mice with yellow eyes; but a white mouſe with green eyes, was what he long endeavoured to poſ⯑ſeſs: wherefore leaping from bed with the utmoſt im⯑patience and agility, the youthful Prince attempted to ſeize the little charmer, but it was fled in a moment; for alas! the mouſe was ſent by a diſcontented Princeſs, and was itſelf a fairy.

It is impoſſible to deſcribe the agony of the Prince upon this occaſion. He ſought round and round every part of the room even the bed where the Princeſs lay was not exempt from the enquiry: he turned the Prin⯑ceſs on one ſide and t'other, ſtripped her quite naked, but no mouſe was to be found; the Princeſs herſelf was kind enough to aſſiſt, but ſtill to no purpoſe.

Alas, cryed the young Prince in an agony, how un⯑happy am I to be thus diſappointed; never ſure was ſo beautiful an animal ſeen, I would give half my king⯑dom and my princeſs, to him that would find it. The Princeſs though not much pleaſed with the latter part of his offer, endeavoured to comfort him as well as ſhe could; ſhe let him know that he had an hundred mice already, which ought to be at leaſt ſufficient to ſatisfy any philoſopher like him. Tho' none of them had green eyes, yet he ſhould learn to thank heaven that they had eyes. She told him, (for ſhe was a profound mo⯑raliſt) that incurable evils muſt be born, and that uſe⯑leſs lamentations were vain, and that man was born to [213] miſfortunes; ſhe even entreated him to return to bed, and ſhe would endeavour to lull him on her boſom to repoſe; but ſtill the Prince continued inconſolable; and regarding her with a ſtern air, for which his family was remarkable, he vowed never to ſleep in the royal palace, or indulge himſelf in the innocent pleaſures of matrimony, till he had found the white mouſe with the green eyes.

Prythee, Col. Leech, cried his Lordſhip, interrupt⯑ing me, how do you like that noſe; don't you think there is ſomething of the manner of Rembrandt in it? A prince in all this agony for a white mouſe, O ridicu⯑lous! Don't you think, Major Vampyre, that eye⯑brow ſtippled very prettily? but pray what are the green eyes to the purpoſe, except to amuſe children? I would give a thouſand guineas to lay on the colour⯑ing of this cheek more ſmoothly. But I aſk pardon, pray, Sir, proceed.

LETTER XLVIII.
From the ſame.

KINGS, continued I, at that time were different from what they are now; they then never en⯑gaged their word for any thing which they did not ri⯑gorouſly intend to perform. This was the caſe of Bonbenin, who continued all night to lament his miſ⯑fortunes to the Princeſs, who ecchoed groan for groan. When morning came, he publiſhed an edict, offering half his kingdom, and his Princeſs, to the perſon who [214] ſhould catch and bring him the white mouſe with green eyes.

The edict was ſcarce publiſhed, when all the traps in the kingdom were baited with cheeſe; numberleſs mice were taken and deſtroyed; but ſtill the much wiſhed for mouſe was not among the number. The privy council were aſſembled more than once to give their advice; but all their deliberations came to nothing; even though there were two complete vermin-killers and three profeſſed rat-catchers of the number. Fre⯑quent addreſſes, as is uſual on extraordinary occaſions, were ſent from all parts of the empire; but though theſe promiſed well, though in them he received an aſſurance, that his faithful ſubjects would aſſiſt in his ſearch with their lives and fortunes, yet with all their loyalty, they failed when the time came that the mouſe was to be caught.

The Prince therefore was reſolved to go himſelf in ſearch, determined never to lie two nights in one place till he had found what he ſought for. Thus quitting his palace without attendants, he ſet out upon his journey, and travelled through many a deſert, and croſſed many a river, high over hills, and down along vales, ſtill reſtleſs, ſtill enquiring wherever he came; but no white mouſe was to be found.

As one day, fatigued with his journey, he was ſhad⯑ing himſelf from the heat of the mid-day ſun, under the arching branches of a banana-tree, meditating on the object of his purſuit, he perceived an old woman, hideouſly deformed, approaching him; by her ſtoop, and the wrinkles of her viſage, ſhe ſeemed at leaſt five hundred years old; and the ſpotted toad was not more [215] freckled than was her ſkin. "Ah! prince Bonbenin⯑bonbobbin bonbobbinet, cried the creature, what has led you ſo many thouſand miles from your own king⯑dom; what is it you look for, and what induces you to travel into the Kingdom of Emmets?" The prince, who was exceſſively complaiſant, told her the whole ſtory three times over; for ſhe was hard of hearing. "Well, ſays the old fairy, for ſuch ſhe was, I promiſe to put you in poſſeſſion of the white mouſe with green eyes, and that immediately too, upon one condition." "One condition, cried the prince in a rapture, name a thouſand; I ſhall undergo them all with pleaſure." "Nay, interrupted the old fairy, I aſk but one, and that not very mortifying neither; it is only that you in⯑ſtantly conſent to marry me."

It is impoſſible to expreſs the prince's confuſion at this demand; he loved the mouſe, but he deteſted the bride; he heſitated; he deſired time to think upon the propoſal; he would have been glad to conſult his friends on ſuch an occaſion. "Nay, nay, cried the odious fairy, if you demur, I retract my promiſe; I do not deſire to force my favours on any man. Here, you my attendants, cried ſhe, ſtamping with her foot, let my machine be driven up; Barbacela, Queen of Emmets, is not uſed to contemptuous treatment." She had no ſooner ſpoken than her fiery chariot appeared in the air, drawn by two ſnails; and ſhe was juſt going to ſtep in, when the prince reflected, that now or ne⯑ver was the time to be poſſeſſed of the white mouſe; and quite forgetting his lawful princeſs Nanhoa, falling on his knees, he implored forgiveneſs for having raſhly rejected ſo much beauty. This well-timed compli⯑ment inſtantly appeaſed the angry fairy. She affected [216] an hideous leer of approbation, and, taking the young prince by the hand, conducted him to a neighbouring church, where they were married together in a mo⯑ment. As ſoon as the ceremony was performed, the prince, who was to the laſt degree deſirous of ſeeing his favourite mouſe, reminded the bride of her promiſe. "To confeſs a truth, my prince, cried ſhe, I myſelf am that very white mouſe you ſaw on your wedding night in the royal apartment. I now therefore give you the choice, whether you would have me a mouſe by day, and a woman by night, or a mouſe by night and a woman by day." Tho' the prince was an excel⯑lent caſuiſt, he was quite at a loſs how to determine, but at laſt thought it moſt prudent to have recourſe to a blue cat that had followed him from his own domini⯑ons, and frequently amuſed him with its converſation, and aſſiſted him with its advice; in fact this cat was no other than the faithful Princeſs Nanhoa herſelf, who had ſhared with him all his hardſhips in this diſguiſe.

By her inſtructions he was determined in his choice, and returning to the old fairy, prudently obſerved, that as ſhe muſt have been ſenſible he had married her only for the ſake of what ſhe had, and not for her perſonal qualifications, he thought it would for ſeveral reaſons be moſt convenient, if ſhe continued a woman by day and appeared a mouſe by night.

The old fairy was a good deal mortified at her huſ⯑band's want of gallantry, though ſhe was reluctantly obliged to comply; the day was therefore ſpent in the moſt polite amuſements, the gentlemen talked ſmut, the ladies laughed, and were angry. At laſt the hap⯑py night drew near, the blue cat ſtill ſtuck by the ſide [217] of its maſter, and even followed him to the bridal apart⯑ment. Barbacela entered the chamber, wearing a train fifteen yards long, ſupported by porcupines, and all ever beſet with jewels, which ſerved to render her more deteſtable. She was juſt ſtepping into bed to the Prince, forgetting her promiſe, when he inſiſted upon ſeeing her in the ſhape of a mouſe. She had pro⯑miſed, and no fairy can break her word; wherefore aſſuming the figure of the moſt beautiful mouſe in the world, ſhe ſkipped and played about with an infinity of amuſement. The Prince in an agony of rapture, was deſirous of ſeeing his pretty playfellow move a ſlow dance about the floor to his own ſinging; he began to ſing, and the mouſe immediately to perform with the moſt perfect knowledge of time, and the fineſt grace and greateſt gravity imaginable; it only began, for Nanhoa, who had long waited for the opportunity in the ſhape of a cat, flew upon it inſtantly without re⯑morſe, and eating it up in the hundredth part of a moment, broke the charm, and then reſumed her na⯑tural figure.

The Prince now found that he had all along been under the power of enchantment, that his paſſion for the white mouſe was entirely fictitious, and not the genuine complexion of his ſoul; he now ſaw that his earneſtneſs after mice was an illiberal amuſement, and much more becoming a ratcatcher than a Prince. All his meanneſſes now ſtared him in the face, he begged the diſcreet Princeſs's pardon an hundred times. The Princeſs very readily forgave him; and both returning to their palace in Bonbobbin, lived very happily toge⯑ther, and reigned many years with all that wiſdom, which, by the ſtory, they appear to have been poſſeſ⯑ſed [218] of. Perfectly convinced by their former adven⯑tures, that they who place their affections on trifles at firſt for amuſement, will find thoſe trifles at laſt become their moſt ſerious concern.

Adieu.

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

ASK an Engliſhman what nation in the world enjoys moſt freedom, and he immediately an⯑ſwers, his own. Aſk him in what that freedom prin⯑cipally conſiſts, and he is inſtantly ſilent. This happy pre-eminence does not ariſe from the people's enjoying a larger ſhare in legiſlation than elſewhere; for in this particular, ſeveral ſtates in Europe excell them; nor does it ariſe from a greater exemption from taxes, for few countries pay more; it does not proceed from their being reſtrained by fewer laws, for no people are bur⯑thened with ſo many; nor does it particularly conſiſt in the ſecurity of their property, for property is pretty well ſecured in every polite ſtate of Europe.

How then are the Engliſh more free (for more free they certainly are) than the people of any other coun⯑try, or under any other form of government whatever. Their freedom conſiſts in their enjoying all the advan⯑tages of democracy with this ſuperior prerogative bor⯑rowed from monarchy, that the ſeverity of their laws may be relaxed without endangering the conſtitution.

[219] In a monarchical ſtate, in which the conſtitution is ſtrongeſt, the laws may be relaxed without danger; for though the people ſhould be unanimous in the breach of any one in particular, yet ſtill there is an effective power ſuperior to the people, capable of en⯑forcing obedience, whenever it may be proper to in⯑culcate the law either towards the ſupport or welfare of the community.

But in all thoſe governments, where laws derive their ſanction from the people alone, tranſgreſſions cannot be overlooked without bringing the conſtitution into dan⯑ger. They who tranſgreſs the law in ſuch a caſe, are thoſe who preſcribe it, by which means it loſes not only its influence but its ſanction. In every republic the laws muſt be ſtrong, becauſe the conſtitution is feeble, they muſt reſemble an Aſiatic huſband who is juſtly jealous, becauſe he knows himſelf impotent. Thus in Holland, Switzerland, and Genoa, new laws are not frequently enacted, but the old ones are obſerved with unremit⯑ting ſeverity. In ſuch republics therefore the people are ſlaves to laws of their own making, little leſs than in unmixed monarchies where they are ſlaves to the will of one ſubject to frailties like themſelves.

In England, from a variety of happy accidents, their conſtitution is juſt ſtrong enough, or if you will, mo⯑narchical enough, to permit a relaxation of the ſeverity of laws, and yet thoſe laws ſtill to remain ſufficiently ſtrong to govern the people. This is the moſt perfect ſtate of civil liberty, of which we can form any idea; here we ſee a greater number of laws than in any other country, while the people at the ſame time obey only ſuch as are immediately conducive to the intereſts of [220] ſociety; ſeveral are unnoticed, many unknown; ſome kept to be revived and enforced upon proper occaſions, others left to grow obſolete, even without the neceſſity of abrogation.

Scarce an Engliſhman who does not almoſt every day of his life, offend with impunity againſt ſome ex⯑preſs law, and for which in a certain conjuncture of circumſtances he would not receive puniſhment. Ga⯑ming houſes, preaching at prohibited places, aſſembled crowds, nocturnal amuſements, public ſhows, and an hundred other inſtances are forbid and frequented. Theſe prohibitions are uſeful; though it be prudent in their magiſtrates, and happy for their people, that they are not enforced, and none but the venal or mer⯑cenary attempt to enforce them.

The law in this caſe like an indulgent parent, ſtill keeps the rod, though the child is ſeldom corrected. Were thoſe pardoned offences to riſe into enormity, were they likely to obſtruct the happineſs of ſociety, or endanger the ſtate, it is then, that juſtice would reſume her terrors, and puniſh thoſe faults ſhe had ſo often overlooked with indulgence. It is to this ducti⯑lity of the laws that an Engliſhman owes the freedom he enjoys ſuperior to others in a more popular govern⯑ment; every ſtep therefore the conſtitution takes to⯑wards a Democratic form, every diminution of the le⯑gal authority is, in fact, a diminution of the ſubjects freedom; but every attempt to render the govern⯑ment more popular, not only impairs natural liberty, but even will at laſt, diſſolve the political conſtitu⯑tion.

[21] Every popular government ſeems calculated to laſt only for a time, it grows rigid with age, new laws are multiplying, and the old continue in force, the ſubjects are oppreſſed, burthen'd with a multiplicity of legal injunctions, there are none from whom to expect redreſs, and nothing but a ſtrong convulſion in the ſtate can vindicate them into former liberty: thus the people of Rome, a few great ones excepted, found more real freedom under their Emperors tho' tyrants, than they had experienced in the old age of the commonwealth in which their laws were become numerous and pain⯑ful, in which new laws were every day enacting and the old ones executed with rigour. They even refuſed to be reinſtated in their former prerogatives, upon an offer made them to this purpoſe; for they actually found Emperors the only means of ſoftening the rigours of their conſtitution.

The conſtitution of England is at preſent poſſeſſed of the ſtrength of its native oak, and the flexibility of the bending tamariſk; but ſhould the people at any time, with a miſtaken zeal, pant after an imaginary freedom, and fancy that abridging monarchy was en⯑creaſing their privileges, they would be very much miſtaken, ſince every jewel plucked from the crown of majeſty would only be made uſe of as a bribe to cor⯑ruption; it might enrich the few who ſhared it among them, but would in fact impoveriſh the public.

As the Roman ſenators by ſlow and imperceptible degrees became maſters of the people, yet ſtill flattered them with a ſhew of freedom, while themſelves only were free; ſo is it poſſible for a body of men, while they ſtand up for privileges, to grow into an exube⯑rance [222] of power themſelves, and the public become actually dependent, while, ſome of its individuals only governed.

If then, my friend, there ſhould in this country, ever be on the throne a King who through good nature or age, ſhould give up the ſmalleſt part of his prerogative to the people, if there ſhould come a mi⯑niſter of merit and popularity—But I have room for no more.

Adieu.

LETTER XLIX.
To the ſame.

AS I was yeſterday ſeated at breakfaſt over a pen⯑ſive diſh of tea, my meditations were interrupted by my old friend and companion, who introduced a ſtranger, dreſſed pretty much like himſelf. The gen⯑tleman made ſeveral apologies for his viſit, begged of me to impute his intruſion to the ſincerity of his re⯑ſpect, and the warmth of his curioſity.

As I am very ſuſpicious of my company, when I find them very civil, without any apparent reaſon, I anſwer⯑ed the ſtranger's careſſes at firſt with reſerve; which my friend perceiving, inſtantly let me into my viſitant's trade and character, aſking Mr. Fudge, whether he had lately publiſhed any thing new? I now conjectur⯑ed that my gueſt was no other than a bookſeller, and his anſwer confirmed my ſuſpicions.

"Excuſe me, Sir, ſays he, it is not the ſeaſon; books have their time as well as cucumbers. I would no more [223] bring out a new work in ſummer, than I would ſell pork in the dog days. Nothing in my way goes off in ſummer, except very light goods indeed. A review, a magazine, or a ſeſſions paper, may amuſe a ſummer reader; but all our ſtock of value we reſerve for a ſpring and winter trade." I muſt confeſs, Sir, ſays I, a curioſity to know what you call a valuable ſtock, which can only bear a winter peruſal. "Sir, replied the bookſeller, it is not my way to cry up my own goods; but without exaggeration I will venture to ſhew with any of the trade; my books at leaſt have the peculiar advantage of being always new; and it is my way to clear off my old to the trunkmakers every ſeaſon. I have ten new title pages now about me, which only want books to be added to make them the fineſt things in nature. Others may pretend to direct the vulgar; but that is not my way; I always let the vulgar direct me; wherever popular clamour ariſes, I always eccho the million. For inſtance, ſhould the people in gene⯑ral ſay that ſuch a man is a rogue, I inſtantly give or⯑ders to ſet him down in print a villain; thus every man buys the book, not to learn new ſentiments, but to have the pleaſure of ſeeing his own reflected." But Sir, interrupted I, you ſpeak as if you yourſelf wrote the books you publiſh; may I be ſo bold as to aſk a ſight of ſome of thoſe intended publications which are ſhortly to ſurprize the world? "As to that, Sir, replied the tal⯑kative bookſeller, I only draw out the plans myſelf; and though I am very cautious of communicating them to any, yet, as in the end I have a favour to aſk, you ſhall ſee a few of them. Here, Sir, here they are diamonds of the firſt water, I aſſure you. Imprimis, a tranſlation of ſeveral medical precepts for the uſe of ſuch phyſicians as do not underſtand Latin. Item, the young clergy⯑man's [224] art of placing patches regularly, with a diſſer⯑tation on the different manner of ſmiling without diſ⯑torting the face. Item, the whole art of love made perfectly eaſy by a broker of 'Change Alley. Item' the proper manner of cutting black-lead pencils, and making crayons; by the Right Hon. the Earl of ***. Item, the muſter maſter general, or the review of re⯑views—" Sir, cried I, interrupting him, my curioſity with regard to title pages is ſatisfied, I ſhould be glad to ſee ſome longer manuſcript, an hiſtory, or an epic poem.—"Bleſs me, cries the man of induſtry, now you ſpeak of an epic poem, you ſhall ſee an excellent farce. Here it is; dip into it where you will, it will be found replete with true modern humour. Strokes, Sir; it is filled with ſtrokes of wit and ſatire in every line." Do you call theſe daſhes of the pen ſtrokes, replied I, for I muſt confeſs I can ſee no other? "And pray Sir, re⯑turned he, what do you call them? Do you ſee any thing now a-days that is not filled with ſtrokes—and daſhes?—Sir, a well placed daſh makes half the wit of our writers of modern humour. I bought laſt ſeaſon a piece that had no other merit upon earth than nine hundred and ninety-five breaks, ſeventy-two ha ha's, three good things, and a garter. And yet it played off, and bounced, and cracked, and made more ſport than a fire work." I fancy then, Sir, you were a con⯑ſiderable gainer? "It muſt be owned the piece did pay; but upon the whole I cannot much boaſt of laſt winter's ſucceſs; I gained by two murders, but then I loſt by an ill timed charity ſermon. I was a conſider⯑able ſufferer by my Direct road to an eſtate, but the In⯑fernal Guide brought me up again. Ah, Sir, that was a piece touched off by the hands of a maſter, filled with good things from one end to the other. The au⯑thor [225] had nothing but the jeſt in view; no dull moral lurking beneath, nor ill-natured ſatire to ſour the reader's good humour; he wiſely conſidered that moral and hu⯑mour at the ſame time were quite over-doing the buſi⯑neſs." To what purpoſe was the book then publiſhed? cri⯑ed I. "Sir, the book was publiſhed in order to be ſold; and no book ſold better, except the criticiſms upon it, which came out ſoon after. Of all kinds of writing that goes off beſt at preſent; and I generally faſten a criticiſm upon every ſelling book that is publiſhed.

I once had an author who never left the leaſt open⯑ing for the critics: cloſe was the word, always very right, and very dull, ever on the ſafe ſide of an argu⯑ment; yet, with all his qualifications, incapable of coming into favour. I ſoon perceived that his bent was for criticiſm; and as he was good for nothing elſe, ſup⯑plied him with pens and paper, and planted him at the beginning of every month as a cenſor on the works of others. In ſhort, I found him a treaſure; no merit could eſcape him: but what is moſt remarkable of all, he ever wrote beſt and bittereſt when drunk." But are there not ſome works, interrupted I, that from the very manner of their compoſition muſt be exempt from criti⯑ciſm; particularly ſuch as profeſs to diſregard its laws. "There is no work whatſoever but he can cri⯑ticiſe, replied the bookſeller; even though you wrote in Chineſe he would have a pluck at you. Suppoſe you ſhould take it into your head to publiſh a book, let it be a volume of Chineſe letters for inſtance; write how you will, he ſhall ſhew the world you could have written better. Should you, with the moſt local ex⯑actneſs, ſtick to the manners and cuſtoms of the coun⯑try from whence you come; ſhould you confine your⯑ſelf [226] to the narrow limits of eaſtern knowledge, and be perfectly ſimple, and perfectly natural, he has then the ſtrongeſt reaſon to exclaim. He may with a ſneer ſend you back to China for readers. He may obſerve, that after the firſt or ſecond letter the iteration of the ſame ſimplicity is inſupportably tedious; but the worſt of all is, the public in ſuch a caſe will anticipate his cenſures, and leave you with all your uninſtructive ſim⯑plicity to be mauled at diſcretion."

Yes, cried I, but, in order to avoid his indignation, and what I ſhould fear more, that of the public, I would in ſuch a caſe write with all the knowledge I was maſter of. As I am not poſſeſſed of much learning, at leaſt I would not ſuppreſs what little I had; nor would I appear more ſtupid than nature made me. "Here then, cries the bookſeller, we ſhould have you entire⯑ly in our power; unnatural, uneaſtern; quite out of character; erroneouſly ſenſible would be the whole cry; Sir, we ſhould then hunt you down like a rat." Head of my father! ſaid I, ſure there are but two ways; the door muſt either be ſhut, or it muſt be open. I muſt either be natural or unnatural. "Be what you will, we ſhall criticiſe you, returned the bookſel⯑ler, and prove you a dunce in ſpite of your teeth. But, Sir, it is time that I ſhould come to buſineſs. I have juſt now in the preſs an hiſtory of China, and if you will but put your name to it as the author, I ſhall re⯑pay the obligation with gratitude." What, Sir, repli⯑ed I, put my name to a work which I have not writ⯑ten! Never while I retain a proper reſpect for the pub⯑lic and myſelf. The bluntneſs of my reply quite abated the ardour of the bookſeller's converſation; and, after about half an hour's diſagreeable reſerve, he with ſome ceremony took his leave and withdrew.

Adieu.

LETTER L.
To the ſame.

IN all other countries, my dear Fum Hoam, the rich are diſtinguiſhed by their dreſs. In Perſia, China, and moſt parts of Europe, thoſe who are poſſeſſed of much gold and ſilver, put ſome of it upon their cloaths; but in England, thoſe who carry much up⯑on their cloaths, are remarked for having but little in their pockets. A tawdry outſide is regarded as a badge of poverty, and thoſe who can ſit at home, and glote over their thouſands in ſilent ſatisfaction, are general⯑ly found to do it in plain cloaths.

This diverſity of thinking from the reſt of the world which prevails here, I was firſt at a loſs to account for; but am ſince informed that it was introduced by an inter⯑courſe between them and their neighbours the French; who, whenever they came in order to pay thoſe iſlanders a viſit, were generally very well dreſſed, and very poor, daubed with lace, but all the gilding on the outſide. By this means laced cloaths have been brought ſo much into contempt, that at preſent even their Man⯑darines are aſhamed of finery.

I muſt own myſelf a convert to Engliſh ſimplicity; I am no more for oftentation of wealth than of learn⯑ing; the perſon who in company ſhould pretend to be wiſer than others, I am apt to regard as illiterate and ill bred; the perſon whoſe cloaths are extremely fine, I am too apt to conſider as not being poſſeſſed of any ſuperiority of fortune, but reſembling thoſe Indians [228] who are found to wear all the gold they have in the world in a bob at the noſe.

I was lately introduced into a company of the beſt dreſſed men I have ſeen ſince my arrival. Upon en⯑tering the room, I was ſtruck with awe at the gran⯑deur of the different dreſſes. That perſonage, thought I, in blue and gold, muſt be ſome Emperor's ſon; that, in green and ſilver, a Prince of the blood; he, in embroidered ſcarlet, a prime miniſter; all firſt rate no⯑blemen, I ſuppoſe, and well looking noblemen too. I ſate for ſome time with that uneaſineſs with conſcious inferiority produces in the ingenuous mind, all atten⯑tion to their diſcourſe. However, I found their conver⯑ſation more vulgar than I could have expected from per⯑ſonages of ſuch diſtinction: if theſe, thought I to my⯑ſelf, be Princes, they are the moſt ſtupid Princes I have ever converſed with: yet ſtill I continued to venerate their dreſs; for dreſs has a kind of mechanical influ⯑ence on the mind.

My friend in black indeed did not behave with the ſame deference, but contradicted the fineſt of them all in the moſt peremptory tones of contempt. But I had [...]carce time to wonder at the imprudence of his con⯑duct, when I found occaſion to be equally ſurprized at the abſurdity of theirs; for upon the entry of a middle-aged man, dreſſed in a cap, dirty ſhirt and boots, the whole circle ſeemed diminiſhed of their former im⯑portance, and contended who ſhould be firſt to pay their obeyſance to the ſtranger. They ſomewhat re⯑ſembled a circle of Kalmucs offering incenſe to a bear.

Eager to know the cauſe of ſo much ſeeming con⯑tradiction, I whiſpered my friend out of the room, and [229] found that the auguſt company conſiſted of no other than a dancing maſter, two fiddlers, and a third rate actor, all aſſembled in order to make a ſet at country dances, as the middle-aged gentleman whom I ſaw en⯑ter was a ſquire from the country, and deſirous of learn⯑ing the new manner of footing and ſmoothing up the rudiments of his rural minuet.

I was no longer ſurprized at the authority which my friend aſſumed among them, nay, was even diſpleaſed (pardon my eaſtern education) that he had not kicked every creature of them down ſtairs. "What, ſaid I, ſhall a ſet of ſuch paltry fellows dreſs themſelves up like ſons of kings, and claim even the tranſitory re⯑ſpect of half an hour. There ſhould be ſome law to re⯑ſtrain ſo manifeſt a breach of privilege; they ſhould go from houſe to houſe, as in China, with the inſtru⯑ments of their profeſſion ſtrung round their necks; by this means we might be able to diſtinguiſh and treat them in a ſtile of becoming contempt." Hold, my friend, replied my companion, were your reformation to take place, as dancing maſters and fiddlers now mimic gen⯑tlemen in appearance, we ſhould then find our fine gen⯑tlemen conforming to theirs. A beau might be intro⯑duced to a lady of faſhion with a fiddle caſe hanging at his neck by a red ribbon; and, inſtead of a cane, might carry a fiddle ſtick. Tho' to be as dull as a firſt rate dancing maſter might be uſed with proverbial juſtice; yet, dull as he is, many a fine gentleman ſets him up as the proper ſtandard of politeneſs, copies not only the pert vivacity of his air, but the flat inſipidity of his con⯑verſation. In ſhort, if you make a law againſt danc⯑ing maſters imitating the fine gentleman, you ſhould [230] with as much reaſon enact, that no fine gentleman ſhall imitate the dancing maſter.

After I had left my friend, I made towards home, reflecting as I went upon the difficulty of diſtinguiſh⯑ing men by their appearance. Invited, however, by the freſhneſs of the evening, I did not return directly, but went to ruminate on what had paſſed in a pub⯑lic garden belonging to the city. Here, as I ſate up⯑on one of the benches, and felt the pleaſing ſym⯑pathy which nature in bloom inſpires, a diſconſolate figure, who ſate on the other end of the feat, ſeem⯑ed no way to enjoy the ſerenity of the ſeaſon.

His dreſs was miſerable beyond deſcription: a thread⯑bare coat of the rudeſt materials; a ſhirt, though clean, yet extremely coarſe; hair that ſeemed to have been long unconſcious of the comb; and all the reſt of his equipage impreſſed with the marks of genuine poverty.

As he continued to ſigh, and teſtify every ſymptom of deſpair, I was naturally led, from a motive of hu⯑manity, to offer comfort and aſſiſtance. You know my heart; and that all who are miſerable may claim a place there. The penſive ſtranger at firſt declined any converſation; but at laſt perceiving a peculiarity in my accent and manner of thinking, he began to unfold himſelf by degrees.

I now found that he was not ſo very miſerable as he at firſt appeared; upon my offering him a ſmall piece of money, he refuſed my favour, yet without appear⯑ing diſpleaſed at my intended generoſity. It is true he ſometimes interrupted the converſation with a ſigh, and [231] talked pathetically of neglected merit; yet ſtill I could perceive a ſerenity in his countenance, that, upon a cloſer inſpection, beſpoke inward content.

Upon a pauſe in the converſation I was going to take my leave, when he begged I would favour him with my company home to ſupper. I was ſurprized at ſuch a demand from a perſon of his appearance; but willing to indulge curioſity, I accepted his invitation; and though I felt ſome repugnance at being ſeen with one who appeared ſo very wretched, went along with ſeeming alacrity.

Still as he approached nearer home, his good hu⯑mour proportionably ſeemed to encreaſe. At laſt he ſtopped, not at the gate of an hovel, but of a magni⯑ficent palace! When I caſt my eyes upon all the ſump⯑tuous elegance which every where preſented upon en⯑tering, and then when I looked at my ſeeming miſera⯑ble conductor, I could ſcarce think that all this finery belonged to him; yet in fact it did. Numerous ſer⯑vants ran through the apartments with ſilent aſſiduity; ſeveral ladies of beauty and magnificently dreſſed came to welcome his return; a moſt elegant ſupper was provided; in ſhort, I found the perſon, whom a little before I had ſincerely pitied, to be in reality a moſt refined epicure; One who courted contempt abroad, in order to feel with keener guſt the pleaſure of pre-emi⯑nence at home.

Adieu.

LETTER LI.
From the ſame.

HOW often have we admired the eloquence of Europe! That ſtrength of thinking, that deli⯑cacy of imagination, even beyond the efforts of the Chineſe themſelves. How were we enraptured with thoſe bold figures which ſent every ſentiment with force to the heart. How have we ſpent whole days together in learning thoſe arts by which European writers got within the paſſions and led the reader as if by enchantment.

But though we have learned moſt of the rhetorical figures of the laſt age, yet there ſeems to be one or two of great uſe here, which have not yet travelled to China. The figures I mean are called Bawdy and Pert⯑neſs: none are more faſhionable; none ſo ſure of ad⯑mirers; they are of ſuch a nature, that the mereſt blockhead, by a proper uſe of them, ſhall have the re⯑putation of a wit; they lye level to the meaneſt capa⯑cities, and addreſs thoſe paſſions which all have, or would be aſhamed to diſown.

It has been obſerved, and I believe with ſome truth, that it is very difficult for a dunce to obtain the repu⯑tation of a wit; yet by the aſſiſtance of the figure Bawdy, this may be eaſily effected, and a bawdy block⯑head often paſſes for a fellow of ſmart parts and pre⯑tenſions. Every object in nature helps the jokes for⯑ward, without ſcarce any effort of the imagination. If a lady ſtands, ſomething very good may be ſaid upon that, if ſhe happens to fall, with the help of a little fa⯑ſhionable [233] Pruriency, there are forty ſly things ready on the occaſion. But a prurient jeſt has always been found to give moſt pleaſure to a few very old gentlemen, who being in ſome meaſure dead to other ſenſations, feel the force of the alluſion with double violence on the organs of riſibility.

An author who writes in this manner is generally ſure therefore of having the very old and impotent among his admirers; for theſe he may properly be ſaid to write, and from theſe he ought to expect his re⯑ward, his works being often a very proper ſuccedaneum to cantharides, or an aſſafoetida pill. His pen ſhould be conſidered in the ſame light as the ſquirt of an apo⯑thecary, both being directed at the ſame generous end.

But though this manner of writing be perfectly a⯑dapted to the taſte of gentlemen and ladies of faſhion here, yet ſtill it deſerves greater praiſe in being equal⯑ly ſuited to the moſt vulgar apprehenſions. The very ladies and gentlemen of Benin, or Cafraria, are in this reſpect tolerably polite, and might reliſh a prurient joke of this kind with critical propriety; probably, too, with higher guſt, as they wear neither breeches nor petti⯑coats to intercept the application.

It is certain I never could have expected the ladies here, biaſſed as they are by education, capable at once of bravely throwing off their prejudices, and not only applauding books in which this figure makes the only merit, but even adopting it in their own converſation. Yet ſo it is, the pretty innocents now carry thoſe books openly in their hands, which formerly were hid under the cuſhion; they now liſp their double meanings with [234] ſo much grace, and talk over the raptures they beſtow with ſuch little reſerve, that I am ſometimes reminded of a cuſtom among the entertainers in China, who think it a piece of neceſſary breeding to whet the ap⯑petites of their gueſts, by letting them ſmell dinner in the kitchen before it is ſerved up to table.

The veneration we have for many things, entirely proceeds from their being carefully concealed. Were the idolatrous Tartar permitted to lift the veil which keeps his idol from view, it might be a certain method to cure his future ſuperſtition; with what a noble ſpi⯑rit of freedom therefore muſt that writer be poſſeſſed, who bravely paints things as they are, who lifts the veil of modeſty, who diſplays the moſt hidden receſſes of the temple, and ſhews the erring people that the object of their vows is either, perhaps a mouſe, or a monkey.

However, though this figure be at preſent ſo much in faſhion; though the profeſſors of it are ſo much careſſed by the great, thoſe perfect judges of literary excellence; yet it is confeſſed to be only a revival of what was once faſhionable here before. There was a time, when by this very manner of writing, the gentle Tom. Durfey, as I read in Engliſh authors, acquired his great reputation, and became the favourite of a king.

The works of this original genius, tho' they never travelled abroad to China, and ſcarce have reach'd poſ⯑terity at home, were once found upon every faſhionable toilet, and made the ſubject of polite, I mean very po⯑lite converſation. "Has your Grace ſeen Mr. Durfey's laſt new thing, the Oylet Hole. A moſt facetious piece?" [235] Sure, my Lord, all the world muſt have ſeen it; Dur⯑fey is certainly the moſt comical creature alive. It is impoſſible to read his things and live. Was there e⯑ver any thing ſo natural and pretty, as when the Squire and Bridget meet in the cellar. And then the difficul⯑ties they both find in broaching the beer barrel are ſo arch and ſo ingenious! We have certainly nothing of this kind in the language." In this manner they ſpoke then, and in this manner they ſpeak now; for though the ſucceſſor of Durfey does not excel him in wit, the world muſt confeſs he out-does him in obſcenity.

There are ſeveral very dull fellows, who, by a few mechanical helps, ſometimes learn to become extreme⯑ly brilliant and pleaſing; with a little dexterity in the management of the eye-brows, fingers, and noſe. By imitating a cat, a ſow and pigs; by a loud laugh, and a ſlap on the ſhoulder, the moſt ignorant are furniſhed out for converſation. But the writer finds it impoſſible to throw his winks, his ſhrugs, or his attitudes upon paper; he may borrow ſome aſſiſtance indeed, by print⯑ing his face at the title page; but without wit to paſs for a man of ingenuity, no other mechanical help but downright obſcenity will ſuffice. By ſpeaking to ſome peculiar ſenſations we are always ſure of exciting laugh⯑ter, for the jeſt does not lie in the writer, but in the ſub⯑ject.

But Bawdry is often helped on by another figure cal⯑led Pertneſs; and few indeed are found to excell in one that are not poſſeſſed of the other.

As in common converſation, the beſt way to make the audience laugh is by firſt laughing yourſelf; ſo in writing, the propereſt manner is to ſhew an attempt at [236] humour, which will paſs upon moſt for humour in reality. To effect this, readers muſt be treated with the moſt perfect familiarity: in one page the author is to make them a low bow, and in the next to pull them by the noſe: he muſt talk in riddles, and then ſend them to bed in order to dream for the ſolution. He muſt ſpeak of himſelf and his chapters, and his man⯑ner, and what he would be at, and his own importance, and his mother's importance with the moſt unpitying prolixity: Now and then teſtifying his contempt for all but himſelf, ſmiling without a jeſt, and without wit poſſeſſing vivacity.

Adieu.

LETTER LII.
From the ſame.

THO' naturally penſive, yet I am fond of gay company, and take every opportunity of thus diſmiſſing the mind from duty. From this motive I am often found in the centre of a crowd; and where⯑ever pleaſure is to be ſold, am always a purchaſer. In thoſe places, without being remarked by any, I join in whatever goes forward, work my paſſions into a ſimilitude of frivolous earneſtneſs, ſhout as they ſhout, and condemn as they happen to diſapprove. A mind thus ſunk for a while below its natural ſtandard, is qua⯑lified for ſtronger flights, as thoſe firſt retire who would ſpring forward with greater vigour.

Attracted by the ſerenity of the evening, my friend and I lately went to gaze upon the company in one of the public walks near the city. Here we ſauntered to⯑gether [237] for ſome time, either praiſing the beauty of ſuch as were handſome, or the dreſſes of ſuch as had nothing elſe to recommend them. We had gone thus deliberately forward for ſome time, when ſtopping on a ſudden, my friend caught me by the elbow, and led me out of the public walk; I could perceive by the quickneſs of his pace, and by his frequently looking behind, that he was attempting to avoid ſomebody who followed; we now turned to the right, then to the left; as we went forward he ſtill went faſter, but in vain; the perſon whom he attempted to eſcape, hunt⯑ed us through every doubling, and gained upon us each moment; ſo that at laſt we fairly ſtood ſtill, re⯑ſolving to face what we could not avoid.

Our purſuer ſoon came up, and joined us with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. My dear Dry⯑bone, cries he, ſhaking my friend's hand, where have you been hiding this half a century? Poſitively I had fancied you were gone down to cultivate matrimony and your eſtate in the country. During the reply, I had an opportunity of ſurveying the appearance of our new companion; his hat was pinched up with peculiar ſmartneſs; his looks were pale, thin, and ſharp; round his neck he wore a broad black ribbon, and in his bo⯑ſom a buckle ſtudded with glaſs; his coat was trimmed with tarniſhed twiſt; he wore by his ſide a ſword with a black hilt, and his ſtockings of ſilk, though newly waſhed, were grown yellow by long ſervice. I was ſo much engaged with the peculiarity of his dreſs, that I attended only to the latter part of my friend's reply, in which he complimented Mr. Tibbs on the taſte of his cloaths, and the bloom in his countenance, Pſha, pſha, Will, cried the figure, no more of that if you love [238] me, you know I hate flattery, on my ſoul I do; and yet to be ſure an intimacy with the great will improve one's appearance, and a courſe of veniſon will fatten; and yet faith I deſpiſe the great as much as you do; but there are a great many damned honeſt fellows among them; and we muſt not quarrel with one half, becauſe the other wants weeding. If they were all ſuch as my lord Mudler, one of the moſt good-natured creatures that ever ſqueezed a lemon, I ſhould myſelf be among the number of their admirers. I was yeſter⯑day to dine at the Dutcheſs of Piccadilly's, My lord was there. Ned, ſays he to me, Ned, ſays he, I'll hold gold to ſilver, I can tell where you were poaching laſt night. Poaching my lord, ſays I; faith you have miſſed already; for I ſtaid at home, and let the girls poach for me. That's my way; I take a fine woman as ſome animals do their prey; ſtand ſtill, and ſwoop, they fall into my mouth.

Ah, Tibbs, thou art an happy fellow, cried my companion with looks of infinite pity, I hope your for⯑tune is as much improved as your underſtanding in ſuch company? Improved, replyed the other; You ſhall know,—but let it go no further,—a great ſecret—five hundred a year to begin with.—My Lord's word of honour for it—His Lordſhip took me down in his own Chariot yeſterday, and we had a tete-a-tete dinner in the country; where we talked of nothing elſe. I fancy you forget, ſir, cried I, you told us but this moment of your dining yeſterday in town! Did I ſay ſo, replied he, cooly, to be ſure if I ſaid ſo; it was ſo—Dined in town; egad now I do remember, I did dine in town; but I dined in the country too; for you muſt know, my boys, I eat two dinners. By the bye, I am grown as [239] nice as the Devil in my eating. I'll tell you a pleaſant affair about that, we were a ſelect party of us to dine at Lady Grogram's, an affected piece, but let it go no farther; a ſecret: well, there happened to be no Aſſa⯑foetida in the ſauce to a turkey, upon which, ſays I, I'll hold a thouſand guineas, and ſay done firſt, that—But dear Dry bone, you are an honeſt creature, lend me half a-crown for a minute or two, or ſo, juſt till—But hearkee, aſk me for it the next time we meet, or it may be twenty to one but I forget to pay you.

When he left us, our converſation naturally turned upon ſo extraordinary a character. His very dreſs cries my friend, is not leſs extraordinary than his con⯑duct. If you meet him this day you find him in rags, if the next in embroidery. With thoſe perſons of di⯑ſtinction, of whom he talks ſo familiarly, he has ſcarce a coffee-houſe acquaintance. However, both for in⯑tereſts of ſociety, and perhaps for his own, heaven has made him poor, and while all the world perceive his wants, he fancies them concealed from every eye. An agreeable companion becauſe he underſtands flattery, and all muſt be pleaſed with the firſt part of his con⯑verſation, though all are ſure of its ending with a de⯑mand on their purſe. While his youth countenances the levity of his conduct, he may thus earn a precari⯑ous ſubſiſtance, but when age comes on, the gravity of which is incompatible with buffoonery, then will he find himſelf forſaken by all. Condemned in the de⯑cline of life to hang upon ſome rich family whom he once deſpiſed, there to undergo all the ingenuity of ſtudied contempt, to be employed only as a ſpy upon the ſervants, or a bug-bear to fright the children into obedience.

Adieu.

LETTER LIII.
To the ſame.

I AM apt to fancy I have contracted a new ac⯑quaintance whom it will be no eaſy matter to ſhake off. My little beau yeſterday overtook me again in one of the publick walks, and ſlapping me on the ſhoulder, ſaluted me with an air of the moſt perfect familiarity. His dreſs was the ſame as uſual, except that he had more powder in his hair, wore a dirtier ſhirt, a pair of temple ſpectacles, and his hat under his arm.

As I knew him to be an harmleſs amuſing little thing, I could not return his ſmiles with any degree of ſeverity; ſo we walked forward on terms of the utmoſt intimacy, and in a few minutes diſcuſſed all the uſual topics preliminary to particular converſation.

The oddities that marked his character, however, ſoon began to appear; he bowed to ſeveral well dreſſed perſons, who, by their manner of returning the com⯑pliment, appeared perfect ſtrangers. At intervals he drew out a pocket book, ſeeming to take memoran⯑dums before all the company, with much importance and aſſiduity. In this manner he led me through the length of the whole walk, fretting at his abſurdities, and fancying myſelf laughed at not leſs than him by every ſpectator.

When we were got to the end of our proceſſion, Blaſt me, cries he, with an air of vivacity, I never ſaw the park ſo thin in my life before; there's no company at [241] all to day. Not a ſingle face to be ſeen. No company, interrupted I peeviſhly; no company where there is ſuch a crowd; why man, there's too much. What are the thouſand that have been laughing at us but company! Lord, my dear, returned he, with the ut⯑moſt good humour, you ſeem immenſely chagrined; but, blaſt me, when the world laughs at me, I laugh at the world, and ſo we are even. My Lord Trip, Bill Squaſh the Creolian, and I ſometimes make a party at being ridiculous; and ſo we ſay and do a thouſand things for the joke ſake. But I ſee you are grave, and if you are for a fine grave ſentimental companion, you ſhall dine with me and my wife to day, I muſt inſiſt on't; I'll introduce you to Mrs. Tibbs, a Lady of as elegant qualifications as any in nature; ſhe was bred, but that's between ourſelves, under the inſpection of the Counteſs of All-night. A charming body of voice, but no more of that, ſhe ſhall give us a ſong. You ſhall ſee my little girl too, Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Tibbs, a ſweet pretty creature; I deſign her for my Lord Drumſtick's eldeſt ſon, but that's in friendſhip, let it go no farther; ſhe's but ſix years old, and yet ſhe walks a minuet, and plays on the guittar immenſely already. I intend ſhe ſhall be as perfect as poſſible in every ac⯑compliſhment. In the firſt place I'll make her a ſcholar; I'll teach her Greek myſelf, and learn that language purpoſely to inſtruct her; but let that be a ſecret.

Thus ſaying, without waiting for a reply, he took me by the arm and hauled me along. We paſſed through many dark alleys and winding ways; for, from ſome motives to me unknown, he ſeemed to have a particular averſion to every frequented ſtreet; at laſt, however, we got to the door of a diſmal looking houſe [242] in the outlets of the town, where he informed me he choſe to reſide for the benefit of the air.

We entered the lower door, which ever ſeemed to lie moſt hoſpitably open; and I began to aſcend an old and creaking ſtair-caſe, when, as he mounted to ſhew me the way, he demanded, whether I delighted in proſpects, to which anſwering in the affirmative, Then, ſays he, I ſhall ſhew you one of the moſt charming in the world out of my windows; we ſhall ſee the ſhips ſailing, and the whole country for twenty miles round, tip top, quite high. My Lord Swamp would give ten thouſand guineas for ſuch a one; but as I ſometimes pleaſantly tell him, I always love to keep my proſpects at home, that my friends may ſee me the oftner.

By this time we were arrived as high as the ſtairs would permit us to aſcend, till we came to what he was facetiouſly pleaſed to call the firſt floor down the chimney; and knocking at the door, a voice from within demanded, who's there? My conductor anſwer⯑ed, that it was him. But this not ſatisfying the queriſt, the voice again repeated the demand: to which he an⯑ſwered louder than before; and now the door was opened by an old woman with cautious reluctance.

When we were got in, he welcomed me to his houſe with great ceremony, and turning to the old woman, aſked where was her lady? "Good troth, replied ſhe, in a peculiar dialect, ſhe's waſhing your twa ſhirts at the next door, becauſe they have taken an oath againſt lending out the tub any longer." My two ſhirts, cries he in a tone that faultered with confuſion, what does the ideot mean? "I ken what I mean well enough, re⯑plied the other, ſhe's waſhing your twa ſhirts at the next door, becauſe—" Fire and fury, no more of thy [243] ſtupid explanations, cried he,—Go and inform her we have got company. Were that Scotch hag to be for ever in my family, ſhe would never learn politeneſs, nor forget that abſurd poiſonous accent of hers, or teſti⯑fy the ſmalleſt ſpecimen of breeding or high life; and yet it is very ſurprizing too, as I had her from a par⯑liament man, a friend of mine, from the highlands, one of the politeſt men in the world; but that's a ſecret.

We waited ſome time for Mrs. Tibbs's arrival, dur⯑ing which interval I had a full opportunity of ſurvey⯑ing the chamber and all its furniture; which conſiſted of four chairs with old wrought bottoms, that he aſ⯑ſured me were his wife's embroidery; a ſquare table that had been once japanned, a cradle, in one corner, a lumbering cabinet in the other; a broken ſhepherdeſs, and a mandarine without an head, were ſtuck over the chimney; and round the walls ſeveral paltry, unframed pictures, which he obſerved, were all his own draw⯑ing: What do you think, Sir, of that head in the cor⯑ner, done in the manner of Griſoni? there's the true keeping in it; its my own face, and though there hap⯑pens to be no likeneſs, a counteſs offered me an hun⯑dred for its fellow; I refuſed her, for, hang it, that would be mechanical, you know.

The wife at laſt made her appearance, at once a ſlattern and a coquet; much emaciated, but ſtill car⯑rying the remains of beauty. She made twenty apolo⯑gies for being ſeen in ſuch an odious diſhabille, but hoped to be excuſed, as ſhe had ſtaid out all night at the gardens with the counteſs, who was exceſſively fond of the horns. "And, indeed, my dear, added ſhe, turning to her huſband, his lordſhip drank your health in a bumper." Poor Jack, cries he, a dear good-natured creature, I know he loves me; but I [244] hope, my dear, you have given orders for dinner; you need make no great preparations neither, there are but three of us, ſomething elegant, and little will do; a turbot, an ortolan, or a [...]. Or what do you think, my dear, interrupts the wife, of a nice pretty bit of ox cheek, piping hot, and dreſſed with a little of my own ſauce.—The very thing, replies he, it will eat beſt with ſome ſmart bottled beer; but be ſure to let's have the ſauce his Grace was ſo fond of. I hate your immenſe loads of meat, that is country all over; extreme diſ⯑guſting to thoſe who are in the leaſt acquainted with high life.

By this time my curioſity began to abate, and my appetite to encreaſe; the company of fools may at firſt make us ſmile, but at laſt never fails of rendering us melancholy. I therefore pretended to recollect a prior engagement, and after having ſhewn my reſpect to the houſe, according to the faſhion of the Engliſh, by giv⯑ing the old ſervant a piece of money at the door, I took my leave. Mr. Tibbs aſſuring me, that dinner, if I ſtaid, would be ready at leaſt in leſs than two hours.

LETTER LIV.
From Fum Hoam to Altangi, the diſcontented wanderer.

THE diſtant ſounds of muſic that catch new ſweetneſs as they vibrate through the long drawn valley, are not more pleaſing to the ear than the tidings of a far diſtant friend.

I have juſt received two hundred of thy letters by the Ruſſian carravan, deſcriptive of the manners of Europe. You have left it to geographers to determine [245] the ſite of their mountains, and extent of their lakes, ſeeming only employed in diſcovering the genius, the government, and diſpoſition of the people.

In thoſe letters I perceive a journal of the operations of your mind upon whatever occurs, rather than a detail of your travels from one building to another; of your taking a draught of this ruin, or that obeliſk; of paying ſo many Tomans for this commodity, or laying up a proper ſtore for the paſſage of ſome new wilder⯑neſs.

From your accounts of Ruſſia I learn, that this na⯑tion is again relaxing into priſtine barbarity, that its great Emperor wanted a life of an hundred years more to bring about his vaſt deſign. A ſavage people may be reſembled to their own foreſts; a few years are ſuf⯑ficient to clear away the obſtructions to agriculture; but it requires many ere the ground acquires a proper degree of fertility; the Ruſſians, attached to their an⯑cient prejudices, again renew their hatred to ſtrangers, and indulge every former brutal exceſs. So true it is, that the revolutions of wiſdom are ſlow and difficult; the revolutions of folly or ambition precipitate and eaſy. We are not to be aſtoniſhed, ſays Confucius^*, that the wiſe walk more ſlowly in their road to virtue, than fools in their paſſage to vice; ſince paſſion drags us along, while wiſdom only points out the way.

The German Empire, that remnant of the Majeſty of ancient Rome, appears from your accounts on the eve of diſſolution. The members of its vaſt body want [246] every tye of government to unite them, and ſeem fee⯑bly held together only by their reſpect for an ancient in⯑ſtitution. The very name of country and countrymen, which in other nations makes one of the ſtrongeſt bonds of government, has been here for ſome time laid aſide, each of its inhabitants ſeeming more proud of being called from the petty ſtate which gives him birth, than by the more well known title of German.

This government may be regarded in the light of a ſevere maſter, and a feeble opponent. The ſtates which are now ſubject to the laws of the Empire, are only watching a proper occaſion to fling off the yoke, and thoſe which are become too powerful to be com⯑pelled to obedience, now begin to think of dictating in their turn. The ſtruggles in this ſtate are therefore not in order to preſerve but to deſtroy the ancient con⯑ſtitution; if one ſide ſucceeds, the government muſt become deſpotic, if the other, ſeveral ſtates will ſubſiſt without even nominal ſubordination, but in either caſe the Germanic conſtitution will be no more.

Sweden, on the contrary, though now ſeemingly a ſtrenuous aſſertor of its liberties, is probably only haſtening on to deſpotiſm. Their ſenators, while they pretend to vindicate the freedom of the people, are only eſtabliſhing their own independance. The de⯑luded people will however at laſt perceive the miſeries of an ariſtocratical government; they will perceive that the adminiſtration of a ſociety of men is ever more painful than that of one only. They will fly from this moſt oppreſſive of all forms, where one ſingle member is capable of controlling the whole, to take refuge un⯑der the throne which will ever be attentive to their complaints. No people long endure an ariſtocratical [247] government, when they could apply elſewhere for re⯑dreſs. The lower orders of people may be enſlaved for a time by a number of tyrants, but upon the firſt opportunity they will ever take a refuge in deſpotiſm or democracy.

As the Swedes are making concealed approaches to deſpotiſm, the French, on the other hand, are imper⯑ceptibly vindicating themſelves into freedom. When I conſider that thoſe parliaments (the members of which are all created by the court, the preſidents of which can act only by immediate direction) preſume even to mention privileges and freedom, who, till of late, re⯑ceived directions from the throne with implicit humi⯑lity; when this is conſidered, I cannot help fancying that the genius of freedom has entered that kingdom in diſguiſe. If they have but three weak monarchs more, ſucceſſively on the throne, the maſk will be laid aſide, and the country will certainly once more be free.

When I compare the figure which the Dutch make in Europe with that they aſſume in Aſia, I am ſtruck with ſurprize. In Aſia, I find them the great Lords of all the Indian ſeas; in Europe the timid inhabitants of a paltry ſtate. No longer the ſons of freedom, but of avarice; no longer aſſertors of their rights by courage, but by negotiations; fawning on thoſe who inſult them, and crouching under the rod of every neighbouring power. Without a friend to ſave them in diſtreſs, and without virtue to ſave themſelves; their government is poor, and their private wealth will ſerve but to in⯑vite ſome neighbouring invader.

I long with impatience for your letters from England, Denmark, Holland, and Italy; yet why wiſh for rela⯑tions which only deſcribe new calamities, which ſhew [248] that ambition and avarice are equally terrible in every region.

Adieu.

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

I Have frequently admired the manner of criticiſing in China, where the learned are aſſembled in a body to judge of every new publication; to examine the merits of the work without knowing the circum⯑ſtances of the author, and then to uſher it into the world with the proper marks of reſpect or reprobation.

In England there are no ſuch tribunals erected; but if a man thinks proper to be a judge of genius, few will be at the pains to contradict his pretenſions. If any chuſe to be critics, it is but ſaying they are critics; and from that time forward they became inveſted with full power and authority over every caitiff who aims at their inſtruction or entertainment.

As almoſt every member of ſociety has by this means a vote in literary tranſactions; it is no way ſur⯑prizing to find the rich leading the way here as in other common concerns of life, to ſee them either bribing the numerous herd of voters by their intereſt, or brow⯑beating them by their authority.

A great man ſays, at his table, that ſuch a book is no bad thing. Immediately the praiſe is carried off by five flatterers to be diſperſed at twelve different coffee⯑houſes, from whence it circulates, ſtill improving as it proceeds, through forty-five houſes, where cheaper [249] liquors are ſold; from thence it is carried away by the honeſt tradeſman to his own fire-ſide, where the ap⯑plauſe is eagerly caught up by his wife and children who have been long taught to regard his judgment as the ſtandard of perfection. Thus when we have traced a wide extended literary reputation up to its ori⯑ginal ſource, we ſhall find it derived from ſome great man, who has, perhaps, received all his education and Engliſh from a tutor of Berne, or a dancing-maſter of Picardie.

The Engliſh are a people of good ſenſe; and I am the more ſurprized to find them ſwayed in their opi⯑nions, by men who often from, their very education, are incompetent judges. Men who being always bred in affluence, ſee the world only on one ſide, are ſurely improper judges of human nature; they may indeed, deſcribe a ceremony, a pageant or a ball; but how can they pretend to dive into the ſecrets of the human heart, who have been nurſed up only in forms, and daily behold nothing but the ſame inſipid adulation ſmiling upon every face. Few of them have been bred in that beſt of ſchools, the ſchool of adverſity; and by what I can learn, fewer ſtill have been bred in any ſchool at all.

From ſuch a deſcription one would think, that a droning Duke, or a Dowager Ducheſs, was not poſ⯑ſeſſed of more juſt pretenſions to taſte than perſons of leſs quality; and yet whatever the one or the other may write or praiſe, ſhall paſs for perfection, without farther examination. A nobleman has but to take pen, ink, and paper, and write away through three large volumes, and then ſign his name to the title page, tho' the whole might have been before more diſguſting than [250] his own rent-roll, yet ſigning his name and title gives value to the deed; title being alone equivalent to taſte, imagination, and genius.

As ſoon as a piece therefore, is publiſhed, the firſt queſtions are, Who is the author? Does he keep a coach? Where lies his eſtate? What ſort of a table does he keep? If he happens to be poor and unquali⯑fied for ſuch a ſcrutiny, he and his works ſink into ir⯑remediable obſcurity; and too late he finds, that hav⯑ing fed upon Turtle is a more ready way to ſame than having digeſted Tully.

The poor devil, againſt whom faſhion has ſet its [...]ace, vainly alledges, that he has been bred in every part of Europe where knowledge was to be ſold; that he has grown pale in the ſtudy of nature and himſelf: his works may pleaſe upon the peruſal, but his preten⯑ſions to fame are intirely diſregarded; he is treated like a fidler, whoſe muſic, though liked, is not much praiſed, becauſe he lives by it; while a gentleman per⯑former, though the moſt wretched ſcraper alive, throws the audience into raptures. The fidler indeed may in ſuch a caſe conſole himſelf by thinking, that while the other goes off with all the praiſe, he runs away with all the money: but here the parallel drops; for while the nobleman triumphs in unmerited applauſe, the au⯑thor by profeſſion, ſteals off with—Nothing.

The poor, therefore, here, who draw their pens auxiliary to the laws of their country, muſt think themſelves very happy if they find, not fame but for⯑giveneſs; and yet they are hardly treated; for as every country grows more polite, the preſs becomes more uſeful; and writers become more neceſſary, as readers are ſuppoſed to increaſe. In a poliſhed ſociety, that [251] man, though in rags, who has the power of enforcing virtue from the preſs, is of, more real uſe than forty ſtupid brachmans or bonzes or guebres, though they preached never ſo often, never ſo loud, or never ſo long. That man, though in rags, who is capable of deceiving even indolence into wiſdom, and who profeſſes amuſement while he aims at reformation, is more uſe⯑ful in refined ſociety than twenty cardinals with all their ſcarlet, and tricked out in all the fopperies of ſcholaſtic finery.

LETTER LVI.
To the ſame.

AS the man in black takes every opportunity of introducing me to ſuch company as may ſerve to indulge my ſpeculative temper, or gratify my curi⯑oſity; I was by his influence lately invited to a viſita⯑tion dinner. To underſtand this term, you muſt know, that it was formerly the cuſtom here for the principal prieſts to go about the country once a year, and examine upon the ſpot whether thoſe of ſubordi⯑nate orders did their duty, or were qualified for the taſk; whether their temples were kept in proper re⯑pair, or the laity pleaſed with their adminiſtration.

Though a viſitation of this nature was very uſeful, yet it was found to be extremely trouble ome, and for many reaſons utterly inconvenient; for as the principal prieſts were obliged to attend at court, in order to ſo⯑licit preferment, it was impoſſible they could at the ſame time attend in the country, which was quite out of the road to promotion: if we add to this the gout, which has been time immemorial a clerical diſorder [252] here, together with the bad wine, and ill dreſſed pro⯑viſions that muſt infallibly be ſerved up by the way, it was not ſtrange that the cuſtom has been long diſcon⯑tinued. At preſent, therefore, every head of the church, inſtead of going about to viſit his prieſts, is ſatisfied if his prieſts come in a body once a year to viſit him; by this means the duty of half a year is diſpatch⯑ed in a day. When aſſembled, he aſks each in his turn how they have behaved, and are liked; upon which, thoſe who have neglected their duty, or are diſagree⯑able to their congregation, no doubt accuſe themſelves, and tell him all their faults; for which, he reprimands them moſt ſeverely.

The thoughts of being introduced into a company of philoſophers and learned men, (for as ſuch I con⯑ceived them) gave me no ſmall pleaſure; I expected our entertainment would reſemble thoſe ſentimental banquets ſo finely deſcribed by Xenophon and Plato; I was hoping ſome Socrates would be brought in from the door, in order to harangue upon divine love; but as for eating and drinking I had prepared myſelf to be diſappointed in that particular. I was apprized, that faſting and temperance were tenets ſtrongly recom⯑mended to the profeſſors of Chriſtianity; and I had ſeen the frugality and mortification of the prieſts of the eaſt: ſo that I expected an entertainment where we ſhould have much reaſoning, and little meat.

Upon being introduced, I confeſs I found no great ſigns of mortification in the faces or perſons of the com⯑pany. However, I imputed their florid looks to tem⯑perance, and their corpulency to a ſedentary way of living. I ſaw ſeveral preparations indeed for dinner, but none for philoſophy. The company ſeemed to [253] gaze upon the table with ſilent expectation; but this I eaſily excuſed. Men of wiſdom, thought I, are ever ſlow of ſpeech; they deliver nothing unadviſedly. Si⯑lence, ſays Confucius, is a friend that will never be⯑tray. They are now probably inventing maxims, or hard ſayings, for their mutual inſtruction, when ſome one ſhall think proper to begin.

My curioſity was now wrought up to the higheſt pitch; I impatiently looked round to ſee if any were going to interrupt the mighty pauſe; when, at laſt, one of the company declared, that there was a ſow in his neighbourhood that farrowed fifteen pigs at a litter. This I thought a very prepoſterous beginning: but juſt as another was going to ſecond the remark, dinner was ſerved, which interrupted the converſation for that time.

The appearance of dinner, which conſiſted of a va⯑riety of diſhes, ſeemed to diffuſe new chearfulneſs upon every face; ſo that I now expected the philoſophical converſation to begin, as they improved in good hu⯑mour. The principal prieſt, however, opened his mouth, with only obſerving, that the veniſon had not been kept enough, though he had given ſtrict orders for having it killed ten days before. I fear, continued he, it will be found to want the true beathy flavour; you will find nothing of the original wildneſs in it. A prieſt, who ſate next him, having ſmelt it and wiped his noſe: "Ah, my good lord, cries he, you are too modeſt, it is perfectly fine; every body knows that no body underſtands keeping veniſon with your Lordſhip." "Ay, and partridges too, interrupted another; I never find them right any where elſe." His Lord⯑ſhip was going to reply, when a third took off the [254] attention of the company, by recommending the pig as inimitable. "I fancy, my Lord, continues he, it has been ſmothered in its own blood." "If it has been ſmothered in its blood, cried a facetious member, help⯑ing himſelf, we'll now ſmother it in egg ſauce." This poignant piece of humour produced a long loud laugh, which the facetious brother obſerving, and now that he was in luck, willing to ſecond his blow, aſſured the company he would tell them a good ſtory about that: "As good a ſtory, cries he, burſting into a violent fit of laughter himſelf, as ever you heard in your lives; there was a farmer of my pariſh, who uſed to ſup upon wild ducks and flummery; ſo this farmer—Doctor Marrowfat, cries his Lordſhip, interrupting him, give me leave to drink your health—ſo being fond of wild ducks and flummery—Doctor, adds a gentleman who ſate next him, let me adviſe you to a wing of this turkey;—ſo this farmer being fond—Hob nob, Doctor, which do you chuſe, white or red?—So being fond of wild ducks and flummery;—take care of your band, Sir, it may dip in the gravy. The Doctor, now look⯑ing round, found not a ſingle eye diſpoſed to liſten; wherefore calling for a glaſs of wine, he gulped down the diſappointment and the tale in a bumper.

The converſation now began to be little more than a rhapſody of exclamations; as each had pretty well ſatisfied his own appetite, he now found ſufficient time to preſs others. Excellent, the very thing; let me recommend the pig, do but taſte the bacon; never eat a better thing in my life; exquiſite, delicious. This edifying diſcourſe continued thro' three courſes, which laſted as many hours, till every one of the com⯑pany were unable to ſwallow or utter any thing more.

[255] It is very natural for men who are abridged in one exceſs, to break into ſome other. The clergy here, particularly thoſe who are advanced in years, think if they are abſtemious with regard to women and wine, they may indulge their other appetites without cenſure. Thus ſome are found to riſe in the morning only to a conſultation with their cook about dinner, and when that has been ſwallowed, make no other uſe of their faculties (if they have any) but to ruminate on the ſuc⯑ceeding meal.

A debauch in wine is even more pardonable than this, ſince one glaſs inſenſibly leads on to another, and inſtead of ſateing whets the appetite. The progreſſive ſteps to it are chearful and ſeducing; the grave are animated, the melancholy relieved, and there is even claſſic authority to countenance the exceſs. But in eating after nature is once ſatisfied, every additional morſel brings ſtupidity and diſtempers with it, and as one of their own poets expreſſes it,

Let me ſuppoſe, after ſuch a meal as this I have been deſcribing, while all the company are ſitting in lethargic ſilence round the table, grunting under a load of ſoup, pig, pork, and bacon; let me ſuppoſe, I ſay, ſome hungry beggar, with looks of want, peeping through one of the windows, and thus addreſſing the aſſembly, Prithee, pluck thoſe napkins from your chins; after nature is ſatisfied all that you [...] extraordinary is my property, and I claim it as mine. It was given you in order to relieve me, and not to oppreſs yourſelves. How can they comfort or inſtruct others who can ſcarce feel their own exiſtence, except from the unſavoury re⯑turns [256] of an ill digeſted meal. But though neither you nor the cuſhions you ſit upon will hear me, yet the world regards the exceſſes of its teachers with a pry⯑ing eye, and notes their conduct with double ſeverity. I know no other anſwer any one of the company could make to ſuch an expoſtulation, but this: "Friend, you talk of our loſing a character, and being diſliked by the world; well, and ſuppoſing all this to be true, what then! who cares for the world? We'll preach for the world, and the world ſhall pay us for preach⯑ing, whether we like each other or not."

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

YOU will probably be pleaſed to ſee my letter dated from Terki, a city which lies beyond the bounds of the Perſian empire: here, bleſſed with ſecurity, with all that is dear, I double my raptures, by communicating them to you; the mind ſympathiz⯑ing with the freedom of the body, my whole ſoul is dilated in gratitude, love, and praiſe.

Yet were my own happineſs all that inſpired my pre⯑ſent joy, my raptures might juſtly merit the imputa⯑tion of ſelf-intereſt; but when I think that the beauti⯑ful Zelis is alſo free, forgive my triumph when I boaſt of having reſcued from captivity the moſt deſerving object upon earth.

You remember the reluctance ſhe teſtified at being obliged to marry the tyrant ſhe hated. Her compliance at laſt was only feigned, in order to gain time to try [257] ſome future means of eſcape. During the interval be⯑tween her promiſe and the intended performance of it, ſhe came undiſcovered one evening to the place where I generally retired after the fatigues of the day; her appearance was like that of an aerial genius, when, it deſcends to miniſter comfort to undeſerved diſtreſs; the mild luſtre of her eye ſerved to baniſh my timidity; her accents were ſweeter than the echo of ſome diſtant ſymphony. "Unhappy ſtranger, ſaid ſhe, in the Perſian language, you here perceive one more wretched than thyſelf; all this ſolemnity of preparation, this elegance of dreſs, and the number of my attendants, ſerve but to encreaſe my miſeries; if you have courage to reſcue an unhappy woman from approaching ruin, and our deteſted tyrant, you may depend upon my [...]u⯑ture gratitude." I bowed to the ground, and ſhe left me, filled with rapture and aſtoniſhment. Night brought no reſt, nor could the enſuing morning calm the anxieties of my mind. I projected a thouſand me⯑thods for her delivery; but each, when ſtrictly exa⯑mined, appeared impracticable; in this uncertainty the evening again arrived, and I placed myſelf on my for⯑mer ſtation in hopes of a repeated viſit. After ſome ſhort expectation, the bright perfection again appeared; I bowed, as before, to the ground; when raiſing me up ſhe obſerved, that the time was not to be ſpent in uſeleſs ceremony; ſhe obſerved that the day following was appointed for the celebration of her nuptials, and that ſomething was to be done that very night for our mutual deliverance. I offered with the utmoſt humi⯑lity to purſue whatever ſcheme ſhe ſhould direct; upon which ſhe propoſed that inſtant to ſcale the garden wall, adding, that ſhe had prevailed upon a female ſlave, who was now waiting at the appointed place, to aſſiſt her with a ladder.

[258] Purſuant to this information I led her trembling to the place appointed; but inſtead of the ſlave we ex⯑pected to ſee, Moſtadad himſelf was there awaiting our arrival; the wretch in whom we confided, it ſeems, had betrayed our deſign to her maſter, and he now ſaw the moſt convincing proofs of her informa⯑tion. He was juſt going to draw his ſabre, when a principle of avarice repreſſed his fury, and he reſolved, after a ſevere chaſtiſement, to diſpoſe of me to another maſter, in the mean time ordering me to be confined in the ſtricteit manner, and the next day to receive an hundred blows on the ſoles of my feet.

When the morning came I was led out in order to receive the puniſhment, which, from the ſeverity with which it is generally inflicted upon ſlaves, is worſe e⯑ven than death.

A trumpet was to be a ſignal for the ſolemnization of the nuptials of Zelis, and for the infliction of my puniſhment. Each ceremony to me equally dreadful was juſt going to begin, when we were informed that a large party of Circaſſian Tartars had invaded the town, and were laying all in ruin. Every perſon now thought of ſaving himſelf; I inſtantly unlooſed the cords with which I was bound, and ſeizing a ſcymetar from one of the ſlaves who had not courage to reſiſt me, flew to the women's apartment where Zelis was confined, dreſſed out for the intended nuptials. I bade her follow me without delay; and going forward, cut my way through eunuchs, who made but a faint re⯑ſiſtance. The whole city was now a ſcene of confla⯑gration and terror; every perſon was willing to ſave himſelf, unmindful of others. In this confuſion ſeiz⯑ing upon two of the fleeteſt courſers in the ſtables of [259] Moſtadad, we fled northward towards the kingdom of Circaſſia As there were ſeveral others flying in the ſame manner, we paſſed without notice, and in three days arrived at Terki, a city that lies in a valley within the boſom of the [...]owning mountains of Caucaſus.

Here, free from every apprehenſion of danger, we enjoy all thoſe ſatisfactions which are conſiſtent with virtue; though I find my heart at intervals give way to unuſual paſſions, yet ſuch is my admiration for my fair companion, that I loſe even tenderneſs in diſtant reſpect. Though her perſon demands particular re⯑gard even among the beauties of Circaſſia, yet is her mind far more lovely. How very different is a woman who thus has cultivated her underſtanding, and been refined into delicacy of ſentiment, from the daughters of the eaſt, whoſe education is only formed to improve the perſon, and make them more tempting objects of proſtitution!

Adieu.

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

WHEN ſufficiently refreſhed after the fatigues of our precipitate flight, my curioſity, which had been reſtrained by the appearance of immediate danger, now began to revive: I longed to know by what diſtreſsful accidents my fair fugitive became a captive, and could not avoid teſtifying a ſurprize how ſo much beauty could be involved in the calamities from whence ſhe had been ſo lately reſcued.

Talk not of perſonal charms, cried ſhe with emo⯑tion, [260] ſince to them I owe every misfortune: look round on the numberleſs beauties of the country where we are; and ſee how nature has poured its charms upon every face, and yet by this profuſion heaven would ſeem to ſhew how little it regards ſuch a bleſſing, ſince the gift is laviſhed upon a nation of proſtitutes.

I perceive you deſire to know my ſtory, and your curioſity is not ſo great as my impatience to gratify it: I find a pleaſure in telling paſt misfortunes to any, but when my deliverer is pleaſed with the relation, my pleaſure is prompted by duty.

"I^† was born in a country far to the weſt, where the men are braver, and the women more fair than thoſe of Circaſſia; where the valour of the hero is guided by wiſdom, and where delicacy of ſentiment points the ſhafts of female beauty. I was the only daughter of an officer in the army, the child of his age, and as he uſed fondly to expreſs it, the only chain that bound him to the world, or made his life pleaſing. His ſtation procured him an acquaint⯑ance with men of greater rank and fortune than himſelf, and his regard for me induced him to bring me into every family where he was acquainted: Thus I was early taught all the elegancies and faſhionable foibles of ſuch as the world calls polite, and though without fortune myſelf, was taught to deſpiſe thoſe who lived as if they were poor.

My intercourſe with the great, and my affectation of grandeur procured me many lovers; but want of fortune deterred them all from any other views than [261] thoſe of paſſing the preſent moment agreeably, or of meditating my future ruin. In every company I found myſelf addreſſed in a warmer ſtrain of paſſion, than o⯑ther ladies who were ſuperior in point of rank and beauty; and this I imputed to an exceſs of reſpect, which in reality proceeded from very different motives.

Among the number of ſuch as paid me their ad⯑dreſſes, was a gentleman, a friend of my father, rather in the decline of life, with nothing remarkable either in his perſon or addreſs to recommend him. His age which was about forty, his fortune which was mode⯑rate, and barely ſufficient to ſupport him, ſerved to throw me off my guard, ſo that I conſidered him as the only ſincere admirer I had.

Deſigning lovers in the decline of life are ever moſt dangerous. Skilled in all the weakneſſes of the ſex, they ſeize each favourable opportunity, and by having leſs paſſion than youthful admirers, have leſs real reſpect, and therefore leſs timidity. This inſidious wretch uſed a thouſand arts to ſucceed in his baſe deſigns, all which I ſaw, but imputed to different views, becauſe I thought it abſurd to believe the real motives.

As he continued to frequent my father's, the friendſhip between them became every day greater; and at laſt from the intimacy with which he was re⯑ceived, I was taught to look upon him as a guardian and a friend. Though I never loved, yet I eſteem⯑ed him; and this was enough to make me wiſh for an union, for which he ſeemed deſirous, but to which he feigned ſeveral delays; while in the mean time, from a falſe report of our being married, every other admirer forſook me.

[262] I was at laſt however awakened from the deluſion, by an account of his being juſt married to another young lady with a conſiderable fortune. This was no great mortification to me, as I had always regard⯑ed him merely from prudential motives; but it had a very different effect upon my father, who, raſh and paſſionate by nature, and beſides ſtimulated by a miſ⯑taken notion of military honour, upbraided his friend in ſuch terms, that a challenge was ſoon given and ac⯑cepted.

It was about midnight when I was awakened by a meſſage from my father, who deſired to ſee me that moment. I roſe with ſome ſurprize, and following the meſſenger, attended only by another ſervant, came to a field not far from the houſe, where I found him, the aſſertor of my honour, my only friend and ſup⯑porter, the tutor and companion of my youth, lying on one ſide covered over with blood, and juſt expiring. No tears ſtreamed down my cheeks, nor ſigh eſcaped from my breaſt at an object of ſuch terror. I ſat down, and ſupporting his aged head in my lap gazed upon the ghaſtly viſage with an agony more poignant even than deſpairing madneſs. The ſervants were gone for more aſſiſtance. In this gloomy ſtillneſs of the night no ſounds were heard but his agonizing re⯑ſpirations; no object was preſented but his wounds, which ſtill continued to ſtream. With ſilent anguiſh I hung over his dear face, and with my hands ſtrove to ſtop the blood as it flowed from his wounds; he ſeemed at firſt inſenſible, but at laſt turning his dy⯑ing eyes upon me, "My dear, dear child, cried he, dear, though you have forgotten your own honour and ſtained mine, I will yet forgive you; by abandoning [263] virtue you have undone me and yourſelf, yet take my forgiveneſs with the ſame compaſſion I wiſh heaven may pity me." He expired. All my ſucceeding hap⯑pineſs fled with him. Reflecting that I was the cauſe of his death whom only I loved upon earth; accuſed of betraying the honour of his family with his lateſt breath; conſcious of my own innocence, yet with⯑out even a poſſibility of vindicating it; without for⯑tune or friends to relieve or pity me, abandoned to infamy and the wide cenſuring world, I called out up⯑on the dead body that lay ſtretched before me, and in the agony of my heart aſked why he could have left me thus? Why, my dear, my only pappa, why could you ruin me thus and yourſelf for ever ! O pity, and return, ſince there is none but you to comfort me.

I ſoon found that I had real cauſe for ſorrow; that I was to expect no compaſſion from my own ſex, not aſſiſtance from the other; and that reputation was much more uſeful in our commerce with mankind than really to deſerve it. Wherever I came, I per⯑ceived myſelf received either with contempt or deteſta⯑tion; or whenever I was civilly treated, it was from the moſt baſe and ungenerous motives.

Thus driven from the ſociety of the virtuous, I was at laſt, in order to diſpell the anxieties of inſupporta⯑ble ſolitude, obliged to take up with the company of thoſe whoſe characters were blaſted like my own; but who perhaps deſerved their infamy. Among this num⯑ber was a lady of the firſt diſtinction, whoſe charac⯑ter the public thought proper to brand even with greater infamy than mine. A ſimilitude of diſtreſs ſoon united us; I knew that general reproach had made her miſerable; and I had learned to regard mi⯑ſery [264] as an excuſe for guilt. Though this lady had not virtue enough to avoid reproach, yet ſhe had too much delicate ſenſibility not to feel it. She therefore propoſ⯑ed our leaving the country where we were born, and going to live in Italy, where our characters and misfor⯑tunes would be unknown. With this I eagerly com⯑plied, and we ſoon found ourſelves in one of the moſt charming retreats in the moſt beautiful province of that inchanting country.

Had my companion choſen this as a retreat for in⯑jured virtue, an harbour where we might look with tranquillity on the diſtant angry world, I ſhould have been happy; but very different was her deſign; ſhe had pitch'd upon this ſituation only to enjoy thoſe plea⯑ſures in private, which ſhe had not ſufficient effrontery to ſatisfy in a more open manner. A nearer acquaint⯑ance ſoon ſhewed me the vicious part of her character; her mind as well as her body ſeemed formed only for pleaſure; ſhe was ſentimental only as it ſerved to pro⯑tract the immediate enjoyment. Formed for ſociety a⯑lone, ſhe ſpoke infinitely better than ſhe wrote, and wrote infinitely better than ſhe lived. A perſon devoted to pleaſure often leads the moſt miſerable life imaginable; ſuch was her caſe; ſhe conſidered the natural moments of languor as inſupportable, paſſed all her hours between rapture and anxiety; ever in an extreme of agony or of bliſs. She felt a pain as ſin⯑cere for want of appetite, as the ſtarving wretch who wants a meal. In thoſe intervals ſhe uſually kept her bed, and roſe only when in expectation of ſome new enjoy⯑ment. The luxuriant air of the country, the roman⯑tic ſituation of her palace, and the genius of a people whoſe only happineſs lies in ſenſual refinement, all contributed to baniſh the remembrance of her native country.

[265] But tho' ſuch a life gave her pleaſure, it had a very different effect upon me; I grew every day more pen⯑ſive, and my melancholy was regarded as an inſult up⯑on her good humour: I now perceived myſelf entirely unfit for all ſociety; diſcarded from the good, and deteſt⯑ing the infamous, I ſeemed in a ſtate of war with every rank of people: that virtue which ſhould have been my protection in the world, was here my crime: in ſhort, deteſting life, I was determined to become a recluſe, to leave a world where I found no plea⯑ſure that could allure me to ſtay. Thus determined, I am embarked in order to go by ſea to Rome, where I intend to take the veil; but even in ſo ſhort a paſ⯑ſage my hard fortune ſtill attended me; our ſhip was taken by a Barbary corſair; the whole crew, and I among the number, being made ſlaves. It carries too much the air of romance to inform you of my diſtreſſes or obſtinacy in this miſerable ſtate; it is enough to obſerve that I have been bought by ſeveral maſters, each of whom perceiving my reluctance, rather than uſe violence, ſold me to another, till it was my hap⯑pineſs to be at laſt reſcued by you."

Thus ended her relation, which I have abridg'd, but as ſoon as we are arrived at Moſcow, for which we intend to ſet out ſhortly, you ſhall be informed of all more particularly. In the mean time, the great⯑eſt addition to my happineſs will to be to hear of yours.

Adieu.

LETTER LVIII.
From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo.

THE news of your freedom lifts the load of for⯑mer anxiety from my mind; I can now think [266] of my ſon without regret, applaud his reſignation un⯑der calamity, and his conduct in extricating himſelf from it.

You are now free, juſt let looſe from the bondage of an hard maſter: this is the criſis of your fate; and as you now manage fortune, ſucceeding life will be marked with happineſs or miſery; a few years per⯑ſeverance in prudence, which at your age is but ano⯑ther name for virtue, will enſure comfort, pleaſure, tranquillity, eſteem; too eager an enjoyment of every good that now offers, will reverſe the medal, and pre⯑ſent you poverty, anxiety, remorſe, contempt.

As it has been obſerved that none are better qualifi⯑ed to give others advice, than thoſe who have taken the leaſt of it themſelves; ſo in this reſpect I find my⯑ſelf perfectly authorized to offer mine, even though I ſhould wave my paternal authority upon this occaſion.

The moſt uſual way among young men who have no reſolution of their own, is firſt to aſk one friend's advice and follow it for ſome time; then to aſk ad⯑vice of another, and turn to that; ſo of a third, ſtill unſteady, always changing. However, be aſſured that every change of this nature is for the worſe; people may tell you of your being unfit for ſome pecu⯑liar occupations in life; but heed them not; what⯑ever employment you follow with perſeverance and aſſiduity, will be found fit for you; it will be your ſupport in youth, and comfort in age. In learning the uſeful part of every profeſſion, very moderate a⯑bilities will ſuffice; even if the mind be a little balanc⯑ed with ſtupidity, it may in this caſe be uſeful. Great abilities have always been leſs ſerviceable to the poſſeſ⯑ſors [267] than moderate ones. Life has been compared to a race, but the alluſion ſtill improves, by obſerving that the moſt ſwift are ever the leaſt manageable.

To know one profeſſion only, is enough for one man to know; and this (whatever the profeſſors may tell you to the contrary) is ſoon learned. Be contented therefore with one good employment; for if you un⯑derſtand two at a time, people will give you buſineſs in neither.

A conjurer and a taylor once happened to converſe together. Alas, cries the taylor, what an unhappy poor creature am I; if people ſhould ever take it in their heads to live without cloaths I am undone; I have no other trade to have recourſe to. Indeed, friend, I pity you ſincerely, replies the conjurer; but, thank heaven, things are not quite ſo bad with me; for if one trick ſhould fail, I have a hundred tricks more for them yet. However, if at any time you are reduced to beggary, apply to me, and I will relieve you. A famine over ſpread the land; the taylor made a ſhift to live, becauſe his cuſtomers could not be with⯑out cloaths; but the poor conjurer, with all his hundred tricks, could find none that had money to throw away: it was in vain that he promiſed to eat fire, or to vomit pins; no ſingle creature would re⯑lieve him, till he was at laſt obliged to beg from the very taylor whoſe calling he had formerly deſpiſed.

There are no obſtructions more fatal to fortune than pride and reſentment. If you muſt reſent injuries at all, at leaſt ſuppreſs your indignation until you become rich, and then ſhew away; the reſentment of a poor man is like the efforts of a harmleſs inſect to ſting; it [268] may get him cruſhed, but cannot defend him. Who values that anger which is conſumed only in empty menaces?

Once upon a time a gooſe fed its young by a pond ſide; and a gooſe in ſuch circumſtances is always extremely proud, and exceſſive punctilious. If any other animal without the leaſt deſign to offend, happened to paſs that way, the gooſe was immediate⯑ly at him. The pond, ſhe ſaid, was hers, and ſhe would maintain a right in it, and ſupport her honour, while ſhe had a bill to hiſs, or a wing to flutter. In this manner ſhe drove away ducks, pigs, and chickens; nay, even the inſidious cat was ſeen to ſcamper. A lounging maſtiff, however, happened to paſs by, and thought it no harm if he ſhould lap a little of the wa⯑ter, as he was thirſty. The guardian gooſe flew at him like a fury, pecked at him with her beak, and ſlapped him with her feathers. The dog grew angry, had twenty times a good mind to give her a ſly ſnap; but ſuppreſſing his indignation, becauſe his maſter was nigh, A pox take thee, cries he, for a fool, ſure thoſe who have neither ſtrength nor weapons to fight, at leaſt ſhould be civil; that fluttering and hiſſing of thine may one day get thine head ſnapt off, but it can neither injure thy enemies, or ever protect thee. So ſaying, he went forward to the pond, quenched his thirſt, in ſpite of the gooſe, and followed his maſter.

Another obſtruction to the fortune of youth is, that while they are willing to take offence from none, they are alſo equally deſirous of giving none offence. From hence they endeavour to pleaſe all, comply with every requeſt, attempt to ſuit themſelves to every company; have no will of their own, but like wax catch every [269] contiguous impreſſion. By thus attempting to give univerſal ſatisfaction, they at laſt find themſelves miſera⯑bly diſappointed; to bring the generality of admirers on our ſide, it is ſufficient to attempt pleaſing a very few.

A painter of eminence was once reſolved to finiſh a piece which ſhould pleaſe the whole world. When, therefore, he had drawn a picture, in which his ut⯑moſt ſkill was exhauſted, it was expoſed in the pub⯑lic market-place, with directions at the bottom for every ſpectator to mark with a bruſh, which lay by, every limb, and feature, which ſeemed erroneous. The ſpectators came, and in general applauded; but each, willing to ſhew his talent at criticiſm, marked whatever he thought proper. At evening, when the painter came, he was mortified to find the whole picture one univerſal blot; not a ſingle ſtroke that was not ſtigmatized with marks of diſapprobation: not ſatisfied with this trial, the next day he was re⯑ſolved to try them in a different manner, and expoſing his picture as before, deſired that every ſpectator would mark thoſe beauties he approved or admired. The people complied, and the artiſt returning, found his picture replete with the marks of beauty; every ſtroke that had been yeſterday condemned now re⯑ceived the character of approbation. Well, cries the painter, I now find that the beſt way to pleaſe one half of the world, is not to mind what the other half ſays; ſince what are faults in the eyes of theſe, ſhall be by thoſe regarded as beauties.

Adieu.

LETTER LIX.
From the ſame.

A Character, ſuch as you have repreſented that of your fair companion, which continues virtu⯑ous, though loaded with infamy, is truly great. Many regard virtue becauſe it is attended with applauſe; your favourite only for the internal pleaſure it confers. I have often wiſhed that ladies like her were propoſed as models for female imitation, and not ſuch as have ac⯑quired fame by qualities repugnant to the natural ſoft⯑neſs of the ſex.

Women famed for their valour, their ſkill in poli⯑tics, or their learning, leave the duties of their own ſex, in order to invade the privileges of ours. I can no more pardon a fair one for endeavouring to wield the club of Hercules, than I could him for attempting to twirl her diſtaff.

The modeſt virgin, the prudent wife, or the careful matron are much more ſerviceable in life than petti⯑coated philoſophers, bluſtering heroines, or virago queens. She who makes her huſband and her children happy, who reclaims the one from vice, and trains up the other to virtue, is a much greater character than ladies deſcribed in romance, whoſe whole occupation is to murder mankind with ſhafts from their quiver or their eyes.

Women, it has been obſerved, are not naturally formed for great cares themſelves, but to ſoften ours. Their tenderneſs is the proper reward for the dangers we undergo for their preſervation; and the eaſe and [271] chearfulneſs of their converſation, our deſirable retreat from the fatigues of intenſe application. They are confined within the narrow limits of domeſtick aſſidui⯑ty; and when they ſtray beyond them, they move be⯑yond their ſphere, and conſequently without grace.

Fame therefore has been very unjuſtly diſpenſed, among the female ſex. Thoſe who leaſt deſerved to be remembered, meet our admiration and applauſe; while many, who have been an honour to humanity, are paſſed over in ſilence. Perhaps no age has pro⯑duced a ſtronger inſtance of miſplaced fame than the preſent; the Semiramis and the Thaleſtris of antiquity are talked of, while a modern character, infinitely greater than either, is unnoticed and unknown.

^* Catharina Alexowna, born near Derpat, a little city in Livonia, was heir to no other inheritance than the virtues and frugality of her parents. Her father being dead, ſhe lived with her aged mother, in their cottage covered with ſtraw; and both, though very poor, were very contented. Here, retired from the gaze of the world, by the labour of her hands, ſhe ſupported her parent, who was now incapable of ſup⯑porting herſelf. While Catharina ſpun, the old wo⯑man would ſit by, and read ſome book of devotion; thus when the fatigues of the day were over, both would ſit down contentedly by their fire-ſide, and en⯑joy the frugal meal with vacant feſtivity.

Though her face and perſon were models of per⯑fection, yet her whole attention ſeemed beſtowed upon [272] her mind; her mother taught her to read, and an old Lutheran miniſter inſtructed her in the maxims and duties of religion. Nature had furniſhed her not only with a ready but a ſolid turn of thought, not only with a ſtrong but a right underſtanding. Such truly female accompliſhments procured her ſeveral ſolicitations of marriage from the peaſants of the country; but their offers were refuſed: for ſhe loved her mother too ten⯑derly to think of a ſeparation.

Catharina was fifteen when her mother died; ſhe now therefore left her cottage, and went to live with the Lutheran miniſter, by whom ſhe had been in⯑ſtructed from her childhood. In his houſe ſhe reſided, in quality of governeſs to his children; at once recon⯑ciling in her character unerring prudence with ſurpri⯑ſing vivacity.

The old man, who regarded her as one of his own children, had her inſtructed in dancing and muſic by the maſters who attended the reſt of his family; thus ſhe continued to improve till he died, by which acci⯑dent ſhe was once more reduced to priſtine poverty. The country of Livonia was at this time waſted by war, and lay in a moſt miſerable ſtate of deſolation. Thoſe calamities are ever moſt heavy upon the poor; wherefore Catharina, though poſſeſſed of ſo many ac⯑compliſhments, experienced all the miſeries of hopeleſs indigence. Proviſions becoming every day more ſcarce, and her private ſtock being entirely exhauſted, ſhe re⯑ſolved at laſt to travel to Marienburgh, a city of grea⯑ter plenty.

With her ſcanty wardrobe, packed up in a wallet, ſhe ſet out on her journey on foot: ſhe was to walk [273] through a region miſerable by nature, but rendered ſtill more hideous by the Swedes and Ruſſians, who, as each happened to become maſters, plundered it at diſ⯑cretion: but hunger had taught her to deſpiſe the dan⯑gers and fatigues of the way.

One evening, upon her journey, as ſhe had entered a cottage by the way-ſide, to take up her lodging for the night, ſhe was inſulted by two Swediſh ſoldiers, who inſiſted upon qualifying her, as they termed it, to follow the camp. They might, probably have car⯑ried their inſults into violence, had not a ſubaltern offi⯑cer, accidentally paſſing by, come in to her aſſiſtance: upon his appearing, the ſoldiers immediately deſiſted; but her thankfulneſs was hardly greater than her ſur⯑priſe, when ſhe inſtantly recollected in her deliverer, the ſon of the Lutheran miniſter, her former inſtructor, benefactor, and friend.

This was an happy interview for Catharina: the little ſtock of money ſhe had brought from home was by this time quite exhauſted; her cloaths were gone, piece by piece, in order to ſatisfy thoſe who had enter⯑tained her in their houſes; her generous countryman, therefore, parted with what he could ſpare, to buy her cloaths, furniſhed her with an horſe, and gave her let⯑ters of recommendation to Mr. Gluck, a faithful friend of his father's, and ſuperintendant of Marienburgh.

Our beautiful ſtranger had only to appear, to be well received; ſhe was immediately admitted into the Su⯑perintendant's family, as governeſs to his two daugh⯑ters; and though yet but ſeventeen, ſhewed herſelf capable of inſtructing her ſex not only in virtue, but [274] politeneſs. Such was her good ſenſe and beauty, that her maſter himſelf in a ſhort time offered her his hand, which to his great ſurprize ſhe thought proper to refuſe. Actuated by a principle of gratitude, ſhe was reſolved to marry her deliverer only, even though he had loſt an arm, and was otherwiſe disfigured by wounds in the ſervice.

In order therefore to prevent further ſolicitations from others, as ſoon as the officer came to town upon duty, ſhe offered him her perſon, which he accepted with tranſport, and their nuptials were ſolemnized as uſual. But all the lines of her fortune were to be ſtriking: the very day on which they were married the Ruſſians laid ſiege to Marienburgh; the unhappy ſoldier had now no time to enjoy the well earned plea⯑ſures of matrimony; he was called off before conſum⯑mation to an attack, from which he was never after ſeen to return.

In the mean time the ſiege went on with fury, ag⯑gravated on one ſide by obſtinacy, on the other by revenge. This war between the two northern powers at that time was truly barbarous; the innocent peaſant and the harmleſs virgin often ſhared the fate of the ſol⯑dier in arms. Marienburgh was taken by aſſault; and ſuch was the fury of the aſſailants, that not only the garriſon, but almoſt all the inhabitants, men, women, and children, were put to the ſword; at length when the carnage was pretty well over, Catharina was found hid in an oven.

She had been hitherto poor, but ſtill was free: ſhe was now to conform to her hard fate, and learn what [275] it was to be a ſlave: in this ſituation, however, ſhe behaved with piety and humility; and though misfor⯑tunes had abated her vivacity, yet ſhe was chearful. The fame of her merit and reſignation reached even Prince Menzikoff, the Ruſſian General; he deſired to ſee her, was ſtruck with her beauty, bought her from the ſoldier, her maſter, and placed her under the di⯑rection of his own ſiſter. Here ſhe was treated with all the reſpect which her merit deſerved, while her beauty every day improved with her good fortune.

She had not been long in this ſituation, when Peter the Great paying the Prince a viſit, Catharina happened to come in with ſome dry fruits, which ſhe ſerved round with peculiar modeſty. The mighty Monarch ſaw, and was ſtruck with her beauty. He returned the next day, called for the beautiful ſlave, aſked her ſeveral queſtions, and found her underſtanding even more per⯑fect than her perſon.

He had been forced when young to marry from mo⯑tives of intereſt, he was now reſolved to marry pur⯑ſuant to his own inclinations. He immediately en⯑quired the hiſtory of the fair Livonian, who was not yet eighteen. He traced her through the vale of ob⯑ſcurity, through all the viciſſitudes of her fortune, and found her truly great in them all. The meanneſs of her birth was no obſtruction to his deſign; their nup⯑tials were ſolemnized in private; the Prince aſſuring his courtiers, that virtue alone was the propereſt ladder to a throne.

We now ſee Catharina, from the low mud-walled cottage, Empreſs of the greateſt kingdom upon earth. [276] The poor ſolitary wanderer is now ſurrounded by thouſands, who find happineſs in her ſmile. She, who formerly wanted a meal, is now capable of diffuſing plenty upon whole nations. To her fortune ſhe owed a part of this preheminence, but to her virtues more.

She ever after retained thoſe great qualities which firſt placed her on a throne; and while the extraordi⯑nary Prince, her huſband, laboured for the reforma⯑tion of his male ſubjects, ſhe ſtudied in her turn the improvement of her own ſex. She altered their dreſſes, introduced mixed aſſemblies, inſtituted an order of fe⯑male knighthood; and, at length, when ſhe had great⯑ly filled all the ſtations of Empreſs, friend, wife, and mother, bravely died without regret; regretted by all.

Adieu.