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necessity teach even barbarians the same art of dissimulation 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 these 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 intrusted; 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 surprised, O sage disciple and follower of Confucius! 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 reason 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 him and they worship him; they imagine him a malicious 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 infernal 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 demon, and pretends to a skill in futurity.

In every country, my friend, the bonzes, the brahmins, and the priests deceive the people all reformations 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 religion; 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

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meats; which, when they perceiv does not consume, they fill up the g and desist from desiring him to e the future. How, how can mankin guilty of such strange absurdity' entreat a dead body, already putri partake of the banquet! Where, I a repeat it, is human reason? some men, but whole nations, divested of its illumination. Her observe a whole country adorin divinity through fear, and attemptin feed the dead. These are their serious and most religious occupat Are these men rational, or are not apes of Borneo more wise?

Certain I am, O thou instructor of youth! that without philosophersout some few virtuous men, who sec be of a different nature from the re mankind-without such as these, the ship of a wicked divinity would surel established over every part of the c Fear guides more to their duty than titude: for one man who is virtuous the love of virtue, from the oblig which he thinks he lies under to the of all, there are ten thousand who good only from the apprehensions of ishment. Could these last be persua as the Epicureans were, that heaven no thunders in store for the villain, would no longer continue to acknowl subordination, or thank that Being gave them existence.--Adieu.

LETTER XI.

To the same.

FROM such a picture of nature in prim simplicity, tell me, my much respe friend, are you in love with fatigue solitude? Do you sigh for the st frugality of the wandering Tartar, o gret being born amidst the luxury dissimulation of the polite? Rather me, has not every kind of life vices liarly its own? Is it not a truth, refined countries have more vices, those not so terrible; barbarous na few, and they of the most hideous plexion? Perfidy and fraud are the of civilized nations, credulity and vig those of the inhabitants of the d

oes the luxury of the one produce half e evils of the inhumanity of the other? ertainly, those philosophers who declaim ainst luxury have but little understood benents; they seem insensible, that to xury we owe not only the greatest part our knowledge, but even of our virtues. It may sound fine in the mouth of a echimer, when he talks of subduing ur appetites, of teaching every sense to e content with a bare sufficiency, and of upplying only the wants of nature; but s there not more satisfaction in indulging hose appetites, if with innocence and afety, than in restraining them? Am not 【 better pleased in enjoyment than in the salen satisfaction of thinking that I can five without enjoyment? The more various or artificial necessities, the wider is our circle of pleasure; for all pleasures cosit in obviating necessities as they rie: intury, therefore, as it increases ce wants, increases our capacity for briness.

Examine the history of any country remrble for opulence and wisdom, you we find they would never have been wise he they not been first luxurious; you find poets, philosophers, and even pts marching in luxury's train. The ra is obvious: we then only are curious knowledge, when we find it connected sensual happiness. The senses ever rout the way, and reflection comments the discovery. Inform a native of te lesert of Kobi of the exact measure the parallax of the moon, he finds no action at all in the information; he ders how any could take such pains, #ay out such treasures, in order to solve seless a difficulty: but connect it with happiness, by showing that it improves ation-that by such an investigation nav have a warmer coat, a better gun, a finer knife, and he is instantly in tures at so great an improvement. In t, we only desire to know what we Hire to possess; and whatever we may against it, luxury adds the spur to arsity, and gives us a desire of becoming

re wise.

But not our knowledge only, but our tues are improved by luxury. Observe brown savage of Thibet, 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 scarcely crimes in his eye; neither pity nor tenderness, which ennoble 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 European seem even to love their enemies. I have just now seen an instance, where the English have succoured those enemies whom their own countrymen 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 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 variety of occupation for others who might be totally idle; or as furnishing out new inlets to happiness, without encroaching on mutual property; in whatever light we regard it, we shall have reason to stand up in its defence, and the sentiment of Confucius still remains unshaken: "That we should enjoy as many of the luxuries of life as are consistent with our own safety and the prosperity of others; and that he who finds out a new pleasure, is one of the most useful members of society."

LETTER XII.

To the sam

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 circumstances of approaching sickness, and you will find his actions give his assertions the lie.

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 artisan shall spend half his income in providing himself a tomb 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 everything passes in silent solemnity round the sickbed. 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 relations 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 do not 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 lamentations 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 soever, that would not shrink at such a hideous solemnity? 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, merely from mistaken tenderness!

You see, my friend, what contradictions there are in the tempers of these islanders: when prompted by ambition, revenge, or disappointment, they meet death with the utmost resolution: the very man who in

his bed would have trembled at the as of a doctor, shall go with intrepidity attack a bastion, or deliberately n himself up in his garters.

The passion of the Europeans for n nificent interments is equally strong that of the Chinese. When a trades: dies, his frightful face is painted up b undertaker, and placed in a proper si tion to receive company: this is ca lying in state. To this disagreeable s tacle all the idlers in town flock, learn to loath the wretch dead whom t despised when living. In this manner, see some who would have refused a shil to save the life of their dearest friend, stow thousands on adorning their pu corpse. I have been told of a fell who, grown rich by the price of blood, it in his will that he should lie in st. and thus unknowingly gibbeted him into infamy, when he might have oth wise quietly retired into oblivion.

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When the person is buried, the n care is to make his epitaph: they generally reckoned best which flatter me such relations, therefore, as have recei most benefits from the defunct, discha this friendly office, and generally flatter proportion to their joy. When we these monumental histories of the dead may be justly said, that all men are eq in the dust; for they all appear equally markable for being the most sincere Cia tians, the most benevolent neighbours, a the honestest men of their time. through an European cemetery, one wo be apt to wonder how mankind could ha so basely degenerated from such excell ancestors. Every tomb pretends to cla your reverence and regret; some praised for piety, in those inscriptions, w never entered the temple until they we dead; some are praised for being excelle poets, who were never mentioned exce for their dulness when living; others sublime orators, who were never noted cept for their impudence; and others st. for military achievements, who were new in any other skirmishes but with the wat Some even make epitaphs for themselve and bespeak the reader's good-will. were indeed to be wished, that every m would early learn in this manner to ma

own; that he would draw it up in terms Aartering as possible, and that he would ke it the employment of his whole life deserve it.

have not yet been in a place called estminster Abbey, but soon intend to it There, I am told, I shall see juse done to deceased merit: none, I am d, are permitted to be buried there, but ch as have adorned as well as improved ankind There, no intruders, by the sence of friends or fortune, presume mix their unhallowed ashes with philoopters, heroes, and poets. Nothing but we merit has a place in that awful sancary, The guardianship of the tombs is itted to several reverend priests, who re never guilty, for a superior reward, of aking down the names of good men, to ake room for others of equivocal charac,rever profane the sacred walls with aparts that posterity cannot know, or hablash to own.

always was of opinion, that sepulchral ours of this kind should be considered $izational concern, and not trusted to tre of the priests of any country, how esectable soever: but from the conduct if he reverend personages, whose disineved patriotism I shall shortly be able scover, I am taught to retract my forThe sentiments. It is true, the Spartans the Persians made a fine political use pulchral vanity: they permitted none e thus interred who had not fallen in indication of their country. A monuthus became a real mark of distincan, it nerved the hero's arm with tenfold War, and he fought without fear who my fought for a grave.-Farewell.

LETTER XIII.

To the same.

A just returned from Westminster y, the place of sepulture for the phiphers, heroes, and kings of England. What a gloom do monumental inscriptions # all the venerable remains of deceased it inspire! Imagine a temple marked the hand of antiquity, solemn as figious awe, adorned with all the magicence of barbarous profusion, dim win*ws, fretted pillars, long colonnades, and

dark ceilings. Think, then, what were my sensations at being introduced 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 hero 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," continued 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 none have a place here but characters of the most distinguished merit." The Man in Black seemed impatient 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 "That," said I to my guide, "I take to be the tomb of some very great man.

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of the temple, "There," says the ger
man, pointing with his finger, "that is
Poet's Corner; there you see the ma
ments of Shakspeare, and Milton,
Prior, and Drayton."—"Drayton !" I
plied; "I never heard of him before:
I have been told of one Pope-is he ther
"It is time enough," replied my gui
"these hundred years; he is not long de
people have not done hating him yet.
Strange," cried I; "can any be for
to hate a man whose life was wholly sp
in entertaining and instructing his fell
creatures?""Yes," says my guide, "t
hate him for that very reason. There a
set of men called answerers of books,
take upon them to watch the republi
letters, and distribute reputation by
sheet; they somewhat resemble the
nuchs in a seraglio, who are incapabl
giving pleasure themselves, and hi
those that would. These answerers
no other employment but to cry out D
and Scribbler; to praise the dead
revile the living; to grant a man of
fessed abilities some small share of m
to applaud twenty blockheads in orde
gain the reputation of candour; an
revile the moral character of the

By the peculiar excellence of the work manship, 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 lawgiver who has reduced his fellow-citizens from anarchy into just subjection."-"It is not requisite," replied my companion, smiling, "to have such qualifications in order to have a very fine monument here: more humble abilities will suffice."-"What! I suppose, then, the gaining two or three battles, or the taking half a score of 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 monument 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 remark-whose writings they cannot injure. able, very remarkable-for a tomb in Westminister Abbey." "But, head of my ancestors! how has he 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,” replied 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, as 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

wretches are kept in pay by some cenary bookseller, or more frequently bookseller himself takes this dirty off their hands, as all that is requir to be very abusive and very dull. I poet of any genius is sure to find enemies; he feels, though he seen despise, their malice; they make miserable here, and in the pursuit of e fame, at last he gains solid anxiety."

"Has this been the case with every I see here?" cried I.-"Yes, with mother's son of them," replied he, cept he happened to be born a mand: If he has much money, he may buy tation from your book-answerers, as as a monument from the guardians temple."

"But are there not some men o tinguished taste, as in China, wh willing to patronize men of merit, and the rancour of malevolent dulness."

"I own there are many," replic Man in Black; “but, alas! sir, the

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