LETTER LI.

• A BOOKSELLER'S VISIT TO THE CHINESE.

To the same.

As I was yesterday seated at breakfast over a pensive dish of tea, my meditations were interrupted by my old friend and companion, who introduced a stranger, dressed pretty much like himself. The gentleman made several apologies for his visit, begged of me to impute his intrusion to the sincerity of his respect, 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 answered 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? conjectured 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 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 show 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 trunk-makers 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 clamor arises, I always echo the million. For instance, should the people in general say that such a man is a rogue, I instantly give orders 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 surprise the world? "As to that, sir," replied the talkative 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 favor 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 clergyman's art of placing patches regularly, with a dissertation on the different manners of smiling without distorting 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 reviews-" Sir, cried I, interrupting him, my curiosity with regard to title-pages is satisfied; I should be glad to see some longer manuscript, a 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 humor. 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," returned he, "what do you call them? Do you see

I

any thing good 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 humor.* I bought last season a piece that had no other merit upon earth than nine hundred and ninetyfive 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 considerable 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. was a considerable sufferer by my Direct Road to an Estate, but the Infernal Guide brought me up again. Ah, sir, that was a piece touched off by the hand of a master, filled with good things from one end to the other. The author had nothing but the jest in view; no dull moral lurking beneath, nor ill-natured satire to sour the reader's good-humor; he wisely considered, that moral and humor at the same time were quite overdoing the business." To what purpose was the book then published? cried 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.

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"I once had an author who never left the least opening for the critics close was the word, always very right, and very dull, ever on the safe side of an argument; yet, with all his qualifica tions, incapable of coming into favor. I soon perceived that his bent was for criticism; and, as he was good for nothing else, supplied 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

* ["A prologue, interdash'd with many a stroke-
An art contriv'd to advertise a joke,

So that the jest is clearly to be seen,

Not in the words-but in the gap between."-Cooper.]

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 criticism; particularly such as profess to disregard its laws? "There is no work whatsoever but he can criticise," 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 show the world you could have written better. Should you, with the most local exactness, stick to the manners and customs of the country from whence you come; should you confine yourself 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 instructive simplicity 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 entirely 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

* [This was obviously introduced as an indirect mode of reply to occasional objectors to these Letters in the newspapers, when in course of publication, that the assumed character of a Chinese was not sufficiently preserved

open.

there are but two ways; the door must either be shut, or it must be I must either be natural or unnatural. "Be what you will, we shall criticise you," returned the bookseller, "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 a history of China; and if you will put your name to it as the author, I shall repay the obligation with gratitude." What, sir, replied I, put my name to a work which I have not written! Never, while I retain a proper respect for the public and myself.-The bluntness of my reply quite abated the ardor 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 LII.

THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF DISTINGUISHING MEN IN ENGLAND BY THEIR DRESS. TWO INSTANCES OF THIS.

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 or silver, put some of it upon their clothes; but in England, those who carry much upon their clothes, 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 gloat over their thousands in silent satisfaction, are generally found to do it in plain clothes.

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

that the letter-writer was too observant, or too well-informed upon English matters, for his country.]