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the English, you might from my description be inclined to believe them as grossly idolatrous as the disciples of Lao. The idol which they seem to address strides 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 people remained fixed in silent attention, nodding assent, looking approbation, appearing highly edified by those sounds which to a stranger might seem inarticulate and unmeaning.

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 stopped 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 profess religion and morality would, in this shameless manner, quit the temple before the service was concluded? You surely mistake: not even the Kalmucks 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 country men, assuring me that those whom I saw running away were only a parcel of musical blockheads, whose passion was merely for sounds, and whose heads are 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 directed, but saw nothing of that fervent devotion which he had promised: one of the worshippers appeared to be ogling the company through a glass another was fervent, not in addresses to Heaven, but to his mistress; a

third whispered; 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 towards the door, "what do I see? one of the worshippers fallen fast asleep, and actually sunk down on his cushion! He is 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 perceived a young lady just in the same circumstances and attitude: "Strange," cried I; "can she, too, have over-eaten herself?"--“Oh, fie !” replied my friend,

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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."-" Ay,' replied my friend, "I knew we should find some to catch you : I know her; that is the deaf lady who lives in the cloisters."

In short, the remissness of behaviour in almost all the worshippers, and some even of the guardians, struck me with surprise. I had been taught to believe that none were ever promoted to offices in the temple, but men remarkable for their superior sanctity, learning, and rec titude; 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 behaviour to perceive their inclinations corresponding with 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.

THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD.

LETTER XLII.

From Fum Hoam to Lien Chi Altangi, the Discontented Wanderer, by the way of Moscow. MUST I ever continue to condemn thy perseverance, and blame that curiosity which destroys 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 unrestrained desire. They may perhaps outdo us in the arts of building ships, casting cannon, 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 kingdom which Upon derives its original from the sun. opening the Chinese history, I there behold an ancient extended empire, established by laws which nature and reason The duty of seem to have dictated. 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 become good subjects to our emperors, capable of behaving 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 com-
bated idolatry, prejudice, and tyranny,
at the expense 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 apprise the vicious emperor
Tisiang of the irregularity of his conduct?
He who first undertook the dangerous
task was cut in two by the emperor's
order; the second was ordered to be tor-
mented, and then put to a cruel death;
the third undertook the task with intre-
pidity, and was instantly stabbed by the
But, not to be
tyrant's hand: in this manner they all
suffered, except one.
turned from his purpose, the brave sur-
vivor, entering the palace with the instru-
ments of torture in his hand, "Here,"
'here, O Tisiang, are the marks your
cried he, addressing himself to the throne,
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 for-
What European annals
gave the boldness of his conduct, and re-
formed his own.
can boast of a tyrant thus reclaimed to
lenity?

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When five brethren had set upon the great Emperor Ginsong alone, with his sabre he slew four of them; he was strugNo, no," gling with the fifth, when his guards coming up were going to cut the conspirator into a thousand pieces. 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 somebody 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 enemy battle; but they forsook him. hundred of his guards, and give the Being thus without hopes, and choosing 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 allegiance, and persuading to sedition— arbour, unsheathing his sword, he stabbed blood flowing in the fields and on scaffolds the young innocent to the heart, and then-tortures used as arguments to convince despatched himself, leaving the following the recusant: to heighten the horror of words written with his blood on the bor- the piece, behold it shaded with wars, der of his vest: "Forsaken by my sub- rebellions, treasons, plots, politics, and jects, abandoned by my friends, use my poison. 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 ancient 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, ackowledging subjection to one prince, and experiencing but one revolution 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 comparison. Here we see no religious persecutions, no enmity between mankind for difference in opinion. The disciples of Lao Keun, the idolatrous sectaries of Fohi, and the philosophical children of Confucius, only strive to show 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 com- ' pass even of one age! and to what do these revolutions 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 continual war with the followers of Mahomet; or, more dreadful still, destroying each other. We see councils in the earlier ages authorizing every iniquity-crusades spreading desolation in the country left, as well as that to be conquered-excommunications freeing subjects from natural

And what advantage has any country of Europe obtained from such calamities? Scarce any. Their dissensions, 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 ancient 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 ancient 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 either 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, because they preferred ambition to justice, deserve the character of enemies to mankind; and their priests, by neglecting morality for opinion, have mistaken the interests of society.

On whatever side we regard the history of Europe, we shall perceive it to be a tissue of crimes, follies, and misfortunes

of politics without design, and wars without consequences: 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 cultivated spot in the most hideous wilderness. But for an Alfred, an Alphonso, a Frederick, or an Alexander III., we meet a thousand princes who have disgraced humanity.

LETTER XLIII. From Lien Chi Altangi to Fum Hoam, First President of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

WE have just received accounts here, that Voltaire, the poet and philosopher of

THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD.

He is now beyond Europe, is dead! the reach of the thousand enemies who, while living, degraded his writings, and Scarce a page branded his character. of his latter productions that does not betray the agonies of a 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 filling all the requisite duties of authority; but she is niggard in the birth of an exalted mind, scarcely producing in a century a single genius to bless and enlighten a degenerate age. Prodigal in the production of kings, governors, mandarines, chams, and courtiers, she seems to have forgotten, for more than three thousand 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 reception.

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 philosophers, who have at dif-
ferent periods enlightened mankind, I
must confess it inspires me with the most
degrading reflections on humanity. When
I read of the stripes of Mencius, the tor-
tures 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
Montaigne, 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 villainy of my fellow-creatures.

Should you look for the character of
Voltaire among the journalists and illite-
rate writers of the age, you will there find
him characterised as a monster, with a
head turned to wisdom and a heart in-
clining to vice; the powers of his mind
But seek for his
and the baseness of his principles forming
a detestable contrast.
character among writers like himself, and
you find him very differently described.
You perceive him, in their accounts, pos-
sessed of good-nature, humanity, greatness
of soul, fortitude, and almost every virtue;
in this description those who might be
The Royal Prus-
supposed best acquainted with his cha-
racter are unanimous.
sian, D'Argens, Diderot, D'Alembert,
and Fontenelle, 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 groundwork of this great man's character. From these principles many strong virtues and few faults arose: as he was warm in his friendship, and severe in his resentment, all that mention him seem possessed of the same person of his eminence qualities, and speak of him with rapture or detestation. can have few indifferent 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 tragedy which deserves applause. Possessed of a small patrimony, he preserved his independence in an age of venality; and supported the dignity of learning, by teaching his contemporary writers to live like him, above the favours of the great. He was banished He had accepted the his native country for a satire upon the royal concubine. 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 In this court he enough to value his friendship, and profit by his instructions.

continued, till an intrigue, with which the world seems hitherto unacquainted, obliged him to quit that country. His own happiness, the happiness of the monarch, 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 satisfaction. The entertainment was conducted with the utmost elegance, and the conversation was that of philosophers. Every country that at once united liberty and science were his peculiar favourites. The being an Englishman was to him a character that claimed admiration and respect.

loaded their disciples with constraint, without adding to their real felicity.

If I find pleasure in dancing, how ridiculous would it be in me to prescribe such an amusement for the entertainment 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 individual may require a particular system of precepts to direct his choice.

Every mind seems capable of entertaining a certain quantity of happiness, which no institutions can increase, no circumstances alter, and entirely independent of fortune. Let any man compare his present fortune with the past, and he will probably find himself, 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

Between Voltaire and the disciples of Confucius there are many differences; however, being of a different opinion does not in the least diminish my esteem: I am not displeased with my brother, because he happens to ask our father for favours in a different manner from me. Let his errors rest in peace; his excel-rated upon with diminished influence, and lencies 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.

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at length subsides into the level of its usual tranquillity. Should some unexpected turn of fortune take thee from fetters, 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 happiness somewhere else but where we are, every institution 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 foundation for uneasiness, because it contracts debts which we cannot repay; it calls that a good, which, when we have found it, will in fact add nothing to our happiness.

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.

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