come then, O Poverty, while kings stand by and gaze with admiration, at the true philosopher's resignation.

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

The poor man now finds that he can get no kings to look at him while he is eating; he finds that in proportion as he grows poor, the world turns its back upon him, and gives him leave to act the philosopher in all the majesty of solitude; it might be agreeable enough to play the philosopher, while we are conscious that mankind are spectators : but what signifies wearing the mask of sturdy contentment, and mounting the stage of restraint, when not one creature will assist at the exhibition! Thus is he forsaken of men, while his fortitude wants the satisfaction even of self-applause; for either he does not feel his present calamities, and that is natural insensibility, or he disguises his feelings, and that is dissimulation.

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

It has been said, that he who retires to solitude, is either a beast or an angel; the censure is too severe, and the praise unmerited; the discontented

being,

being, who retires from society, is generally some good-natured-man, who has begun life without experience, and knew not how to gain it in his intercourse with mankind.

Adieu.

LETTER LXVII.

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

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

In other countries the physician pretends to cure disorders in the lump; the same doctor who combats the gout in the toe, shall pretend to prescribe for a pain in the head, and he who at one time cures a consumption, shall at another give drugs for a dropsy. How absurd and ridiculous! this is being a mere

jack

jack-of-all-trades. Is the animal machine less complicated than a brass pin? Not less than ten different hands are required to make a pin : and shall the body be set right by one single operator?

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

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

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

The first upon the list of glory is doctor Richard Rock, F. U. N. This great man short of stature, is fat, and waddles as he walks. He always wears a white three-tailed wig nicely-combed, and frizzed upon each cheek, sometimes he carries a cane, but a hat never; it is indeed very remarkable, that this extraordinary personage should never wear an hat,

but

but so it is he never wears an hat. He is usually drawn at the top of his own bills, sitting in his armchair, holding a little bottle between his finger and thumb, and surrounded with rotten teeth, nippers, pills, pacquets, and gally-pots. No man can promise fairer nor better than he; for, as he observes, Beyour disorder never so far gone, be under no uneasiness, make yourself quite easy, I can cure you.

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

And yet the great have their foibles as well as the little. I am almost ashamed to mention it. Let the foibles of the great rest in peace. Yet I must impart the whole to my friend. These two great men are actually now at variance; yes, my dear Fum Hoam, by the head of our grandfather, they are now at variance like mere men, mere common mortals. The champion Rock advises the world to beware of bog-trotting quacks, while Franks retorts the wit and the sarcasm (for they have both a world of wit) by fixing on his rival the odious appellation of Dumplin Dick. He calls the serious doctor Rock, Dumplin Dick! Head of Confucius, what prophanation! Dumplin Dick! What a pity, ye powers, that the learned, who were born mutually to assist in enlightening

lightening the world, should thus differ among them. selves, and make even the profession ridiculous! Sure the world is wide enough, at least, for two great personages to figure in; men of science should leave controversy to the little world below them; and then we might see Rock and Franks walking together hand-in-hand, smiling onward to immortality.

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

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

* See Du Halde, vol. II. fol. p. 185.

I, Lien