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of their property, for property is pretty well secured in every polite state in Europe.

How then are the English more free (for more free they certainly are) than the people of any other country, or under any other form of government whatever? Their freedom consists in their enjoying all the advantages of democracy, with this superior prerogative borrowed from monarchy, that "the severity of their laws may be relaxed without endangering the constitution.

The law, in this case, like an indulgent pa-' rent, 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 overlooked with indulgence. It is to this ductility of the laws, that an Englishman owes the freedom he enjoys superior to others in a more popular government: every step, therefore, the constitution takes towards a democratic form, every diminution of the legal authority is, in fact, a diminution of the subject's freedom; but every attempt to render the government more popular, not only impairs natural liberty, but even will at last dissolve the political con

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 enforcing obedience, whenever it may be proper to in-stitution. 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 danger. 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 unremitting 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, monarchical 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 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.

There is scarcely an Englishman who does not almost every day of his life offend with imFunity against some express law, and for which, in a certain conjuncture of circumstances, he would not receive punishment. Gaming houses, preaching at prohibited places, assembled crowds, nocturnal amusements, public shows, and a hundred other instances, are forbidden and frequented. These probibitions are useful; though it be prudent in their magistrates, and happy for the people, that they are not enforced, and none but the venal or mercenary attempt to enforce them.

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, burdened 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, though tyrants, than they had experienced in the old age of the commonwealth, in which their laws were become numerous and painful, 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 increasing 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 corruption; 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 show of freedom, while themselves only were free; so it is possible for a body of men, while they stand up for privileges to grow into an exuberance of power themselves, and the publie become actually dependent, while some of its individuals only govern.

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 minister of merit and po. pularity-but I have room for no more.. Adieu.

LETTER L.

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.

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 crayous; by the Right Hor. 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 inAs I am very suspicious of my company dustry, "now you speak of an epic poem, you when I find them very civil without any ap- shall see an excellent farce. Here it is; dip parent reason, I answered the stranger's ca- into it where you will, it will be found replete resses at first with reserve; which my friend with true modern humour. Strokes, Sir; it perceiving, instantly let me into my visitant's is filled with strokes of wit and satire in every trade and character, asking Mr Fudge, whe-line." Do you call these dashes of the pen ther he had lately published any thing new? I now conjectured that my guest was no other than a bookseller, and his answer confirmed my suspicions.

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strokes, replied I, for I must confess I can see no other? "And pray, Sir," returned be,

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what do you call them? Do you see any thing good now-a-days, that is not filled with "Excuse me, Sir," says he, "it is not the strokes-and dashes?-Sir, a well-placed dash season; books have their time as well as cu- makes half the wit of our writers of modern cumbers. I would no more bring out a new humour.* I bought a piece last season that work in summer, than I would sell pork in the had no other merit upon earth than nine hundog-days. Nothing in my way goes off in sum- dred and ninety-five breaks, seventy-two ha mer, except very light goods indeed. A re-ha's, three good things, and a garter. And yet view, a magazine, or a sessions' paper, may it played off, and bounced, and cracked, and amuse a summer reader; but all our stock of made more sport than a fire-work." I fancy, value we reserve for a spring and winter then, Sir, you were a considerable gainer? "It trade. I must confess, Sir, says I, a curi- must be owned the piece did pay; but, upon osity to know what you call a valuable stock, the whole, I cannot much boast of last winter's which can only bear a winter perusal. Sir," success: I gained by two murders; but then I replied the bookseller, "it is not my way to lost by an ill-timed charity sermon. I was a cry up my own goods; but, without exaggera- considerable sufferer by my Direct Road to an tion, I will venture to show with any of the Estate, but the Infernal Guide brought me up trade my books at least have the peculiar ad- again. Ah, Sir, that was a piece touched off vantage of being always new; and it is my by the hand of a master; filled with good way to clear off my old to the trunk-makers things from one end to the other. The author every season. I have ten new title-pages now had nothing but the jest in view; no dull about me, which only want books to be added moral lurking beneath, nor ill-natured satire to to make them the finest things in nature. sour the reader's good-humour; he wisely conOthers may pretend to direct the vulgar: Isidered, that moral and humour at the same always let the vulgar direct me; wherever popular clamour 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 published; 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 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.

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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 writings, 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 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 hs qualifications, incapable of coming into favour.

This idea is well ridiculed by our late excellent poet, Cowper, who in his Table Talk, has given the following admirable description of

"A Prologue, interdash'd with many a stroke,
An art contrived to advertise a joke,
So that the jest is clearly to be seen,
Not in the words-but in the gap between."

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 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 uninstructive 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 has 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 there are but two ways; the door must either be shut, or it must be open. It 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 but 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 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 LI.

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 at first at a loss to account for; but am since informed, that it was introduced by an intercourse between them and their neighbours the French, who, whenever they came, in order to pay these 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 clothes have been brought so much into contempt, that at present even their mandarines are ashamed of finery.

I must own myself a convert to English simplicity; I am no more for ostentation of wealth than of learning. 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 clothes are extremely fine, I am too apt to consider as not being possessed of any superiority of fortune, but resembling those Indians 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 entering the room, I was struck with awe at the grandeur 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 firstrate noblemen, I suppose, and well-looking noblemen too. I sat for some time with that uneasiness which conscious inferiority produces in the ingenuous mind, all attention to their discourse. However, I found their conversation more vulgar than I could have expected from personages of such distinction: if these, thought I to myself, 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 influence 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 scarcely time to wonder at the imprudence of his conduct, when I found occasion to be equally surprised at the

absurdity of theirs; for upon the entrance of a middle-aged man, dressed in a cap, dirty shirt, and boots, the whole circle seemed diminished of their former importance, and contended who should be first to pay their obeisance to the stranger. They somewhat resembled a circle of Kalmucks offering incense to a bear. Eager to know the cause of so much seeming contradiction, I whispered my friend out of the room, and 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; and the middle-aged gentleman whom I saw enter, was a 'squire from the country, and desirous of learning the new manner of footing, and smoothing up the rudiments of his rural 'minuet.

I was no longer surprised 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 respect of half an hour! There should be some law to restrain so manifest a breach of privilege: they should go from house to house as in China, with the instruments of their profession strung round their necks; by this means, we might be able to distinguish and treat them in a style of becoming contempt." Hold, my friend, replied my companion, were your reformation to take place, as dancing-masters and fiddlers now mimic gentlemen in appearance, we should then find our fine gentlemen conforming to theirs. A beau might be introduced to a lady of fashion, with a fiddle-case hanging at his neck by a red riband; and, instead of a cane, might carry a fiddle-stick. Though to be as dull as a firstrate 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 conversation. In short, if you make a law against dancing-masters imitating the fine gentleman, you should 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 distinguishing 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 public garden belonging to the city. Here, as I sat upon one of the benches, and felt the pleasing sympathy which nature in bloom inspires, a disconolate figure who sat on the other end of the eat, seemed no way to enjoy the serenity of

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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 humanity, 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 my 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 appearing displeased at my intended generosity. It is true, he sometimes interrupted the conversation with a sigh, and 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 surprised 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 humour proportionably seemed to increase. At last he stopped, not at the gate of a hovel, but of a magnificent palace! When I cast my eyes upon all the sumptuous elegance which every where presented upon entering, and then when I looked at my seeming miserable conductor, I could scarcely think that all this finery belonged to him; yet in fact it did. Numerous servants 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-eminence at home. Adieu.

LETTER LII.

FROM THE SAME.

How often have we adınired the eloquence of Europe! that strength of thinking, that delicacy 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 Bawdry and Pertness: none are more fashionable; none so sure of admirers; they are of such a nature, that the merest blockhead, by a proper use of them shall have the reputation of a wit; they lie level to the meanest capacities, 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 reputation of a wit; yet by the assistance of the figure Bawdry, this may be easily effected, and a bawdry blockhead often passes for a fellow of smart parts and pretensions. Every object in nature helps the jokes forward, without scarcely 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 fashionable pruri ency, 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 the impotent among his admirers; for these be may properly be said to write, and from these he ought to expect his reward; 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 apothecary, both being directed to the same generous end.

But though this manner of writing be perfectly adapted to the taste of gentlemen and ladies of fashion here, yet still it deserves greater praise in being equally suited to the most vulgar apprehensions. The very ladies and gentlemen of Benin or Caffraria 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 petticoats to intercept the application.

It is certain I never could have thought 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 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 appetites 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, en tirely 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 spirit 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 shows 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, though they never travelled abroad to China, and scarcely have reached posterity at home, were once found upon every fashionable toilet, and made the subject of polite, I mean very polite conversation. "Has your Grace seen Mr Durfey's last new thing, the Oylet Hole? A most facetious piece!"—" Sure, my Lord, all the world must have seen it; Durfey is certainly the most comical creature alive. It is impossible to read his things and live. Was there ever any thing so natural and pretty, as when the 'Squire and Bridget meet in the cellar? And then the difficulties they both find inbroaching 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 outdoes him in obscenity.

There are several very dull fellows, who, by a few mechanical helps, sometimes learn to become extremely brilliant and pleasing; with a little dexterity in the management of the eyebrows, 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 printing his face at the titlepage; but, without wit, to pass for a man of ingenuity, no other mechanical help but downright obscenity will suffice. By speaking of some peculiar sensations, we are always sure of exciting laughter, for the jest does not lie in the writer, but in the subject.

But Bawdry is often helped on by another figure, called pertness; and few indeed are found to excel 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

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