the song continues, they are to remain in a state of universal petrifaction. In this mortifying situation we had continued for some time, listening to the song, and look- | ing with tranquillity, when the master of the box came to inform us, that the waterworks were going to begin. At this information I could instantly perceive the widow bounce from her seat; but correcting herself, she sat down again, repressed by motives of good breeding. Mrs. Tibbs, who had seen the waterworks an hundred times, resolving not to be interrupted, continued her song without any share of mercy, nor had the smallest pity on our impatience. The widow's face, I own, gave me high entertainment; in it I could plainly read the struggle she felt between good breeding and curiosity: she talked of the waterworks the whole evening before, and seemed to have come merely in order to see them; but then she could not bounce out in the very middle of a song, for that would be forfeiting all pretensions to high life, or high-lived company, ever after. Mrs. Tibbs, therefore, kept on singing, and we continued to listen, till at last, when the song was just concluded, the waiter came to inform us that the water-works were over.

"The waterworks over!" cried the widow; "the waterworks over already! that's impossible! they can't be over so soon!""It is not my business," replied the fellow, "to contradict your ladyship; I'll run again and see. He went, and soon returned with a confirmation of the dismal tidings. No ceremony could now bind my friend's disappointed mistress. She testified her displeasure in the openest manner ; in short, she now began to find fault in turn, and at last insisted upon going home, just at the time that Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs assured the company that the polite hours were going to begin, and that the ladies would instantaneously be entertained with the horns.-Adieu.

LETTER LXXII.

To the same.

NOT far from this city lives a poor tinker, who has educated seven sons, all at this very time in arms, and fighting for their

country; and what reward do you has the tinker from the state for important services? None in the w His sons, when the war is over, probably be whipped from parish to p as vagabonds, and the old man, past labour, may die a prisoner in; house of correction.

Such a worthy subject in China w be held in universal reverence; his vices would be rewarded, if not dignities, at least with an exemption labour; he would take the left hat feasts, and mandarines themselves w be proud to show their submission. English laws punish vice; the Ch laws do more,-they reward virtue.

Considering the little encourage given to matrimony here, I am not prised at the discouragement give propagation. Would you believe it dear Fum Hoam, there are laws which even forbid the people's mart each other! By the head of Confu I jest not; there are such laws in b here; and yet their lawgivers have n been instructed among the Hottent nor imbibed their principles of eq from the natives of Anamaboo.

There are laws which ordain, that man shall marry a woman against own consent. This, though contrary what we are taught in Asia, and thot in some measure a clog upon matrimo I have no great objection to. There laws which ordain, that no woman st marry against her father and mothe consent, unless arrived at an age maturity; by which is understood, th years when women with us are genera past child-bearing. This must be a d upon matrimony, as it is more difficult the lover to please three than one, a much more difficult to please old pe than young ones. The laws ordain, t the consenting couple shall take a la time to consider before they marry: is a very great clog, because people i to have all rash actions done in a ha It is ordained, that all marriages sha proclaimed before celebration: this a severe clog, as many are ashamed to h their marriage made public, from me of vicious modesty, and many afraid, i

ews of temporal interest. It is ordained, at there is nothing sacred in the cereony, but that it may be dissolved, to all tents and purposes, by the authority of y civil magistrate. And yet, opposite this, it is ordained, that the priest shall e paid a large sum of money for granting is sacred permission.

Thus you see, my friend, that matriony here is hedged round with so many bstructions, that those who are willing o break through or surmount them must e contented if at last they find it a bed ✰ thorns. The laws are not to blame, they have deterred the people from ging as much as they could. It is, nced, become a very serious affair in England, and none but serious people are geerally found willing to engage. The yeng, the gay, and the beautiful, who Love motives of passion only to induce , are seldom found to embark, as se inducements are taken away; and e but the old, the ugly, and the merary, are seen to unite, who, if they e any posterity at all, will probably in ill-favoured race like themselves. What gave rise to those laws might e been some such accidents as these. sometimes happened that a miser, who spent all his youth in scraping up ney to give his daughter such a fortune might get her a mandarine husband, mi his expectations disappointed at by her running away with his footn: this must have been a sad shock to The poor disconsolate parent, to see his or daughter in a one-horse chaise, when had designed her for a coach and six. What a stroke from Providence! to see s dear money go to enrich a beggar; nature cried out at the profanation. It sometimes happened, also, that a ady, who had inherited all the titles and all the nervous complaints of nobility, hought fit to impair her dignity, and nend her constitution, by marrying a armer: this must have been a sad shock o her inconsolable relations, to see so fine flower snatched from a flourishing amily, and planted in a dunghill; this vas an absolute inversion of the first rinciples of things.

In order, therefore, to prevent the

great from being thus contaminated by vulgar alliances, the obstacles to matrimony have been so contrived, that the rich only can marry amongst the rich; and the poor, who would leave celibacy, must be content to increase their poverty with a wife. Thus have their laws fairly inverted the inducements to matrimony. Nature tells us, that beauty is the proper allurement of those who are rich, and money of those who are poor; but things here are so contrived, that the rich are invited to marry by that fortune which they do not want, and the poor have no inducement but that beauty which they do not feel.

An equal diffusion of riches through any country ever constitutes its happiness. Great wealth in the possession of one stagnates, and extreme poverty with another keeps him in unambitious indigence; but the moderately rich are generally active: not too far removed from poverty to fear its calamities, nor too near extreme wealth to slacken the nerve of labour, they remain still between both in a state of continual fluctuation. How impolitic, therefore, are those laws which promote the accumulation of wealth among the rich; more impolitic still, in attempting to increase the depression on poverty.

But

Bacon, the English philosopher, compares money to manure. "If gathered in heaps," says he, "it does no good; on the contrary, it becomes offensive. being spread, though never so thinly, over the surface of the earth, it enriches the whole country." Thus the wealth a nation possesses must expatiate, or it is of no benefit to the public; it becomes rather a grievance, where matrimonial laws thus confine it to a few.

But this restraint upon matrimonial community, even considered in a physical light, is injurious. As those who rear up animals take all possible pains to cross the strain, in order to improve the breed ; so in those countries where marriage is most free the inhabitants are found every age to improve in stature and in beauty; on the contrary, where it is confined to a caste, a tribe, or an horde, as among the Gaours, the Jews, or the Tartars, each

division soon assumes a family likeness, and every tribe degenerates into peculiar deformity. Hence it may be easily inferred, that if the mandarines here are resolved only to marry among each other, they will soon produce a posterity with mandarine faces; and we shall see the heir of some honourable family scarce equal to the abortion of a country farmer. These are a few of the obstacles to marriage here, and it is certain they have, in some measure, answered the end, for celibacy is both frequent and fashionable. Old bachelors appear abroad without a mask, and old maids, my dear Fum Hoam, have been absolutely known to ogle. To confess in friendship, if I were an Englishman I fancy I should be an old bachelor myself; I should never find courage to run through all the adventures prescribed by the law. I could submit to court my mistress herself upon reasonable terms, but to court her father, her mother, and a long tribe of cousins, aunts, and relations, and then stand the butt of a whole country church,-I would as soon turn tail, and make love to her grandmother.

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I can conceive no other reason for thus loading matrimony with so many prohibitions, unless it be that the country was thought already too populous, and this was found to be the most effectual means of thinning it. If this was the motive, I cannot but congratulate the wise projectors on the success of their scheme. 'Hail, O ye dim-sighted politicians, ye weeders of men! 'Tis yours to clip the wing of industry, and convert Hymen to a broker. 'Tis yours to behold small objects with a microscopic eye, but to be blind to those which require an extent of vision. 'Tis yours, O ye discerners of mankind to lay the line between society, and weaken that force by dividing, which should bind with united vigour. 'Tis yours to introduce national real distress, in order to avoid the imaginary distresses of a few. Your actions can be justified by an hundred reasons like truth; they can be opposed by but a few reasons, and those reasons are true."-Farewell.

LETTER LXXIII.

From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo, by tha of Moscow.

AGE, that lessens the enjoyment of increases our desire of living. T dangers which, in the vigour of youth had learned to despise, assume new te as we grow old. Our caution incre as our years increase, fear becomes al the prevailing passion of the mind; the small remainder of life is take in useless efforts to keep off our ene provide for a continued existence.

Strange contradiction in our nature, to which even the wise are liable! should judge of that part of life which before me by that which I have alm seen, the prospect is hideous. Experi tells me, that my past enjoyments 1 brought no real felicity; and sensa assures me, that those I have felt stronger than those which are yet to ot Yet experience and sensation in vain suade; hope, more powerful than eith dresses out the distant prospect in fanc beauty; some happiness in long persp tive still beckons me to pursue; and,1 a losing gamester, every new disappoi ment increases my ardour to continue i game.

Whence, my friend, this increased Ic of life, which grows upon us with c years? whence comes it, that we thus ma greater efforts to preserve our existen at a period when it becomes scarcely wor the keeping? Is it that nature, attentive the preservation of mankind, increases o wishes to live, while she lessens our enjo ments; and, as she robs the senses of eve pleasure, equips imagination in the spoi Life would be insupportable to an old a who, loaded with infirmities, feared dert no more than in the vigour of manhood the numberless calamities of decayi nature, and the consciousness of survinn every pleasure, would at once induce h with his own hand, to terminate the s of misery: but, happily, the contempt death forsakes him at a time when only. could be prejudicial; and life acquires 2 imaginary value, in proportion as its ra value is no more.

Our attachment to every object aro

ncreases, in general, from the length ur acquaintance with it. "I would choose," says a French philosopher, see an old post pulled up, with which ad been long acquainted." A mind habituated to a certain set of objects nsibly becomes fond of seeing them, ts them from habit, and parts from m with reluctance; from hence prods the avarice of the old in every kind possession. They love the world and that it produces; they love life and all advantages; not because it gives them asure, but because they have known it

Chinvang the Chaste, ascending the one of China, commanded that all who eunjustly detained in prison during preceding reigns should be set free. Eg the number who came to thank ez deliverer on this occasion there apel a majestic old man, who, falling Le emperor's feet, addressed him as Great father of China, behold ch, now eighty-five years old, who shut up in a dungeon at the age of Wety-two. I was imprisoned, though a ther to crime, or without being even nted by my accusers. I have now in solitude and darkness for more 6fty years, and am grown familiar distress. As yet, dazzled with the dour of that sun to which you have red me, I have been wandering the ets to find some friend that would assist, elieve, or remember me; but my is, my family, and relations are all , and I am forgotten. Permit me, OChinvang, to wear out the wretched ins of life in my former prison: the of my dungeon are to me more Pasing than the most splendid palace; I ve not long to live, and shall be unhappy tept I spend the rest of my days where youth was passed,-in that prison from ich you were pleased to release me." The old man's passion for confinement similar to that we all have for life. We e habituated to the prison, we look round th discontent, are displeased with the de, and yet the length of our captivity My increases our fondness for the cell. he trees we have planted, the houses we we built, or the posterity we have be

gotten, all serve to bind us closer to earth, and embitter our parting. Life sues the young like a new acquaintance; the companion, as yet unexhausted, is at once instructive and amusing: its company pleases; yet, for all this, it is but little regarded. To us who are declined in years life appears like an old friend; its jests have been anticipated in former conversation; it has no new story to make us smile, no new improvement with which to surprise, yet still we love it; destitute of every enjoyment, still we love it, husband the wasting treasure with increased frugality, and feel all the poignancy of anguish in the fatal separation.

Sir Philip Mordaunt was young, beautiful, sincere, brave, an Englishman. He had a complete fortune of his own, and the love of the king his master, which was equivalent to riches. Life opened all her treasure before him, and promised a long succession of future happiness. He came, tasted of the entertainment, but was disgusted even in the beginning. He professed an aversion to living; was tired of walking round the same circle; had tried every enjoyment, and found them all grow weaker at every repetition. "If life be in youth so displeasing," cried he to himself, "what will it appear when age comes on? if it be at present indifferent, sure it will then be execrable." This thought embittered every reflection; till at last, with all the serenity of perverted reason, he ended the debate with a pistol! Had this self-deluded man been apprised, that existence grows more desirable to us the longer we exist, he would have then faced old age without shrinking, he would have boldly dared to live, and served that society by his future assiduity, which he basely injured by his desertion.-Adieu.

are to gaze at with admiration; these the names that fame will be employed in holding up for the astonishment of succeeding ages. Let me see forty-six great men in half a year amount to just ninety-two in a year. I wonder how posterity will be able to remember them all, or whether the people, in future times, will have any other business to mind, but that of getting the catalogue by heart.

Does the mayor of a corporation make a speech? he is instantly set down for a great man. Does a pedant digest his commonplace book into a folio? he quickly becomes great. Does a poet string up trite sentiments in rhyme? he also becomes the great man of the hour. How diminutive soever the object of admiration, each is followed by a crowd of still more diminutive admirers. The shout begins in his train; onward he marches to immortality; looks back at the pursuing crowd with self-satisfaction; catching all the oddities, the whimsies, the absurdities, and the littlenesses of conscious greatness, by the way.

I was yesterday invited by a gentleman to dinner, who promised that our entertainment should consist of a haunch of venison, a turtle, and a great man. I came according to appointment. The venison was fine, the turtle good, but the great man insupportable. The moment I ventured to speak, I was at once contradicted with a snap. I attempted, by a second and a third assault, to retrieve my lost reputation, but was still beat back with confusion. I was resolved to attack him once more from entrenchment, and turned the conversation upon the government of China: but even here he asserted, snapped, and contradicted as before. "Heavens,' thought I, "this man pretends to know China even better than myself!" I looked round to see who was on my side; but every eye was fixed in admiration on the great man: I therefore at last thought proper to sit silent, and act the pretty gentleman during the ensuing conversation.

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When a man has once secured a circle of admirers, he may be as ridiculous here as he thinks proper; and it all passes for elevation of sentiment or learned absence. If he transgresses the common forms of

breeding, mistakes even a teapot fo bacco-box, it is said that his thoug fixed on more important objects: to and to act like the rest of mankind be no greater than they. There is thing of oddity in the very idea of ness; for we are seldom astonisher thing very much resembling ourselv When the Tartars make a Lama first care is to place him in a dark of the temple: here he is to sit hal cealed from view, to regulate the n of his hands, lips, and eyes; but, all, he is enjoined gravity and si This, however, is but the prelude! apotheosis: a set of emissaries an patched among the people, to cry t piety, gravity, and love of raw flesh people take them at their word, app the Lama, now become an idol, wit most humble prostration; he receives addresses without motion, commen god, and is ever after fed by his p with the spoon of immortality. The receipt in this country serves to ma great man. The idol only keeps c sends out his little emissaries to be h in his praise; and straight, whether st man or author, he is set down in the of fame, continuing to be praised wh is fashionable to praise, or while he dently keeps his minuteness conce from the public.

I have visited many countries, ani been in cities without number, yet n did I enter a town which could not prov ten or twelve of those little great men, fancying themselves known to the res the world, and complimenting each of upon their extensive reputation. amusing enough when two of these dor tic prodigies of learning mount the st of ceremony, and give and take p from each other. I have been pre when a German doctor, for having r nounced a panegyric upon a certain n. was thought the most ingenious m." the world; till the monk soon after div this reputation by returning the com ment; by which means they both mars off with universal applause.

The same degree of undeserved adult that attends our great man while l often also follows him to the tomb