LETTER XCV.

THE FATHER CONSOLES HIM UPON THIS OCCASION.(1)

From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo.

Your misfortunes are mine; but as every period of life is marked with its own, you must learn to endure them. Disappointed love makes the misery of youth; disappointed ambition, that of manhood; and successful avarice that of age. These three attack us through life; and it is our duty to stand upon our guard. To love, we ought to oppose dissipation, and endeavour to change the object of the affections; to ambition, the happiness of indolence and obscurity; and to avarice, the fear of soon dying. These are the shields with which we should arm ourselves; and thus make every scene of life, if not pleasing, at least supportable.

Men complain of not finding a place of repose. They are in the wrong; they have it for seeking. What they should indeed complain of is, that the heart is an enemy to that very repose they seek. To themselves alone should they impute their discontent. They seek within the short span of life to satisfy a thousand desires; each of which alone is unsatiable. One month passes and another comes on; the year ends and then begins; but man is still unchanging in folly, (2) still blindly continuing in prejudice. To the wise man every climate and every soil is pleasing; to him a par

(1) This letter is a rhapsody from the maxims of the philosopher Mê. See Lettres curieuses et édifiantes, and Du Halde, vol. ii. p. 98.

(2) ["The lapse of ages changes all things-time-language-the earth -the bounds of the sea-the stars of the sky, and every thing about, around, and underneath man, except man himself; who has always been, and always will be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment."--Lord Byron, Works, vol. v. p. 66, ed. 1832.]

terre of flowers is the famous valley of gold; to him a little brook the fountain of the young peach trees; to such a man, the melody of birds is more ravishing than the harmony of a full concert; and the tincture of the cloud preferable to the touch of the finest pencil.

The life of man is a journey; a journey that must be travelled, however bad the roads or the accommodation. If in the beginning it is found dangerous, narrow, and difficult, it must either grow better in the end, or we shall by custom learn to bear its inequality.

But, though I see you incapable of penetrating into grand principles, attend at least to a simile, adapted to every apprehension. I am mounted upon a wretched ass. I see another man before me upon a sprightly horse, at which I find some uneasiness. I look behind me, and see numbers on foot, stooping under heavy burthens: let me learn to pity their estate, and thank Heaven for my own.

The

Shingfu, when under misfortunes, would in the beginning weep like a child; but he soon recovered his former tranquillity. After indulging grief for a few days, he would become, as usual, the most merry old man in all the province of Shansi. About the time that his wife died, his possessions were all consumed by fire, and his only son sold into captivity: Shingfu grieved for one day, and the next went to dance at a mandarine's door for his dinner. company were surprised to see the old man so merry, when suffering such great losses; and the mandarine himself coming out, asked him, how he, who had grieved so much, and given way to the calamity the day before, could now be so cheerful? "You ask me one question," cries the old man, "let me answer by asking another: which is the most durable, a hard thing, or a soft thing; that which resists, or that which makes no resistance?" "A hard thing, to be sure," replied the mandarine. "There you are wrong,"

returned Shingfu, "I am now fourscore years old; and, if you look in my mouth you will find that I have lost all my teeth, but not a bit of my tongue." Adieu.

The manner of grieving for our departed friends in China, is very different from that of Europe. The mourning colour of Europe is black; that of China white. When a parent or relation dies here, for they seldom mourn for friends, it is only clapping on a suit of sables, grimacing it for a few days, and all, soon forgotten, goes on as before; not a single creature missing the deceased, except perhaps a favourite housekeeper or a favourite cat.

On the contrary, with us in China it is a very serious affair. The piety with which I have seen you behave on one of these occasions should never be forgotten. I remember it was upon the death of thy grandmother's maiden-sister. The coffin was exposed in the principal hall in public view: before it were placed the figures of eunuchs, horses, tortoises, and other animals, in attitudes of grief and respect. The more distant relations of the old lady, and I among the number, came to pay our compliments of condolence, and to salute the deceased after the manner of our country. We had scarcely presented our wax candles and perfumes, and given the howl of departure,(1) when, crawling on his

(1) ["When a parent or elder relation among the Chinese dies, the lineal descendants, clothed in white cloth, with bandages of the same colour round their heads, sit weeping round the corpse on the ground, the women keeping up a dismal howl, after the manner of the Irish."--Chinese, vol. i. p. 295.

belly from under a curtain, out came the reverend Fum Hoam himself, in all the dismal solemnity of distress. Your looks were set for sorrow; your clothing consisted of a hempen bag tied round the neck with a string. For two long months did this mourning continue. By night you lay stretched on a single mat, and sat on the stool of discontent by day. Pious man! who could thus set an example of sorrow and decorum to our country. Pious country! where, if we do not grieve at the departure of our friends for their sakes, at least we are taught to regret them for our own.

All is very different here; amazement all! What sort of a people am I got amongst? Fum, thou son of Fo, what sort of people am I got amongst? No crawling round the coffin; no dressing up in hempen bags; no lying on mats, or sitting on stools! Gentlemen here shall put on first mourning, with as sprightly an air as if preparing for a birth-night; and widows shall actually dress for another husband in their weeds for the former. The best jest of all is, that our merry mourners clap bits of muslin on their sleeves, and these are called weepers. Weeping muslin! alas, alas, very sorrowful truly! These weepers then, it seems, are to bear the whole burthen of the distress.

But I have had the strongest instance of this contrast, this tragi-comical behaviour in distress, upon a recent occasion. Their king,(1) whose departure though sudden was not unexpected, died after a reign of many years! His age and uncertain state of health served, in some measure, to diminish the sorrow of his subjects; and their expectations from his successor, seemed to balance their minds between uneasiness and satisfaction. But, how ought they to have behaved on such an occasion? Surely, they ought rather

(1) [George the Second, who died October 25, 1760, in the seventyseventh year of his age, and the thirty-fourth of his reign.]

to have endeavoured to testify their gratitude to their deceased friend, than to proclaim their hopes of the future! Sure, even the successor must suppose their love to wear the face of adulation, which so quickly changed the object ! However, the very same day on which the old king died, they made rejoicing for the new.

For my part, I have no conception of this new manner of mourning and rejoicing in a breath; of being merry and sad; of mixing a funeral procession with a jig and a bonfire. At least, it would have been just, that they who flattered the king while living for virtues which he had not, should lament him dead for those he really had.

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In this universal cause for national distress, as I had no interest myself, so it is but natural to suppose, I felt no real affliction. "In all the losses of our friends," says an European philosopher, we first consider how much our own welfare is affected by their departure, and moderate our real grief just in the same proportion.(1) Now, as I had neither received nor expected to receive favours from kings or their flatterers; as I had no acquaintance in particular with their late monarch; as I know that the place of a king is soon supplied; and as the Chinese proverb has it, that though the world may sometimes want cobblers to mend their shoes, there is no danger of its wanting emperors to rule their kingdoms; from such considerations, I could bear the loss of a king with the most philosophic resignation. However, I thought it my duty at least to appear sorrowful; to put on a melancholy aspect, or to set my face by that of the people.

The first company I came amongst after the news became (1) ["Dans l'adversité de nos meilleurs amis, nous trouvons toujours quelquechose qui ne nous déplait pas."-Rochefoucault.

"In all distresses of our friends,

We first consult our private ends;

While nature, kindly bent to ease us,

Points out some circumstance to please us."-Swift.]