LETTER CXVII.

A CITY NIGHT-PIECE. (1)

To the Same.

The clock just struck two, the expiring taper rises and sinks in the socket, the watchman forgets the hour in slumber, the laborious and the happy are at rest, and nothing wakes but meditation, guilt, revelry, and despair. The drunkard once more fills the destroying bowl, the robber walks his midnight round, and the suicide lifts his guilty arm against his own sacred person.

Let me no longer waste the night over the page of antiquity, or the sallies of contemporary genius, but pursue the solitary walk, where vanity, ever changing, but a few hours past walked before me, where she kept up the pageant, and now, like a froward child, seems hushed with her own importunities.

What a gloom hangs all around! The dying lamp feebly emits a yellow gleam; no sound is heard but of the chiming clock, or the distant watch-dog. All the bustle of human pride is forgotten, an hour like this may well display the emptiness of human vanity.

There will come a time when this temporary solitude may be made continual, and the city itself, like its inhabitants, fade away, and leave a desert in its room.

What cities, as great as this, have once triumphed in existence; had their victories as great; joy as just and as

(1) [This paper, which presents a striking picture of the thoughts which arise in traversing a great city at an advanced hour of the night, originally appeared in the 'Bee,' with the motto from Martial

"Ille dolet verè, qui sine teste dolet;"

"He grieves in earnest, who grieves unseen."]

unbounded, and with short-sighted presumption, promised themselves immortality! Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some: the sorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others; and, as he beholds, he learns wisdom, and feels the transience of every sublunary possession.

"Here," he cries, "stood their citadel, now grown over with weeds; there, their senate-house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile; temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap of ruin. They are fallen; for luxury and avarice first made them feeble. The rewards of the state were conferred on amusing, and not on useful members of society. Their riches and opulence invited the invaders, who, though at first repulsed, returned again, conquered by perseverance, and at last swept the defendants into undistinguished destruction."

How few appear in those streets which, but some few hours ago, were crowded! and those who appear, now no longer wear their daily mask, nor attempt to hide their lewdness or their misery.

But who are those who make the streets their couch, and find a short repose from wretchedness at the doors of the opulent? These are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose circumstances are too humble to expect redress, and whose distresses are too great even for pity. Their wretchedness rather excites horror than pity. Some are without the covering even of rags, and others emaciated with disease: the world has disclaimed them; society turns its back upon their distress, and has given them up to nakedness and hunger. These poor shivering females have once seen happier days, and been flattered into beauty. They have been prostituted to the gay luxurious villain, and are now turned out to meet the severity of winter. Perhaps, now lying at the doors of their betrayers, they sue to wretches whose hearts

are insensible, or debauchees who may curse, but will not relieve them.(1)

Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the sufferings of wretches I cannot relieve! Poor houseless creatures! the world will give you reproaches, but will not give you relief. The slightest misfortunes of the great, the most imaginary uneasinesses of the rich, are aggravated with all the power of eloquence, and held up to engage our attention and sympathetic sorrow. The poor weep unheeded, persecuted by every subordinate species of tyranny; and every law, which gives others security, becomes an enemy to them.

Why was this heart of mine formed with so much sensibility! or why was not my fortune adapted to its impulse ! Tenderness, without a capacity of relieving, only makes the man who feels it, more wretched than the object which sues for assistance.(2) Adieu.

(1) [This is repeated in the Deserted Village':

"Ah, turn thine eyes,

Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,

Has wept at tales of innocence distrest;

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn,

Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head."]

(2) [The following paragraph, with which the paper originally concluded, had, probably, some personal allusion:

"But let me turn from a scene of such distress to the sanctified hypocrite, who has been talking of virtue till the time of bed, and now steals out, to give a loose to his vices, under the protection of midnight; vices more atrocious, because he attempts to conceal them. See how he pants down the dark alley, and, with hastening steps, fears an acquaintance in every face. He has passed the whole day in company he hates, and now goes to prolong the night among company that as heartily hate him. May his vices be detected; may the morning rise upon his shame! Yet, I wish to no purpose; villainy, when detected, never gives up, but boldly adds impudence to imposture."]

LETTER CXVIII.

ON THE MEANNESS OF THE DUTCH AT THE COURT OF

JAPAN.

From Fum Hoam, to Lien Chi Altangi, &c.

I have been just sent upon an embassy to Japan. My commission is to be dispatched in four days, and you can hardly conceive the pleasure I shall find, upon revisiting my native country. I shall leave with joy this proud, barbarous, inhospitable region, where every object conspires to diminish my satisfaction, and increase my patriotism.

But though I find the inhabitants savage, yet the Dutch merchants who are permitted to trade hither, seem still more detestable. They have raised my dislike to Europe in general; by them I learn how low avarice can degrade human nature; how many indignities an European will suffer for gain.

I was present at an audience given by the emperor to the Dutch envoy, who had sent several presents to all the courtiers, some days previous to his admission; but he was obliged to attend those designed for the emperor himself. From the accounts I had heard of this ceremony, my curiosity prompted me to be a spectator of the whole.

First went the presents, set out on beautiful enamelled tables, adorned with flowers, borne on men's shoulders, and followed by Japanese music and dancers. From so great respect paid to the gifts themselves, I had fancied the donors must have received almost divine honours. But, about a quarter of an hour after the presents had been carried in triumph, the envoy and his train were brought forward. They were covered from head to foot with long black veils, which prevented their seeing, each led by a conductor, chosen

from the meanest of the people. In this dishonourable manner, having traversed the city of Jedo, they at length arrived at the palace-gate, and, after waiting half-an-hour, were admitted into the guard-room. Here their eyes were uncovered, and, in about an hour, the gentleman-usher introduced them into the Hall of Audience." The emperor was at length shewn, sitting in a kind of alcove at the upper end of the room, and the Dutch envoy was conducted towards

the throne.

As soon as he had approached within a certain distance, the gentleman-usher cried out with a loud voice, Holanda Capitan! Upon these words, the envoy fell flat upon the ground, and crept upon his hands and feet towards the throne. Still approaching, he reared himself upon his knees, and then bowed his forehead to the ground. These ceremonies being over, he was directed to withdraw, still grovelling on his belly, and going backward like a lobster. (2)

Men must be excessively fond of riches, when they are earned with such circumstances of abject submission. Do the Europeans worship heaven itself with marks of more profound respect? Do they confer those honours on the Supreme of Beings, which they pay to a barbarous king, who gives them a permission to purchase trinkets and porce lain? What a glorious exchange, to forfeit their national honour, and even their title to humanity, for a screen or a snuff-box!

If these ceremonies essayed in the first audience appeared mortifying, those which are practised in the second were infi(1) ["Otherwise, the Hall of a Hundred Mats."-Kampfer, Hist. of Japan, vol. ii. p. 531.]

Kæmpfer was born
For this excellent

(2) [See Kæmpfer's History of Japan, vol. ii. p. 532. at Lemgow in Westphalia, in 1651, and died in 1716. work, which appeared in 1727, in two volumes folio, the world is indebted to Sir Hans Sloane, who purchased all the doctor's curiosities, drawings, and MSS. and induced Dr. Scheuchzer to translate it from the High Dutch into English.]