whom the nation has produced. This is Lao-keun, called also Lao-tse, or the "old infant," from a legend which says he was born with white bair,-who, in the character of his intellect, belongs rather to the mysticism of India than to the rationalistic spirit of the race of Han. The God invoked by the ancient Chinese is, as we have seen, the Supreme Ruler (Shang-te) or Heaven (Tien); but the Deity described by Lao-tse is the Supreme universal Reason (Tao), and the attributes he assigns to Him are identical with those assigned to the Supreme Being by all the spiritualist doctrinaires of the East, as well as in many respects by Spinoza and the Pantheists. His doctrines, however, never took hold of the mind of the nation, and have now degenerated into a system of magic, professed by the Taonists, or "disciples of Reason." Very different from the mystical abstractions of this sage were the eminently practical ethics of his wellknown rival Confucius,-born about 550 B.C., fifty years later than Laokean, and nearly contemporary with Pythagoras. His doctrines constitute a system of morals and politics rather than any particular religious creed. He said little about the being and attributes of the Deity, as he found reason a very inadequate guide on this subject; and although some expressions in his sayings show that he believed in the existence of genii and manes, he may be rather said not to have interfered with the common belief and worship than to have expressly adopted them. However interesting it might be to give a synopsis of the teaching of this eminent sage, whose writings we have most carefully studied, our limits will not permit of the attempt. We must content ourselves with calling the attention of our readers to this remarkable fact, that unlike any other civilised people in the world, the religion (or rather the moral system) of the Chinese is not based upon a real or feigned Divine Revelation, but deduced from human reason itself. No Divine Revelation was ever granted to them, and no fanatic or impostor ever arose to feign one. But if God did not speak from without, he spoke from within; they took close counsel with his vicegerent

Conscience in the human soul, and to the deep attention with which they listened to its warning whispers, is to be attributed the marvellous purity of their moral code, which approaches far more nearly than that of other nations the Divine precepts of the New Testament. The Revelation from without is only meant as a supplement to the Revelation which God has given of himself within, and to all mankind, in the soul; and of this latter guide the Chinese have probably made as good use as frail human nature is capable of doing.

Thus no distinct form of religion was indigenous to China; but a foreign faith, in the shape of Buddhism, made its way into the country about sixty years after the birth of our Saviour. In consequence of a dream of the Emperor Ming-te that the Holy One was born in the West, ambassadors were despatched in that direction; and these envoys, having encountered the priests of Buddhism coming from India, and proclaiming an incarnate God, took them to be the disciples of the true Christ, and presented them as such to their countrymen. Although the majority of the Chinese profess no religion-never say, "I am a Buddhist, or Taouist," and mark their predilections by donations only, it is evident that Buddhism has proved a greater favourite with the nation than the doctrines of Lao-keun, and is almost as prevalent among the lower orders as Confucianism among the higher. Its leading features are, a total subjection of all passions by means of a contemplative life,-and the metempsychosis, of which the wished-for end is absorption into or reunion with the Divine Essence. But in China the creed lost some of its stupendous absurdities, and had to accommodate itself in many things to the business-like character of the people. It seems to have adopted some things from the Nestorian Christians, who at an early period gained a transient footing in China, but at the same time it easily lent itself to encourage the popular superstitions which seem in all ages to have abounded among the inhabitants. In truth, of all pagans the Buddhists are the least bigoted, neither among their myriad idols are there any ob

scene representations, nor do they celebrate any kind of orgies. In allowing Chinese Buddhism these negative merits, we have pronounced all the praise that is due to it. The generality of the priests wear an expression approaching to idiotcy, and their indolence (they do little but beg) and their celibacy are totally opposed to the industrious spirit and philoprogenitive tendencies of the Chinese. An endless repetition of prayers in the Fan or Pali language (for the most part unintelligible even to the priests) is accounted their most powerful talisman in life, and their best preparation for futurity; and so indistinct are their ideas of divine things, and so little care they what their followers worship, that on one occasion, says Mr Gutzlaff, "Napoleon's marble bust enjoyed the honour of being placed as an idol" in one of their temples.

In the reign of Che-hoang-te, Confucianism, as we have seen, received a check which threatened at the time to prove fatal. The ambitious and gigantic schemes of the "first grand Emperor," as well as the exigencies of his times, rendered him inflexibly hostile to so influential a rival power in the State as the Men of Letters, and to so unaccommodating and constitutional a system of government as that which they inculcated; and on this account, more than from any one individual predilection, he proscribed Confucianism, and set up Taouism in its place. In the following century, however, the old State-creed regained its influence; but in the long intestine wars which followed the fall of the Han dynasty, and the sundering of the Empire into rival States, its humane and patriotic precepts were but little attended to. At the close of this long period of tumult and retrogression, the Soong dynasty mounted the throne, in somewhat similar circumstances to the Tudor family in England; and under them, as in the Elizabethan epoch, literature attained its golden age in China. The old educational institutions of the empire were revived, knowledge once more became the sole pathway to eminence and power; and the national philosophy, so far as China can be said to have one, became fixed in that ma

terialistic form which it has ever since retained. All things in the universe, said these philosophers, have one and the same kind of existence. The clod of the valley, and the ox and man who till it, are in being and essence the same. An object exhibiting extension, colour, and form, is in common parlance called body or matter; when we perceive in it a power of motion, we call it an animal or living being; and when we think we see in it feeling, will, thought, and perception, we call it man, and ascribe to it a soul or spirit. But between these, said they, there is no real and essential difference: they all participate equally in one and the same existence. And this existence, they add, is infinite and unchangeable. Everything is eternal. What we call production and destruction is nothing more than the change which happens to an object when we turn our eyes upon it, or look away in the former case it certainly produces a new impression on our mind, but no real change takes place in the object itself,-only from being unperceived, it becomes perceived. Some of these philosophers likened the relation between man and universal matter to that existing between statues and the metal out of which they are cast. These statues, they said, so lifelike, and so unlike that shapeless mass of ore, are yet portions of it, were made out of it, and will be melted into it again. Even so is it, they add, with Man. He is just a certain form of matter, differing from it in nothing, and returning to the universal mass again.

These doctrines exactly correspond with the pernicious system of materialism so beautifully developed a century ago by Helvetius in his Système de la Nature. Both deny the existence of spirit, and consequently deny that there either is or can be a God, and impute the formation of the universe and all that it contains, from a sun to a grain of sand, from inanimate dust to breathing man, to the wonderfully-working powers of selfexistent matter. Indeed, the new school of philosophy which sprang into existence during the Soong dynasty corresponds most closely with the infidel school of the Encyclopedists in France; and it would doubtless have

wounded the Diderots and D'Alemberts in their tenderest part-namely, in their vain pride of intellect to have known that their boasted scepticism and pseudo- discoveries in philosophy had been all anticipated eight centuries before by the despised Chinese! It is also remarkable that as, in both these countries, the promulgation of such doctrines was too sure an indication of a lamentable "falling away" in respect to religious faith and moral practice, so in both a terrible retribution followed,-China being bathed in blood by the conquest of the Mongol invaders, and France by the furious excesses of her own children.

It must not be supposed, however, that this atheistic materialism ever took root among the lower orders, who in China constitute the great mass of its people. It is only the seductions of a vain knowledge that can thus blind men to the existence of other powers superior to himself. Ignorance errs less grievously, because it leaves the natural instincts of the soul in darkness indeed, but not eradicated. A nation must worship something; and so the great mass of the Chinese went on sacrificing as before to the genii and the souls of the departed. But, although perfect believers in the immortality of the soul, they neither pray to the spirits of the departed for aid, like the Roman Catholics, nor stand in awe of their maleficent powers, like the Hindoos. Their ideas of the state of the departed resemble more nearly those of the ancient Greeks. They look upon Hades as a joyless world, and they talk of a man "going to wander among the genii" (i. e., dying) in the same desponding way as a Greek would have done of some unsepultured one, who had departed to join the troop of shivering ghosts on the banks of Styx. They believe that the ghosts are still subject, or fancy themselves so, to the feelings of want and hunger, and the friends or relatives of the departed are in the habit of burning pieces of gilt paper in the shape of coin, with the view of transmitting money to supply their wants in the world of shadows. They make sacrifices to the genii, but they do not venerate them very highly,-for cases

are said to be not unfrequent where the statues of the genii have been "publicly whipped, and their names erased from the list" of those to be worshipped, when they did not faithfully and loyally fulfil the duties of their station! Nevertheless the poor genii have at times their reward; and during a recent war with the Borderers in the south, the Emperor, upon the report of the general in command, decreed a votive tablet of brass to two genii who, it was supposed, had made themselves of service to the Imperial troops!

A monarchical spirit has from the earliest times pervaded the Government of China; but after the destruction of the feudal princes and nobles in the long civil wars that intervened between the fall of the Han dynasty and the rise of the Soongs, a further development of the Executive took place, and a centralised bureaucracy established itself upon the ruins of all local authority. The Emperor is styled the "Son of Heaven,” and is worshipped with divine honours, in virtue of his office. By immemorial custom, he has absolute control over the succession to the throne, and can select an heir, if he pleases, from beyond the circle of his own family. As the "father of the nation," he is sole proprietor of the soil. He has a Privy Council, composed of two Chinese and two Tartars, and a number of Boards preside over the various branches of administration, and consult with him on all points of difficulty or importance. A remarkable feature in the Government is the Office of Censors, the members of which are despatched to various parts of the empire as Imperial inspectors. By the ancient custom of the country, these censors are privileged to present any advice or remonstrance to the sovereign without losing their lives; nevertheless, they are sometimes degraded and punished when their addresses are more than usually unpalatable. From the Emperor downwards, a strictly-defined gradation of offices extends, passing through ministers of state, governors of provinces, of districts, of towns, down to the head of a family, who is the absolute and irresponsible ruler of his own household, and who is in some

degree liable to punishment for their crimes, at any period of their lives, as well as to reward for their merits. The Mandarins are never permitted to gather around them the affections of their districts. They are never allowed to hold office in their native locality; and the short time they remain in any one place sufficiently guards the Emperor against the growth of any rival power.

The system of Centralisation is the only form of Government possible in a country where no municipal institutions exist, and where the people are ignorant or apathetic in political matters,-where, in short, they have not attained that crowning point of social life, the art of managing themselves; and (as in every other form of Government) its evils are aggravated when it is applied to a vast extent of territory, and when no landed nobility exist to form a check upon the conduct of the Government officials. The latter of these evils is felt in France, the former in the vast territories of Russia, but both are experienced in the still larger dominions of China. There the multitude of officials, and the distance at which many of them are placed from the central power, renders anything like adequate supervision impossible. The power of the officials is practically almost unlimited over those below them; and fraud, tyranny, and extortion find vent despite the highly just and constitutional principles of Chinese government. These are not so much defects of the system as of the individuals who work it; and this truth is by no means overlooked by the people. Local émeutes against the authorities are not unfrequent in China; but it is the abuses of power only against which the people protest on such occasions, not its form. They admire and venerate with their whole heart the governmental system of their country, which is not only an elaborate machine associated with their entire past history, but which adapts itself admirably to the national spirit. It is no mere

theoretical constitution, struck off at a blow, such as have lately been so much in vogue in Europe; it is a perfect embodiment of the Chinese predilections in government, and has grown with the growth and strengthened with the strength of the people. "A revolution," says Mr Wade, "would but transfer the present form of government to other hands, as the Chinese are unacquainted with the nature and merits of any other, and complain neither of the present mode of government, nor of the laws, in which they are not stated to discern any defects, but simply of the abuse of them."

Eighteen months ago,* we exposed in detail the then state of the Chinese Empire-the decaying vigour of the reigning Mantchoo dynasty-the enormous corruption existing in the administration-the consequent falling off in the revenue, and the suicidal attempt to repair this deficiency by sales of rank-the recent appalling inundations, which had reduced several millions of the population to absolute starvation-the extraordinary emigration which had begun to flow from the country, and its probable results upon the labour-market of the islands and shores of the Pacific-the rise of discontent and a turbulent democratic spirit-and the effects of the late war with Great Britain in shaking the prestige of the Tartar government. More recently, we gave a narrative of the events of the present rebellion, and glanced at the quasi Christian character of the insurgents' creed. What we have to do now is to extend our view to the future, and from the events therein discernible to gather a few hints for the guidance of our present policy.

But first let the character of the present rebellion be distinctly understood; and after what we have already said, a few words should suffice. Be it understood, then, that there are no hereditary nobles or privileged classes in China. All are equal. The path to distinction is open to all, and is often trode by the

humblest cottar's son. Rank can only be attained in the service of the State; and the whole employés of Government are selected from the State-endowed schools and colleges of the Empire-from those who, whether poor or rich, distinguish themselves most at the triennial and other examinations. Such are the class of Lettres, or men of letters, from whose ranks the myriad government appointments are filled; and these offices, as we have said, form one vast system of centralised bureaucracy, extending from Peking to furthest Cashgar and Thibet. Every one of my prefects," said Napoleon I., "is a little Emperor ;" and even in France at the present day, with all our appliances of railroads and telegraphs, the central Executive finds it impossible to prevent many abuses of power on the part of its provincial representatives. But France is little bigger than a single province of China which latter empire embraces an extent of territory nearly equal to the whole of Europe, and includes no less than 360,000,000 souls, or more than a third of the whole human race! Imagine, then, the difficulty of governing such a country, and supervising so many myriads of mandarins (as the officials are called), many of whom are distant from the seat of government by thousands of miles.

To rule such an empire, of course, requires a singularly able and energetic man. And the first Emperors of each dynasty are generally men of this kind. Prowess and worth have raised them to the throne, and they put forth their whole abilities in a resolute discharge of their office. Dynasties, however, grow old, as well as individuals, and become effete under the enervating influences of wealth and power. Long experience has shown, in China as in other empires, that the energetic founders of a dynasty are by-and-by succeeded by men who give themselves up to pleasure-betaking themselves to the harem, and resigning the reins of government in many cases to crafty and ambitious eunuchs a class of men who, as we have seen, have proved the bane of almost every dynasty for the last sixteen centuries. No sooner does incompet

ency or corruption begin at Court, than its effects are immediately apparent in a general dissolution of government throughout the Empire. Once remove the firm check of despotic supervision from a Chinese official, and in nineteen eases out of twenty he instantly commences a system of extortion. He wrings fines and takes bribes from all and sundry, and, to prevent appeal, he bribes also the mandarins immediately above him (just as is done in the dominions of the Czar). In this way the minds of the people (who are never to be compared with the unreflecting mujiks of Russia) become wholly estranged from the Government. Industry is checked, and corruption embezzles the revenue. The imperial exchequer becomes empty; and in order to replenish it, instead of curing the evil by reforming the abuses, the easier plan is generally had recourse to of instituting sales of rank-which is synonymous, also, with sales of office. This only aggravates the evil. First of all, the people are justly incensed by seeing what ought to be the rewards of worth and learning only, taken from open competition and given to mere wealth; and secondly, the men thus unjustly placed in rank and office are in general incompetent to the discharge of their duties; and moreover, having paid for their appointments, they naturally seek to get a good return for their money, and look upon those under them rarely in any other light than as so many sheep to be fleeced. Thus the evil goes from bad to worse. Industry is checked, Government paralysed, the executive powerless. As a natural consequence of the misery of the country, bands of robbers arise in the provinces, which the Imperialist forces are unable to put down. By-and-by these robber-bands attain consistency: some able chief puts himself at their head, and, encouraged by the feebleness and contempt into which the Government has fallen, hoists the standard of rebellion-issues proclamations denouncing the Emperor as having violated the "decrees of Heaven," and inflicted misery upon the people, and declaring him unfit any longer to reign. A reform of the existing abuses is at the same time made