u. There is a bound where his
authority ceases.

XLI.

TO MANNING.

_February_ 19, 1803.

My Dear Manning,--The general scope of your letter afforded no
indications of insanity, but some particular points raised a scruple.
For God's sake, don't think any more of "Independent Tartary." [1] What
are you to do among such Ethiopians? Is there no _lineal descendant_ of
Prester John? Is the chair empty? Is the sword unswayed? Depend upon it,
they'll never make you their king as long as any branch of that great
stock is remaining. I tremble for your Christianity. They will certainly
circumcise you. Read Sir John Mandeville's travels to cure you, or come
over to England. There is a Tartar man now exhibiting at Exeter 'Change.
Come and talk with him, and hear what he says first. Indeed, he is no
very favorable specimen of his countrymen! But perhaps the best thing
you can do is to _try_ to get the idea out of your head. For this
purpose repeat to yourself every night, after you have said your
prayers, the words "Independent Tartary, Independent Tartary," two or
three times, and associate with them the _idea_ of oblivion ('t is
Hartley's method with obstinate memories); or say "Independent,
Independent, have I not already got an _independence_?" That was a
clever way of the old Puritans,--pun-divinity. My dear friend, think
what a sad pity it would be to bury such _parts_ in heathen countries,
among nasty, unconversable, horse-belching, Tartar people! Some say they
are cannibals; and then conceive a Tartar fellow _eating_ my friend, and
adding the _cool malignity_ of mustard and vinegar! I am afraid 't is
the reading of Chaucer has misled you; his foolish stories about
Cambuscan and the ring, and the horse of brass. Believe me, there are no
such things,--'t is all the poet's _invention_; but if there were such
darling things as old Chaucer sings, I would _up_ behind you on the
horse of brass, and frisk off for Prester John's country. But these are
all tales; a horse of brass never flew, and a king's daughter never
talked with birds! The Tartars really are a cold, insipid, smouchy set.
You'll be sadly moped (if you are not eaten) among them. Pray _try_ and
cure yourself. Take hellebore (the counsel is Horace's; 't was none of
my thought _originally_). Shave yourself oftener. Eat no saffron, for
saffron-eaters contract a terrible Tartar-like yellow. Pray to avoid the
fiend. Eat nothing that gives the heartburn. _Shave th