There are some nations that will not be seen to eat.  I know a lady, and of the best quality, who has the same opinion, that chewing disfigures the face, and takes away much from the ladies’ grace and beauty; and therefore unwillingly appears at a public table with an appetite; and I know a man also, who cannot endure to see another eat, nor himself to be seen eating, and who is more shy of company when putting in than when putting out.  In the Turkish empire, there are a great number of men who, to excel others, never suffer themselves to be seen when they make their repast:  who never have any more than one a week; who cut and mangle their faces and limbs; who never speak to any one:  fanatic people who think to honour their nature by disnaturing themselves; who value themselves upon their contempt of themselves, and purport to grow better by being worse.  What monstrous animal is this, that is a horror to himself, to whom his delights are grievous, and who weds himself to misfortune?  There are people who conceal their life: 

“Exilioque domos et dulcia limina mutant,”

     ["And change for exile their homes and pleasant abodes.” 
     —­Virgil, Georg., ii. 511.]

and withdraw them from the sight of other men; who avoid health and cheerfulness, as dangerous and prejudicial qualities.  Not only many sects, but many peoples, curse their birth, and bless their death; and there is a place where the sun is abominated and darkness adored.  We are only ingenious in using ourselves ill:  ’tis the real quarry our intellects fly at; and intellect, when misapplied, is a dangerous tool!

“O miseri! quorum gaudia crimen habent!”

          ["O wretched men, whose pleasures are a crime!”
          —­Pseudo Gallus, i. 180.]

Alas, poor man! thou hast enough inconveniences that are inevitable, without increasing them by throe own invention; and art miserable enough by nature, without being so by art; thou hast real and essential deformities enough, without forging those that are imaginary.  Dost thou think thou art too much at ease unless half thy ease is uneasy? dost thou find that thou hast not performed all the necessary offices that nature has enjoined thee, and that she is idle in thee, if thou dost not oblige thyself to other and new offices?  Thou dost not stick to infringe her universal and undoubted laws; but stickest to thy own special and fantastic rules, and by how much more particular, uncertain, and contradictory they are, by so much thou employest thy whole endeavour in them:  the laws of thy parish occupy and bind thee:  those of God and the world concern thee not.  Run but a little over the examples of this kind; thy life is full of them.