seemed as if we two had been left behind, or lived again, in some long-forgotten age among the marvels of a remote civilization; or even that we had passed to an existence in some succeeding generation of long futurity. She contrasted so strikingly with our surroundings-with the crumbling walls and ancient buildings while all around us in the golden stillness of evening lay an old-world scene of surpassing beauty. Beneath us, on the outside of the ivy-clad walls, the narrow road, which skirted the moat for some distance, led away through an avenue of fine trees and across a stretch of park-like country through which a broad stream wended its devious way. Here and there an old pagoda loomed up grim and hoary, or the fantastic roof of a temple or shrine peeped above the bright foliage of clustering trees or graceful bamboos; and away beyond the waves of undulating country now wooded and now stretching in green pasturelands and fields of rice-the sun would sink slowly down in a purple haze or into the glittering sea. There are certain episodes in our lives which we never forget, and that was one of the happiest in mine. A calmness used to steal over me as I lay back watching and listening while that fair queen of a world-forgotten city spoke earnestly and sweetlyspoke words which have become indelibly imprinted on my memory. I trust if we never meet again that she may read these words and know that I gratefully remember those brief but hallowed days in old Kiungchow. I often picture the sombre moated walls and romantic scenery, and wonder whether she sits there alone in the twilight now. For me those crumbling walls what mem'ries hold, I wonder if to-night the sunset rays On that archaic temple met her gaze, Or when they lit the grim pagoda's spire- That twilight world whose spirits haunt us so. XXIII. THE POET SU TUNG-PO. ISTORY repeats itself: and genius is the same under all conditions, though its spirit may dwell in a soul which is imprisoned in the clay-bound cell of a foreign soil. Trouble and adversity and the scourge of tyranny-resulting in imprisonment, disease and exile-seem in all ages to have rather increased than diminished the power and ambition of genius; for loneliness gives it energy. The greatest works have often been created under the most painful and soul-harrowing circumstances. The spirit of true genius rises above and beyond the "meaner satisfactions of life," with its transitory pleasures and pains, to a soul-world of its own. There the soul communes with itself, and this secret intercourse is often productive of the finest work-work which wins a way to immortality. In support of this thesis I will take a few instances-Baxter wrote a great portion of his "Life and Times" during his confinement in King's Bench Prison; Raleigh, during his confinement in the Tower wrote the "History of the World; " Bunyan created his masterpiece the "Holy War" while lying in Bedford Gaol; and De Foe's "Robinson Crusoe" was produced under similar circumstances. Camoens wrote his "Lusciad" while imprisoned in Macao; Buchanan composed his beautiful "Paraphrases on the Psalms" during his imprisonment in a Portuguese Monastery and Silvio Pellico wrote his celebrated "Memoirs" while incarcerated in a Moravian dungeon. I could name several others of different nationalities, but will appropriately conclude this list with the singularly gifted but persecuted Chinese poet and historian Su Tung-po. The island of Hainan is full of cherished memories of this great genius who during the Sung dynasty cast a halo of glory about its shores-passing onward unassumingly, immortalized and loved. Su Tsu-chan, or Su Tung-po, as he was latterly called, was born A. D., 1037 in Szechuen; and his father had won considerable reputation by his literary attainments and held a good Government position. Tung-po was the elder son, and received his early education from a Taouist priest. His father was continually absent, at which times his mother, who is described as having been a most accomplished and cultured lady of great taste and refinement, went through a course of lessons with her two sons which comprised ancient and modern history. She also taught them good moral lessons, training them to loyalty and benevolence. At the age of nineteen Tung-po married but was soon afterwards left a widower. In his twenty-first year he went up to the capital for his final examination. The examiner was so struck with the excellence of his papers that he suspected him of having gained the assistance of some learned scholar. This was not the case, however, as Tung-po proved at a subsequent examination when he came out an easy first with honours, and was regarded as one of the most promising scholars of that day. For a few years, during which he again married a very fascinating and well educated young girl named Chao Yun, a native of Chientang near Hangchow, he held a small post under the Government. But at last when the emperor Ying-Tsung, to whom he was already known, succeeded to the throne he was appointed to a more responsible post in the capital. At this time the powerful innovator Wang Ah-Shi recommended numerous reforms. Su Tung-po opposed them, and in reporting on the matter to the Emperor--as one of a commission appointed to do so-he gained the displeasure and finally the enmity of this Wang Ah-Shi and his supporters who formed a very influential party at that time. In consequence Tung-po soon found it advisable to retire from the capital, where things were becoming very unpleasant and even threatening for him, and went to Hangchow where he remained for three years conscientiously discharging the duties. of a small office. There he passed his leisure hours in writing refined poems and reading the classics; and endeared himself to his surroundings by his generous and honest dealings. In fact he was the favourite of rich and poor alike. He was not, however, allowed by his watchful and vindictive enemies even to rest there. They harried him perpetually, growing more exasperated and revengeful through not being able to find fault with his conduct or to lodge an accusation against him; for he was a man of integrity, sterling to the backbone and of exemplary behaviour. In the year 1079 he was transferred on promotion to Huchow. On forwarding a memorial of thanks to the Emperor, one of the court censors *-a friend of Wang Ah-Shi's-purposely misconstructed a sentence, making it appear as if Tung-po had made some offensive insinuations against the monarch in his memorial. The unfortunate Tung-po was cast into prison. After one hundred days confinement he was released and banished to Hangchow where he remained several years. There he wrote some of his finest poems and essays and, as he tells us, "ardently entered into the spirit of the classics." In the year 1086, at the death of his persecutor Wang Ah-Shi, he was recalled to the capital, pardoned and restored to Imperial favour, shortly afterwards being made, at his humble request, Governor of Hangchow. On leaving for his seat of office he was presented by the Emperor with some magnificent gifts. And the good people of Hangchow-who remembered and loved him still-joyously welcomed him back to the haunts of his earlier days, which he immortalized with his verse. † In 1093, however, he got into fresh trouble through his writings and was banished to a small city in the province of Kwangtung. During his residence there a subscription was raised for the *The censors are really the historians of the court, and in consequence are much feared. Su Tung-po-who was an unrivalled master in subtlety of reasoning and whose eulogistic inscriptions to departed poets and statesmen are singularly beautiful-chiefly excelled in short poems which are contained in one hundred and fifteen volumes. A few of the finest specimens of these may be found in "Gems of Chinese Literature." AUTHOR. construction of a bridge. Poor Tung-po, like many of his Western brethren of the muse, was always in a chronic state of indigence; he rarely had any ready money, and when he had it all went to creditors. And on this occasion, having the will but not the means, he took off his handsomely clasped rhinoceros belt and gave it ast a subscription. At this period he lost his second wife. This caused him deep grief, for she had been a good and devoted companion from whom, he is said to have drawn much of his inspiration. In the year 1095 or 96 he was banished to Hainan where he was appointed to the post of Sub-Prefect of Changhua, one of the most desolate and dreary parts of the island. a Wherever the poet wandered he dug wells, as he was a great believer in the virtues of pure water, though by no means teatotaller himself. When staying for a time in Kiungchow he discovered the existence of two springs close together, but of differently flavoured waters, near the north-east gate of the city. Here a monastery was afterwards erected to his memory; and in one of the ruined rooms of this building his likeness-beautifully engraved on a stone tablet let into the wall-may yet be seen. In his sixty-third year he went to Lenchow, and was shortly afterwards reinstated once more in Imperial favour and was appointed to a high post at Chengtu in his native province of Szechuen. But on his way there he died at Changchow of a disease contracted during his exile in Hainan. Thus ended his nobly-lived life of trouble and vicissitude. Several letters, written by him during his sojourn in Hainan, between the years 1097 and 1100 A.D., are still kept there, and are in tolerable preservation. I will give the reader a literal translation of the most interesting ones: To Yuan Lo, A Graduate and his grand-nephew: "It is a long time since we have heard from each other, and I do not know whether you are in good health. But my thoughts have always been of the loved ones in Szechuen; and, in answer to your queries, I can only say that your old uncle lives across the seas, as of yore. Lately, however, I have suffered from several ailments and have grown thin and haggard and shall never be |