watch-towers and bastions for cannon, the broad parapet being used as a promenade, whence, during the silent nights, the occasional drowsy tapping of a bamboo, or the beating of a drum, is heard as the sentinels signal that all is well, and from which a splendid view of the surrounding country can be obtained.

The tree-shaded walks and roads are well laid out and broad, though much hampered by stalls and shopmen's counters, and in the morning by fish tubs, vegetable baskets, and other market produce. The heavily roofed houses, generally black painted, are high and picturesque, conspicuous for their pillars, offices, tiled courtyards, and lodges; and the shops for their breadth of open frontage, and long perpendicular signboards, most of them gilded and fantastically embellished, which greatly add to the picturesque appearance of the thoroughfares, which are crowded from morn to eve by pedestrians, women, officials, students, merchants, chairbearers, and coolies, all hurrying along, except the wealthier ones, who have their own easy swaggering gait.

But should any one in this busy crowd see on the ground a piece of paper inscribed with writing or printing, so great is their respect for this matter, that, however dirty or torn it may be, he will pick it up and deposit it in the first box he comes to. All streets in China are supplied with these receptacles for paper, which are cleared out at stated periods and the contents burned, the ashes being carefully collected and sealed up in earthen vessels which are then reverently consigned to the depths of a river or a deep grave in the ground. For the Chinese firmly believe that honour, distinction, wealth, and old age may all be attained by thus showing proper respect for written paper.

Broad, stone-faced canals intersect this busy metropolis at all points, and are frequently spanned by magnificent stone arches of great age and stability, beneath which all manner of junks and sampans in pleasing variety pass to and fro with cargoes and wealthy wanderers-princes, merchants, and mandarins-to all parts of the empire. For all men come here to this sacred city, this Venetian Paris of the Middle Kingdom, the birthplace of her greatest statesmen, poets, and historians; where proud scholars crowd the examination halls, authors fill the libraries, and poets

sing of the landmarks so celebrated in history, whose fame they perpetuate.

I was greatly impressed with all I saw, and my visit to that famous old city will be indelibly treasured in my memory with fond though sad recollections. For, although I could not find her, I felt when leaving that I left behind me, caged within those sombre time-worn battlements, one of the best and fairest friends of my roving life in the Far East.

"Out of my reach, behind eternity,

Hid in the sacred treasure of the past."

But we must travel onward, leaving Sêou Jâe amid the romantic memories of bygone celebrities, princes and poets, people and places immortalized in the most refined verse, and associated with the glory of past generations, so dear to her old-world mind and their age-honoured traditions.

Bidding farewell to this archaic city, I have taken the liberty of introducing in the next chapter one of these quaint traditions, in which I have endeavoured to faithfully depict some of the most striking peculiarities of Chinese life, especially the strictly deferential and evasively-catechetical manner of address affected by the educated classes, particularly by the students and literati of this mysterious Empire.

VII. THE SEAL OF FATE. *

I.

SUMMER'S evening, and the gates of Sung
Were closed to traffic, and the tinkling bells
Of burdened mules had slowly died away.

And caravans, with produce of the East,
Were drawn aside; and many drivers sat
In groups together and, with social ease,
Discussed all topics of more foreign parts,
Related legends, or, with dominoes,
Sought to retrieve their losses on the road,
While list'ning to the songs and lore of those
Who told weird stories when the toils of day
Had ceased, and all the joys of rest began.

An ancient man, whose cabalistic art
Had gained him reputation and respect,
Crept from his ill-kept hut, along the street,
And in his wonted place sat down to mark
The rising of the moon, which to him seemed
Like unto some great monarch of the sky-

A prophet by the world unrecognised,
Who came to tell of things beyond that age,
Revealing much to this decrepit slave.

* This poem originated from an old Chinese legend of the time of the Tang dynasty. The opening scene in the second part was suggested to me while visiting a beautiful and secluded spot in the vicinity of Amoy, South China.

AUTHOR.

Who, thus inspired, would sit for hours and hours
By fancy led, and conjure strange events,
Which he wrote down. Until at length the moon
Would steal away, leaving him there alone.

Now Uko was a young and comely youth,
Possessed withal of affluence and sense,
Who, at his uncle's house, was then a guest
In Sung, and on that evening went abroad.
To hear all news brought in by travellers
From other cities many le* away.

And while he paused near where a temple stood
He saw this old man sitting on the steps
And, by the moonlight, reading thoughtfully,
And sometimes making entries in a book.
So Uko, like most youths of ev'ry clime,
Was curious to learn from this old man
The why and wherefore of his being there.
And what he found to read and write about,
And why he sought no homelier studio;
And, for the purpose of divining this,
He went to him, interrogating thus:-

"Pray, aged father, seeing you engaged

In lit'ry pursuits by this misty light,

May I-with all due def'rence to your years
And to discretion-in obedience plead

My ignorance of the benefits derived,

Or pleasure you conceive, from this wise course

Of evening study, and of writing by

No other lamp than cheerless rays of light.

Shed on this earth by yon ill-fated moon

Which, like this world, has burned down long ago;
And being now devoid of lambent power,
Exposes all its nakedness and shame
By turning, for its cold inconstant light,
Towards that flushed and heat-emitting orb
Which lures those wayward stars to its domain,
And borrows lustre from their fallen state."

The old man, from his thoughtful attitude, * One hundred and twenty English geographical miles.

Did not at first bestir himself to speak,
Although to this intruder he gave ear.

At length he slowly raised his shrivelled form,
And looked to Uko, while he answered thus:-
:-

"Since you, my child, presume to question me
On actions which by most are unremarked,
And seem, to strangers, of no interest,
I now will place reliance in your wish,
And let you share the unexpected bliss
Of learning what the will of Fate decrees;
And sorrowing-since you too eager be
To prosecute my singularity.

For 'tis not oft that casual visitors
To this far city of commercial fame,
Pause to inquire my pleasure, which is lost.
To all unsanctioned students of the moon."

"Let me explain what book I now peruse-
That you may learn its value to respect.
This is a record of betrothal, which
Concerns all people who, beneath the vault
Of yonder heaven, breathe and know of life.
And their engagements, chronicled by me.
Will be fulfilled at the appointed time,
Though years may intervene and seas divide,
And many stranger planets rise and fall.

And in my pockets I have cords of red

With which I tie the feet of those who shall

Be joined together. And, when once they're bound.
E'en should they be of families opposed.

Of nations adverse as the unknown spheres
Of Life and Death-no human power can change
Their destinies, which bear the seal of Fate.
Yonder, my child, hard by the northern gate,
Stands a small shop where an old woman sells
Fresh gathered herbs to poorer class of folk;
And she has now an infant who will be.
In years to come, your fond and faithful wife.
So go to her, and treat the woman well;
For she is poor, and has upon her breast