CHAPTER XX.
THE FLOWER-FAIRIES: A TAOIST FAIRY-TALE.
"At close of day my cottage-door
Is barred by the wind and rain;
The blossoms fall in a crimson shower—
No denizens of my maiden bower
But willow-leaves, remain;
In sweet disorder they lie strewed,
While zephyrs and breezes toss;
And never shall gardener's besom rude
Among their rosy ranks intrude,
As they lie on the verdant moss."
INTRODUCTION.
According to a certain delightful Chinese story-book, called Rare Events in Ancient and Modern Times, which has afforded us many a pleasant hour of relaxation in the midst of graver studies, there flourished, in the T'ang dynasty, a retired scholar whose name was Ch'ui Hsuän-wei. He was one of those amiable recluses who, though professedly misanthropic, are by no means averse to such pleasures as appeal to their peculiar tastes—an Epicurean, if you will, certainly not a Stoic, but a man who, keeping aloof from the madding crowd, sought no other companionship than that of his books and flowers. He was never married; the presence of another human creature would have taken the edge off the exquisite flavour of his enjoyments. Even his servants
