were preserved through the instrumentality of this prudent man; but the narrative finishes abruptly, as above, and we are left utterly in the dark as to whether the misguided monarch ever recovered his senses sufficiently to "send after" K'ung Fu or not. The truth is, we believe, that the descendant of Confucius never had any opportunity of admonishing the Emperor, but continued in retirement for the remainder of his life.
From other sources, however, we may obtain an insight into the circumstances under which the Decree was proposed and carried out. Like Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, the vain-glorious Emperor of China made a great feast, or fête champêtre, to which he invited all the princes, nobles, and officers who called him lord. The great plain where this monster entertainment took place was covered with splendid tents, in the midst of which rose the imperial pavilion; tables were set, spread with the richest viands and the most sparkling wines; a thousand flags floated lazily in the breeze, and strains of ceremonial music added due solemnity to the occasion. Instead, however, of erecting an image of gold, like the Western sovereign, to which it was incumbent upon all to offer homage, the Emperor of China was content with a more economical and satisfactory arrangement, by virtue of which he was himself the object of his people's worship. At the conclusion of the grand banquet, the Emperor ascended his throne, and, in the hearing of the assembled thousands, invited any who might wish to do so, to offer their opinion upon the general policy of his government; declaring, in the frankest way, that he should be happy to receive any criticisms or suggestions which might be offered for his consideration.
The first speaker, of course, led off in a laudatory strain.
