what I wanted to say. I ought not indeed to mention it, considering that today I meet your ladyship for the first time for so long a period, but indeed, I have come a long distance, running to you, as it were, to a kind friend!"
The poor relation is proud, (that last luxury of the hun bled!) and proceeds to hide what the confession is costing her, by addressing the child:
"Here, Pan-rh!" go to this lady, (leads the child before her) and tell her what your father sent as a message! Why did he send us to this noble lady? Wasit for nothing? Ah, you know they are ill at ease at home, while the larder is empty and winter at hand!" The great lady had long ere this divined the meaning of this little scene, and to hide her feelings, exclaimed,
"Don't say another word! all about it!"
A repast is then set out wherewith to treat the visitors, after which Madam Lew and the boy return thanks and the great lady continues.
"Be good enough to be seated and listen to what I am going to say. I thoroughly understand the object of your visit, which I am sure was kindly meant. Indeed, we on our side should not have waitetl for you to first cross our threshold, before looking after you; but the fact is, the care of a large establishment leave us but little leisure to hunt up old friends."
Of course the Chinese novelist is now in the pure region of romance. The lady continues:
"Your kind visit, however, shows a proper spirit; you have come a long distance, and I am glad that a lucky chance enables me to offer to your acceptance a few ounces of silver, just for present use."
Madam Lew's eyes fairly laughed, as another proverb slipped out of her mouth. "To be sure," exclaimed she, "you have very many calls for money; but you know that though the camel die
I know
CHINESE NOVEL. [Juty, of leanness, he is always bigger than a horse."
A servant is then ordered to hand twenty ounces of silver to the poor relation, who is shown out of the mansion, with an invitation to "come again," and here the curtain falls.
Such is the picture drawn by the popular Chinese novelist of the artful simplicity of peasant life in China, and the kindly, well-bred life of the upper class of his countrymen. For literary readers of our day and country the entire work, as large as a three-volume romance, would be found far too tedious and minute to please the present taste for stimulant, that nothing less than stirring effects on every other page, at least, can satisfy. The lymphatic Chinese abhor excitement. Their national taste craves the dreamy repose of the opium-pipe, not the maddening wine-cup. Their antiquated literature has but little attraction for us, enriched as we are by the spoils of Greece and Rome, transfused into a discipline of thought and mental activity which Asia never knew. But it would be a mistake to despise any literature that can influence millions of minds, or solace millions of readers in a reading country. _ There may be conscientious delvers in the mines of thought, even in China. CONFUCIUS has already taken his place on our bookshelves, not very far from English philosophers; and who knows but ere long lesser lights from the land of Sinim may demand recognition in the broad arena of world-thought? Who does not recognize in the almost delirious activity of the nineteenth century, the supreme desire of the nations for "more light?" While we have put every land, every nation, under contribution for material good, we shall not fail to share their stores of wisdom and beauty, locked up in strange tongues though they be. It is our boast to be the teachers of the world; we are young yet, and can still afford to learn of our elders.
