country, and, in doing that has, some time even to give his life: does he not also make sacrifice? The Emperor Kanghsi in a valedictory decree which he issued on his death bed, said that “he did not know until then what a life of sacrifice the life of an Emperor in China is.” And yet, let me say here by the way, Messrs. J. B. Bland and Backhouse in their latest book have described this Emperor Kanghsi as a huge, helpless, horrid Brigham Young, who was dragged into his grave by the multitude of his wives and children. But, of course, for modern men like Messrs. J. P. Bland and Backhouse, concubinage is inconceivable except as something horrid, vile and nasty, because the diseased imagination of such men can conceive of nothing except nasty, vile and horrid things. But that is neither here nor there. Now what I want to say here is that the life of every true man—from the Emperor down to the ricksha coolie—and every true woman, is a life of sacrifice. The sacrifice of a woman in China is to live selflessly for the man whom she calls husband, and the sacrifice of the man in China is to provide for, to protect at all costs the woman or women whom he has taken into his house and also the children they may bear him. Indeed to people who talk of the immorality of concubinage in China, I would say that to me the Chinese mandarin who keeps concubines is less selfish, less immoral than the European in his motor car, who picks up a helpless woman from the public street and, after amusing
