I cannot tell thee more. My heart is breaking.

37

I have given to this stranger-child, this child left to die upon the

tow-path, the clothes that were our son's. She was cold, and thy

Mother came to me so gently and said, "Kwei-li, hast thou no clothing

for the child that was found by thy servants?" I saw her meaning, and I

said, "Would'st thou have me put the clothing over which I have wept,

and that is now carefully laid away in the camphor-wood box, upon

this child?" She said-- and thou would'st not know thy Mother's voice,

her bitter words are only as the rough shell of the lichee nut that

covers the sweet meat hidden within-- she said, "Why not, dear one?

This one needs them, and the hours thou passest with them are only

filled with saddened memories." I said to her, "This is a girl, a beggar

child. I will not give to her the clothing of my son. Each time I looked

upon her it would be a knife plunged in my heart." She said to me,

"Kwei-li, thou art not a child, thou art a woman. Of what worth that

clothing lying in that box of camphor-wood? Does it bring back thy

son? Some day thou wilt open it, and there will be nothing but dust

which will reproach thee. Get them and give them to this child which

has come to us out of the night."

I went to the box and opened it, and they lay there, the little things

that had touched his tiny body. I gave them, the trousers of purple,

the jackets of red, the embroidered shoes, the caps with the many

Buddhas. I gave them all to the begger child.

I am,

Thy Wife.

38

I am reproached because I will not go to the temple. It is filled with the

sounds of chanting which comes to me faintly as I lie upon the

terrace. There are women there, happy women, with their babies in

their arms, while mine are empty. There are others there in sorrow,

laying their offerings at the feet of Kwan-yin. They do not know that

she does not feel, nor care, for womankind. She sits upon her lotus

throne and laughs at mothers in despair. How can she feel, how can

she know, that thing of gilded wood and plaster?

I stay upon my terrace, I live alone within my court of silent dreams.

For me there are no Gods.

39

They have brought to me from the market-place a book of a new God.

I would not read it. I said, "There are too many Gods-- why add a new

one? I have no candles or incense to lay before an image." But-- I

read and saw within its pages that He gave rest and love and peace.

Peace-- what the holy man desired, the end of all things-- peace. And

I, I do not want to lose the gift of memory; I want remembrance, but I

want it without pain.

The cherry-blossoms have bloomed and passed away. They lingered

but a moment's space, and, like my dream of spring, they died. But,

passing, they have left behind the knowledge that we'll see them once

again. There must be something, somewhere, to speak to despairing

mothers and say, "Weep not! You will see your own again."

I do not want a God of temples. I have cried my prayers to Kwan-yin,

and they have come back to me like echoes from a deadened wall. I

want a God to come to me at night-time, when I am lying lonely,

wide-eyed, staring into darkness, with all my body aching for the

touch of tiny hands. I want that God who says, "I give thee Peace," to

stand close by my pillow and touch my wearied eyelids and bring me

rest.

I have been dead-- enclosed within a tomb of sorrow and despair; but

now, at words but dimly understood, a faint new life seems stirring

deep within me. A Voice speaks to me from out these pages, a Voice

that says, "Come unto Me all ye weary and heavy-laden, and I will

give thee rest." My longing soul cries out, "Oh, great and unknown

God, give me this rest!" I am alone, a woman, helpless, stretching out

my arms in darkness, but into my world of gloom has come a faint

dim star, a star of hope that says to me, "There is a God."

Part 2.

-Preface_.

These letters were written by Kwei-li twenty-five years after those

written to her husband when she was a young girl of eighteen. They

are, therefore, the letters of the present-day Chinese woman of the old

school, a woman who had by education and environment exceptional

opportunities to learn of the modern world, but who, like every Eastern

woman, clings with almost desperate tenacity to the traditions and

customs of her race. Indeed, however the youth of Oriental countries

may be changing, their mothers always exhibit that characteristic of

woman-hood, conservatism, which is to them the safe-guard of their

homes. Unlike the Western woman, accustomed to a broader

horizon, the woman of China, secluded for generations within her

narrow courtyards, prefers the ways and manners which she knows,

rather than flying to ills she knows not of. It is this self-protective

instinct that makes the Eastern woman the foe to those innovations

which are slowly but surely changing the face of the entire Eastern,

yard.

The former letters were written out of the quiet, domestic scenes of

the primitive, old China, while the present letters come out of the

confused revolutionary atmosphere of the new China. Kwei-li's

patriotism and hatred of the foreigner grows out of the fact that, as

wife of the governor of one of the chief provinces, she had been from

the beginning en rapport with the intrigues, the gossip, and the

rumours of a revolution which, for intricacy of plot and hidden motive,

is incomparable with any previous national change on record. Her

attitude toward education as seen in her relationship with her son

educated in England and America reveals the attitude of the average

Chinese father and mother if they would allow their inner feelings to

speak.

Kwei-li's religion likewise exhibits the tendency of religious attitude on

the part of the real Chinese, especially those of the older generation.

It is touched here and there by the vital spark of Christianity, but at

the centre continues to be Chinese and inseparably associated with

the worship of ancestors and the reverence for those gods whose

influence has been woven into the early years of impressionable life.

That the hope of the educational, social, and religious change in

China rests with the new generation is evident to all. The Chinese

father and mother will sail in the wooden ships which their sons and

daughters are beginning to leave for barks of steel.

There is little doubt that new China will be Westernised in every

department of her being. No friend of China hopes for such sudden

changes, however, as will prevent the Chinese themselves from

permeating the new with their own distinctive individuality. There is a

charm about old China that only those who have lived there can

understand, and there is a charm about these dainty ladies, secluded

within their walls, which the modern woman may lose in a too sudden

transition into the air of the Western day.

Let Europe, let America, let the West come to China, but let the day

be far distant when we shall find no longer in the women's courtyards

such mothers as Kwei-li.

1

My Dear Mother,

Thy son has received his appointment as governor of this province,

and we are at last settled in this new and strange abode. We are

most proud of the words pronounced by His Excellency Yuan when

giving him his power of office. He said:

"You, Liu, are an example of that higher patriotism rarely met with in

official life, which recognises its duty to its Government, a duty too

often forgotten by the members of a great family such as that of which

you are the honoured head, in the obligation to the Clan and the

desire to use power for personal advantage. Your official record has

been without stain; and especially your work among the foreigners

dwelling in our land has been accomplished with tact and discretion. I

am sending you to Shanghai, which is the most difficult post in the

Republic because of its involved affairs with the foreign nations,

knowing that the interests of the Republic will be always safe in your

hands."

I write thee this because I know thy mother-heart will rejoice that our

President shows such confidence in thy son, and that his many years

of service to his country have been appreciated.

Shanghai truly is a difficult place at present. There are fifteen

nationalities here represented by their consuls, and they are all

watching China and each other with jealous eyes, each nation fearing

that another will obtain some slight advantage in the present unsettled

state of our country. The town is filled with adventurers, both

European and Chinese, who are waiting anxiously to see what

attitude the new Governor takes in regard to the many projects in

which they are interested. My husband says nothing and allows them

to wonder. It is better for them, because, like all schemers, if they had

nothing to give them anxious nights and troubled dreams, they would

not be happy.

We found the Yamen not suitable for our large household, as it did not

lend itself readily to the reception of foreigners and the innovations

and new customs that seem to be necessary for the fulfillment of the

duties of a Chinese official under this new order. As thy son was

selected governor of this province because of his knowledge of foreign

lands and customs, it is necessary for him to live, partly at least, the

life of a European; but let me assure thee that, so far as I am

concerned, and so far as I can influence it, our life behind the screens

will always be purely Chinese, and the old, unchanged customs that I

love will rule my household. I will surrender no more than is necessary

to this new tide of Westernism that seems to be sweeping our China

from its moorings; but-- I must not dwell o'ermuch upon that theme,

though it is a subject on which I can wax most eloquent, and I know

thou desirest to hear of this house which would seem so ugly in thine

eyes.

There are no quiet courtyards, no curving roofs, no softly shaded

windows of shell, no rounded archways; but all is square and glaring

and imposing, seeming to look coldly from its staring windows of

glass at the stranger within its gates. It says loudly, "I am rich; it

costs many thousands of taels to make my ugliness." For me, it is

indeed a "foreign" house. Yet I will have justice within my heart and

tell thee that there is much that we might copy with advantage. In

place of floors of wide plain boards, and walls of wood with great wide

cracks covered with embroideries and rugs, as in the Chinese homes,

the floors are made of tiny boards polished until they glisten like unto

the sides of the boats of the tea-house girls, and the walls are of

plaster covered, as in our rooms of reception, with silk and satin, and

the chairs and couches have silken tapestry to match their colour.

This furniture, strange to me, is a great care, as I do not understand

its usages, and it seems most stiff and formal. I hope some day to

know a foreign woman on terms of friendship, and I will ask her to

touch the room with her hands of knowledge, and bring each piece

into more friendly companionship with its neighbour. Now chairs look

coldly at tables, as if to say, "You are an intruder!" And it chills me.

This house is much more simple than our homes, because of the

many modern instruments that make the work less heavy and allow it

to be done by few instead of many, as is our way. It is not necessary

to have a man attend solely to the lighting of the lamps. Upon the wall

is placed a magic button which, touched even by the hand of

ignorance, floods the room with the light of many suns. We see no

more the water-carrier with his two great wooden buckets swinging

from the bamboo as he comes from river or canal to pour the water

into the great kangs standing by the kitchen door. Nor do we need to

put the powder in it to make it clear and wholesome. That is all done

by men we do not see, and they call it "sanitation." The cook needs

only to turn a small brass handle, and the water comes forth as from

a distant spring. It reminds me of the man who came to my father,

when he was governor of Wuseh, and wished to install a most

unheard-of machine to bring water to the city from the lake upon the

hillside. My father listened most respectfully to the long and stupid

explanation, and looked at the clear water which the foreign man

produced to show what could be done, then, shaking his head, said,

"Perhaps that water is more healthful, as you say, but it is to me too

clear and white. It has no body, and I fear has not the strength of the

water from our canals."

Another thing we do not hear is the rattle of the watchman as he

makes his rounds at night, and I miss it. In far Sezchuan, on many

nights when sleep was distant, I would lie and listen as he struck

upon his piece of hollow bamboo telling me that all was well within our

compound. Now the city has police that stand outside the gateway.

Many are men from India-- big black men, with fierce black beards

and burning eyes. Our people hate them, and they have good cause.

They are most cruel, and ill-treat all who come within their power. But

we must tread with cat-like steps, as they are employed by the

English, who protect them at all times. They are the private army of

that nation here within our city, and at every chance their numbers are

constantly increased. I do not understand this question of police.

There are in thousands of our cities and villages no police, no

soldiers, yet there is less lawlessness and vice in a dozen purely

Chinese cities than in this great mongrel town that spends many tens

of thousands of taels each year upon these guardians of the people's

peace. It seems to me that this should tell the world that the force of

China is not a physical force, but the force of the law-abiding instinct

of a happy common people, who, although living on the verge of

misery and great hunger, live upright lives and do not try to break their

country's laws.

There is a garden within our walls, but not a garden of winding

pathways and tiny bridges leading over lotus ponds, nor are there

hillocks of rockery with here and there a tiny god or temple peeping

from some hidden grotto. All is flat, with long bare stretches of green

grass over which are nets, by which my children play a game called

tennis. This game is foolish, in my eyes, and consists of much

jumping and useless waste of strength, but the English play it, and of

course the modern Chinese boy must imitate them. I have made one

rule: my daughters shall not play the game. It seems to me most

shameful to see a woman run madly, with great boorish strides, in

front of men and boys. My daughters pout and say it is played by all

the girls in school, and that it makes them strong and well; but I am

firm. I have conceded many things, but this to me is vulgar and

unseemly.

Need I tell thee, Mother mine, that I am a stranger in this great city,

that my heart calls for the hills and the mountain-side with its ferns

and blossoms? Yesterday at the hour of twilight I drove to the country

in the motor (a new form of carrying chair that thou wouldst not

understand-- or like) and I stopped by a field of flowering mustard. The

scent brought remembrance to my heart, and tears flowed from

beneath my eyelids. The delicate yellow blossoms seemed to speak

to me from out their golden throats, and I yearned to hold within my

arms all this beauty of the earth flowering beneath my feet. We

stayed until the darkness came, and up to the blue night rose from all

the fields "that great soft, bubbling chorus which seems the very voice

of the earth itself-- the chant of the frogs." When we turned back and

saw the vulgar houses, with straight red tops and piercing chimneys, I

shut my eyes and in a vision saw the blue-grey houses with their

curved-up, tilted roofs nestling among the groves of bamboo, and I felt

that if it were my misfortune to spend many moons in this great alien

city, my heart would break with longing for the beautiful home I love.

I felt sympathy with Kang Tang-li, of my father's province, who heard

of a new God in Anhui. He had eaten bitter sorrow and he felt that the

old Gods had forgotten him and did not hear his call, so he walked

two long days' journey to find this new God who gave joy and peace to

those who came to him. He arrived at eventime, the sun was setting

in a lake of gold, but even with its glory it could not change the ugly

square-built temple, with no curves or grace to mark it as a

dwelling-place of Gods. Kang walked slowly around this temple,

looked long at its staring windows and its tall and ugly spire upon the

rooftree which seemed to force its way into the kindly blue sky; then,

saddened, sick at heart, he turned homeward, saying deep within him

no God whom he could reverence would choose for a dwelling-place a

house so lacking in all beauty.

Is this a long and tiresome letter, my Honourable Mother? But thou art

far away, and in thy sheltered walls yearn to know what has come to

us, thy children, in this new and foreign life. It is indeed a new life for

me, and I can hardly grasp its meaning. They are trying hard to force

us to change our old quietude and peace for the rush and worry of the

Western world, and I fear I am too old and settled for such sudden

changes.

Tell Mah-li's daughter that I will send her news of the latest fashions,

and tell Li-ti that the hair is dressed quite differently here. I will write

her more about it and send her the new ornaments. They are not so

pretty in my eyes, nor are the gowns so graceful, but I will send her

patterns that she may choose.

We all give thee our greetings and touch my hand with love.

Kwei-li.

2

My Dear Mother,

I have not written thee for long, as my days have been filled with

duties new and strange to me. The wives of the foreign officials have

called upon me, as that appears to be their custom. It seems to me

quite useless and a waste of time; but they come, and I must return

the calls. I do not understand why the consuls cannot transact their

business with the Governor without trying to peer into his inner life. To

us a man's official life and that which lies within his women's

courtyard are as separate as two pathways which never meet.

The foreign woman comes and sits upon the edge of her chair in great

discomfort, vainly searching for a subject upon which we may have a

common bond. I sit upon the edge of the chair from necessity, as

these chairs are far too high for me, and my tiny feet hang helplessly

in the air. Although the chairs are not so high or so straight and stiff

as are our seats of honour, they have no footstools, and no small

tables on which to lean the arm. Thou wouldst laugh at our poor feeble

efforts to be agreeable one to the other. Our conversation is as foolish

and as useless as would be the using of a paper lantern for the

rice-mill. With all desire to be courteous and to put her at her ease, I

ask about her children, the health of her honourable mother, and the

state of her household. I do not ask her age, as I have learned that,

contrary to our usage, it is a question not considered quite

auspicious, and often causes the flush of great embarrassment to rise

to the cheek of a guest. Often she answers me in "pidgin" English, a

kind of baby-talk that is used when addressing servants. These

foreign women have rarely seen a Chinese lady, and they are

surprised that I speak English; often I have been obliged to explain

that when I found that my husband's office brought him close to

foreigners, and that my sons and daughters were learning the new

education in which it is necessary to know other than their mother

tongue, I would not be left behind within closed doors, so I too learned

of English and of French enough to read and speak. I am to them a

curiosity. It has not been correct in former times to know a Chinese

lady socially; and to these ladies, with their society, their calls, their

dinners, and their games of cards, we within the courtyards are

people from another world. They think that Chinese women are and

always have been the closely prisoned slaves of their husbands, idle

and ignorant and soulless, with no thoughts above their petty

household cares and the strange heathen gods they worship.

Of course, these foreign women do not say these things in words, but

their looks are most expressive, and I understand. I serve them tea

and cake, of which they take most sparingly, and when the proper

time has come they rise, trying not to look relief that their martyrdom

is over. I conduct them to the doorway, or, if the woman is the wife of

a great official, to the outer entrance. Then I return to my own rooms

midst the things I understand; and I fear, I fear, Mother mine, that I

gossip with my household upon the ways and dress and manners of

these queer people from distant lands.

I have been asked to join a society of European and Chinese ladies

for the purpose of becoming acquainted one with the other, but I do

not think that I will do so. I believe it impossible for the woman of the

West to form an alliance with the woman of the East that will be

deep-rooted. The thoughts within our hearts are different, as are our

points of view. We do not see the world through the same eyes. The

foreign woman has children like myself, but her ambitions and her

ideals for them are different. She has a home and a husband, but my

training and my instincts give my home and my husband a different

place in life than that which she gives to those of her household. To

me the words marriage, friendship, home, have a deeper meaning

than is attached to them by a people who live in hotels and public

eating-places, and who are continually in the homes of others. They

have no sanctity of the life within; there are no shrines set apart for

the family union, and the worship of the spirits of their ancestors. I

cannot well explain to thee, the something intangible, the thick grey

mist that is always there to put its bar across the open door of

friendship between the woman of the Occident and those of Oriental

blood.

I would ask of thee a favour I wish that thou wouldst search my rooms

and find the clothing that is not needed by thy women. My house is

full to overflowing. I had no idea we had so many poor relations. The

poor relation of our poor relation and the cousin of our cousin's cousin

have come to claim their kinship. Thy son will give no one official

position nor allow them money from the public funds; but they must

have clothing and rice, and I provide it. I sometimes feel, when looking

into the empty rice-bin, that I sympathize with His Excellency Li

Hung-chang who built a great house here, far from his home province.

When asked why, unlike the Chinese custom, he builded so far from

kith and kin, he answered, "You have placed the finger upon the

pulse-beat the first instant. I built it far away, hoping that all the

relatives of my relatives who find themselves in need, might not find

the money where-with to buy a ticket in order to come and live

beneath my rooftree." (With us, they do not wait for tickets; they have

strong and willing feet.) I am afraid that His Excellency, although of

the old China that I love, was touched with this new spirit of each

member for himself that has come upon this country.

It is the good of the one instead of the whole, as in the former times,

and there is much that can be said upon both sides. The family

should always stand for the members of the clan in the great crises of

their lives, and help to care for them in days of poverty and old age. It

is not just that one should prosper while others of the same blood

starve; yet it is not just that one should provide for those unwilling to

help themselves. I can look back with eyes of greater knowledge to

our home, and I fear that there are many eating from the bowl of

charity who might be working and self-respecting if they were not

members of the great family Liu, and so entitled to thy help.

It is the hour for driving with the children. We all are thine and think of

thee each day.

Kwei-li.

3

My Mother,

I have such great news to tell thee that I hardly know where to begin.

But, first, I will astonish thee-- Ting-fang is home! Yes, I can hear thee

say, "Hi yah!" And I said it many times when, the evening before last,

after thy son and the men of the house-hold had finished the evening

meal, and I and the women were preparing to eat our rice, we saw a

darkness in the archway, and standing there was my son. Not one of

us spoke a word; we were as if turned to stone; as we thought of him

as in far-off America, studying at the college of Yale. But here he

stood in real life, smiling at our astonishment. He slowly looked at us

all, then went to his father and saluted him respectfully, came and

bowed before me, then took me in his arms in a most disrespectful

manner and squeezed me together so hard he nearly broke my

bones. I was so frightened and so pleased that of course I could only

cry and cling to this great boy of mine whom I had not seen for six

long years. I held him away from me and looked long into his face. He

is a man now, twenty-one years old, a big, strong man, taller than his

father. I can hardly reach his shoulder. He is straight and slender, and

looks an alien in his foreign dress, yet when I looked into his eyes I

knew it was mine own come to me again.

No one knows how all my dreams followed this bird that left the nest.

No one knows how long seemed the nights when sleep would not

come to my eyes and I wondered what would come to my boy in that

far-off land, a strange land with strange, unloving people, who would

not care to put him on the pathway when he strayed. Thou

rememberest how I battled with his father in regard to sending him to

England to commence his foreign education. I said, "Is not four years

of college in America enough? Why four years' separation to prepare

to go to that college? He will go from me a boy and return a man. I will

lose my son." But his father firmly said that the English public

schools gave the ground-work for a useful life. He must form his code

of honour and his character upon the rules laid down for centuries by

the English, and then go to America for the education of the intellect,

to learn to apply the lessons learned in England. He did not want his

son to be all for present success, as is the American, or to be all for

tradition, as is the Englishman, but he thought the two might find a

happy meeting-place in a mind not yet well formed.

But thoughts of learning did not assuage the pain in my mother-heart.

I had heard of dreadful things happening to our Chinese boys who are

sent abroad to get the Western knowledge. Often they marry strange

women who have no place in our life if they return to China, and who

lose their birthright with the women of their race by marrying a

Chinese. Neither side can be blamed, certainly not our boys. They go

there alone, often with little money. They live in houses where they

are offered food and lodging at the cheapest price. They are not in a

position to meet women of their own class, and being boys they crave

the society of girls. Perhaps the daughter of the woman who keeps

the lodging-house speaks to them kindly, talks to them in the evening

when they have no place to go except to a lonely, ugly room; or the

girl in the shop where they buy their clothing smiles as she wraps for

them their packages. Such attentions would be passed by without a

thought at ordinary times, but now notice means much to a heart that

is trying hard to stifle its loneliness and sorrow, struggling to learn in

an unknown tongue the knowledge of the West; in lieu of mother,

sister, or sweetheart of his own land, the boy is insensibly drawn into

a net that tightens about him, until he takes the fatal step and brings

back to his mother a woman of an alien race.

One sorrows for the girl, whatever may be her station, as she does

not realize that there is no place for her in all the old land of China.

She will be scorned by those of foreign birth, and she can never

become one of us. Dost thou remember the wife of Wang, the

secretary of the embassy at London? He was most successful and

was given swift promotion until he married the English lady, whose

father was a tutor at one of the great colleges. It angered Her Majesty

and he was recalled and given the small post of secretary to the

Taotai of our city. The poor foreign wife died alone within her Chinese

home, into which no friend had entered to bid her welcome. Some say

that after many moons of solitude and loneliness she drank the strong

drink of her country to drown her sorrow. Perhaps it was a bridge on

which she crossed to a land filled with the memories of the past which

brought her solace in her time of desolation.

[Illustration: Mylady14.]

But I have wandered, Mother mine; my mind has taken me to

England, America, to Chinese men with foreign wives, and now I will

return and tell thee of thine own again, and of my son who has

returned to me. When at last the Gods gave us our breath, we asked

the many questions which came to us like a river that has broken all

its bounds. Thy son, the father of Ting-fang, was more than angry-- he

was white with wrath, and demanded what Ting-fang did here when he

should have been at school. My son said, and I admired the way he

spoke up boldly to his father, "Father, I read each day of the progress

of the Revolution, of the new China that was being formed, and I could

not stay on and study books while I might be helping here." His father

said, "Thy duty was to stay where I, thy father, put thee!" Ting-fang

answered, "Thou couldst not have sat still and studied of ancient

Greece and Rome while thy country was fighting for its life;" and then

he added, most unfilially, "I notice thou art not staying in Sezchuan,

but art here in Shanghai, in the centre of things. I am thy son; I do not

like to sit quietly by the road and watch the world pass by; I want to

help make that world, the same as thou."

His father talked long and bitterly, and the boy was saddened, and I

crept silently to him and placed my hand in his. It was all I could do,

for the moment, as it would not be seemly for me to take his part

against his father, but-- I talked to thy son, my husband, when we

were alone within our chamber.

The storm has passed. His father refused to make Ting-fang a

secretary, as he says the time is past when officials fill their Yamens

with their relatives and friends. I think that as the days go on, he will

relent, as in these troublous times a high official cannot be sure of the

loyalty of the men who eat his rice, and he can rely upon his son. A

Liu was never known to be disloyal.

There is too much agitation here. The officials try to ignore it as much

as possible, believing that muddy water is often made clear if allowed

to stand still. Yet they must be ready to act quickly, as speedily as

one springs up when a serpent is creeping into the lap, because now

the serpent of treachery and ingratitude is in every household. These

secret plottings, like the weeds that thrust their roots deep into the

rice-fields, cannot be taken out without bringing with them some grain,

and many an innocent family is now suffering for the hot-headedness

of its youth.

I sometimes think that I agree with the wise governor of the olden time

whose motto was to empty the minds of the people and fill their

stomachs, weaken their wills and strengthen their bones. When times

were troublous he opened the government granaries and the crowds

were satisfied.

But the people are different now; they have too much knowledge. New

ambitions have been stirred; new wants created; a new spirit is

abroad and, with mighty power, is over-turning and recasting the old

forms and deeply rooted customs. China is moving, and, we of the old

school think, too quickly. She is going at a bound from the dim light of

the bean-oil brazier to the dazzling brilliance of the electric light; from

the leisured slowness of the wheelbarrow pushed by the patient coolie

to the speed of the modern motor-car; from the practice of the seller of

herbs to the science of the modern doctor. We all feel that new China

is at a great turning-point because she is just starting out on her

journey that may last many centuries, and may see its final struggle

to-morrow. It is of great importance that the right direction shall be

taken at first. A wrong turn at the beginning, and the true pathway

may never be found. So much depends upon her leaders, on men like

Yuan, Wu, and thy son, my husband; the men who point out the road

to those who will follow as wild fowl follow their leader. The Chinese

people are keen to note disinterestedness, and if these men who have

risen up show that they have the good of the people at heart much

may be done. If they have the corrupt heart of many of the old-time

officials, China will remain as before, so far as the great mass of her

men are concerned.

I hear the children coming from their school, so I will say good-by for a

time. Ting-fang sends his most respectful love, and all my household

join in sending thee good wishes.

Kwei-li.

4

My Dear Mother,

Dost thou remember Liang Tai-tai, the daughter of the Princess

Tseng, thine old friend of Pau-chau? Thou rememberest we used to

laugh at the pride of Liang in regard to her mother's clan, and her care

in speaking of her father who was only a small official in the governor's

Yamen. Thou wert wont to say that she reminded thee of the mule

that, when asked who was his father, answered, "The horse is my

maternal uncle." She comes to see me often, and she worries me

with her piety; she is quite mad upon the subject of the Gods. I often

feel that I am wrong to be so lacking in sympathy with her religious

longings; but I hate extremes. "Extreme straightness is as bad as

crookedness, and extreme cleverness as bad as folly." She is ever

asking me if I do not desire, above all things, the life of the higher

road-- whatever that may mean. I tell her that I do not know. I would

not be rare, like jade, or common, like stone; just medium. Anyway,

my days are far too full to think about any other road than the one I

must tread each day in the fulfillment of the duties the Gods have

given me.

Some people seem to be irreverently familiar with the Gods, and to be

forever praying. If they would only be a little more human and perform

the daily work that lies before them (Liang's son is the main support of

the Golden Lotus Tea-house) they might let prayer alone a while

without ceasing to enjoy the protection of the Gods. It is dangerous to

over-load oneself with piety, as the sword that is polished to excess is

sometimes polished away. And there is another side that Liang

should remember, her husband not having riches in abundance: that

the rays of the Gods love well the rays of Gold.

But to-day she came to me with her rice-bowl overflowing with her

sorrows. Her son has returned from the foreign lands with the new

education from which she hoped so much, but it seems he has

acquired knowledge of the vices of the foreigner to add to those of the

Chinese. He did not stay long enough to become Westernised, but he

stayed long enough to lose touch with the people and the customs of

his country. He forgets that he is not an American even with his

foreign education; he is still an Oriental and he comes back to an

Oriental land, a land tied down by tradition and custom, and he can

not adapt himself. He tries instead, to adapt China to his

half-Europeanised way of thought, and he has failed. He has become

what my husband calls an agitator, a tea-house orator, and he sees

nothing but wrong in his people. There is no place in life for him, and

he sits at night in public places, stirring foolish boys to deeds of

treason and violence. Another thing, he has learned to drink the

foreign wines, and the mixture is not good. They will not blend with

Chinese wine, any more than the two civilisations will come together

as one.

Why did the Gods make the first draught of wine to curse the race of

men, to make blind the reason, to make angels into devils and to

leave a lasting curse on all who touch it? "It is a cataract that carries

havoc with it in a road of mire where he who falls may never rise

again." It seems to me that he who drinks the wine of both lands

allows it to become a ring that leads him to the Land of Nothing, and

ends as did my friend's son, with the small round ball of sleep that

grows within the poppy. One morning's light, when he looked long into

his own face and saw the marks that life was leaving, he saw no way

except the Bridge of Death; but he was not successful.

His mother brought him to me, as he has always liked me, and is a

friend (for which I sorrow) of my son. I talked to him alone within an

inner chamber, and tried to show to him the error of his way. I quoted

to him the words spoken to another foolish youth who tried to force

the gates of Heaven: "My son, thou art enmeshed within these world's

ways, and have not cared to wonder where the stream would carry

thee in coming days. If thou mere human duties scorn, as a worn

sandal cast aside, thou art no man but stock-stone born, lost in a

selfish senseless pride. If thou couldst mount to Heaven's high plain,

then thine own will might be thy guide, but here on earth thou needs

must dwell. Thou canst well see that thou art not wanted in the Halls

of Heaven; so turn to things yet near; turn to thy earthly home and try

to do thy duty here. Thou must control thyself, there is no escape

through the Eastern Gateway for the necessity of self-conquest."

He wept and gave me many promises; and I showed him that I

believed in him, and saw his worth. But-- we think it wiser to send him

far away from his companions, who only seek to drag him down. Thy

son will give to him a letter and ask the Prefect of Canton to give him

work at our expense.

I felt it better that Liang Tai-tai should not be alone with her son for

several hours, as her tongue is bitter and reproaches come easily to

angry lips, so I took her with me to the garden of a friend outside the

city. It was the Dragon Boat Festival, when all the world goes

riverward to send their lighted boats upon the waters searching for the

soul of the great poet who drowned himself in the olden time, and

whose body the jealous Water God took to himself and it nevermore

was found. Dost thou remember how we told the story to the children

when the family all were with thee-- oh, it seems many moons ago.

The garden of my friend was most beautiful, and we seemed within a

world apart. The way was through high woods and over long green

plots of grass and around queer rocks; there were flowers with stories

in their hearts, and trees who held the spirits of the air close 'neath

their ragged covering. Pigeons called softly to their mates, and doves

cooed and sobbed as they nestled one to the other. We showed the

children the filial young crow who, when his parents are old and

helpless, feeds them in return for their care when he was young; and

we pointed out the young dove sitting three branches lower on the tree

than do his parents, so deep is his respect.

[Illustration: Mylady15.]

When the western sky was like a golden curtain, we went to the

canal, where the children set their tiny boats afloat, each with its

lighted lantern. The wind cried softly through the bamboo-trees and

filled the sails of these small barks, whose lights flashed brightly from

the waters as if the Spirits of the River laughed with joy.

We returned home, happy, tired, but with new heart to start the

morrow's work.

Thy daughter,

Kwei-li.

5

My Dear Mother,

We are in the midst of a most perplexing problem, and one that is

hard for us to cope with, as it is so utterly new. My children seem to

have formed an alliance amongst themselves in opposition to the

wishes of their parents on all subjects touching the customs and

traditions of the family. My son, as thou rememberest, was betrothed

in childhood to the daughter of his father's friend, the Governor of

Chili-li. He is a man now, and should fulfill that most solemn obligation

that we, his parents, laid upon him-- and he refuses. I can see thee sit

back aghast at this lack of filial spirit; and I, too, am aghast. I cannot

understand this generation; I'm afraid that I cannot understand these,

my children. My boy insists that he will marry a girl of his own choice,

a girl with a foreign education like unto his own. We have

remonstrated, we have urged, we have commanded, and now at last a

compromise has been effected. We have agreed that when she

comes to us, teachers shall be brought to the house and she shall be

taught the new learning. Along with the duties of wife she shall see

the new life around her and from it take what is best for her to know.

I can understand his desire to have a wife with whom he may talk of

the things or common interest to them both, a wife who can share

with him, at least in part, the life beyond the woman's courtyard. I

remember how I felt when thy son returned from foreign lands, filled

with new sights, new thoughts in which I could not share. I had been

sitting quietly behind closed doors, and I felt that I could not help in

this new vision that had come to him. I could speak to only one side

of his life, when I wished to speak to all; but I studied, I learned, and,

as far as it is possible for a Chinese woman, I have made my steps

agree with those or my husband, and we march close, side by side.

My son would like his wife to be placed in a school, the school from

which my daughter has just now graduated; but I will not allow it. I am

not in favour of such schools for our girls. It has made or Wan-li a

half-trained Western woman, a woman who finds music in the piano

instead of the lute, who quotes from Shelley, and Wordsworth,

instead of from the Chinese classics, who thinks embroidery work for

servants, and the ordering of her household a thing beneath her great

mental status.

I, of course, wish her to marry at once; as to me that is the holiest

desire of woman-- to marry and give men-- children to the world; but it

seems that the word "marry" has opened the door to floods of talk to

which I can only listen in silent amazement. I never before had

realised that I have had the honour of bearing children with such

tongues of eloquence; and I fully understand that I belong to a past, a

very ancient past-- the Mings, from what I hear, are my

contemporaries. And all these words are poured upon me to try to

persuade me to allow Wan-li to become a doctor. Canst thou imagine

it? A daughter of the house of Liu a doctor! From whence has she

received these unseemly ideas except in this foreign school that

teaches the equality of the sexes to such an extent that our

daughters want to compete with men in their professions! I am not so

much of the past as my daughter seems to think; for I believe, within

certain bounds, in the social freedom of our women; but why

commercial freedom? For centuries untold, men have been able to

support their wives; why enter the market-places? Is it not enough

that they take care of the home, that they train the children and fulfill

the duties of the life in which the Gods place women? My daughter is

not ugly, she is most beautiful; yet she says she will not marry. I tell

her that when once her eyes are opened to the loved one, they will be

closed to all the world beside, and this desire to enter the great world

of turmoil and strife will flee like dew-drops before the summer's dawn.

I also quoted her what I told Chih-peh many moons ago, when he

refused to marry the wife thou hadst chosen for him: "Man attains not

by himself, nor woman by herself, but like the one-winged birds of the

ancient legend, they must rise together."

My daughter tossed her head and answered me that those were

doubtless words of great wisdom, but they were written by a man long

dead, and it did not affect her ideas upon the subject of her marriage.

We dare not insist, for we find, to our horror, that she has joined a

band of girls who have made a vow, writing it with their blood, that,

rather than become wives to husbands not of their own choice, they

will cross the River of Death. Fifteen girls, all friends of my daughter,

and all of whom have been studying the new education for women,

have joined this sisterhood; and we, their mothers, are in despair.

What can we do? Shall we insist that they return to the old regime

and learn nothing but embroidery? Why can they not take what is

best for an Eastern woman from the learning of the West, as the bee

selects honey from each flower, and leave the rest? It takes centuries

of training to change the habits and thoughts of a nation. It cannot be

done at once; our girls have not the foundation on which to build. Our

womanhood has been trained by centuries of caressing care to look

as lovely as nature allows, to learn obedience to father as a child, to

husband as a wife, and to children when age comes with his frosty

fingers.

Yet we all know that the last is a theory only to be read in books.

Where is there one so autocratic in her own home as a Chinese

mother? She lives within its four walls, but there she is supreme. Her

sons obey her even when their hair is touched with silver. Did not thy

son have to ask thy leave before he would decide that he could go

with His Highness to the foreign lands? Did he not say frankly that he

must consult his mother, and was he not honoured and given

permission to come to his home to have thy blessing? Dost thou

remember when Yuan was appointed secretary to the embassy in

London, and declined the honour because his mother was old and did

not wish her only son to journey o'er the seas; he gave up willingly

and cheerfully the one great opportunity of his life rather than bring

sorrow to the one who bore him.

A similar case came to our ears but a few days since. Some priests

of a foreign mission came to my husband and wished him to

intercede, as Governor, and command the Taotai of Soochow to sell

to them a piece of land on which to erect a temple of their faith. When

the Taotai was asked why he was so persistent in his refusal to carry

out the promise of the man before him in the office, he told the

Governor that the temple where his mother worshipped was in a direct

line with the proposed new foreign house of worship. His mother

feared that a spire would be placed upon its rooftree that would

intercept the good spirits of the air from bringing directly to her family

rooftree the blessings from the temple. My husband tried to persuade

him that the superstitions of a woman long in years should not stand

in the way of a possible quarrel with men of a foreign power, but the

Taotai only shrugged his shoulders and said, "What can I do? She is

my mother. I cannot go against her expressed commands;" and-- the

temple to the foreign God will not be built.

[Illustration: Mylady16.]

But it is as foolish to talk to Wan-li as "to ask the loan of a comb from

a Buddhist nun." She will not listen; or, if she does, a smile lies in the

open lily of her face, and she bows her head in mock submission;

then instantly lifts it again with new arguments learned from foreign

books, and arguments that I in my ignorance cannot refute.

I feel that I am alone on a strange sea with this, my household; and I

am in deadly fear that she will do some shocking thing, like those

girls from the school in Foochow who, dressed in their brothers'

clothing, came to Nanking and asked to be allowed to fight on the

side of the Republic. Patriotism is a virtue, but the battle-field is man's

place. Let the women stay at home and make the bandages to bind

the wounded, and keep the braziers lighted to warm returning men.

I will not write thee more of troubles, but I will tell thee that thy box of

clothing came and is most welcome; also the cooking oil, which gave

our food the taste of former days. The oils and sauces bought at

shops are not so pure as those thy servants make within the

compound, nor does the cook here prepare things to my taste. Canst

send me Feng-yi, who understands our customs? Thy son has no

great appetite, and I hope that food prepared in homely ways may

tempt him to linger longer at the table. He is greatly over-worked, and

if he eat not well, with enjoyment of his rice, the summer will quite

likely find him ill.

Thy daughter and thy family who touch thy hand,

Kwei-li

6

My Dear Mother,

Thy letter came, and I thank thee for thy advice. It is most difficult to

act upon. I cannot shut Wan-li within an inner chamber, nor can I

keep her without rice until she sees the wisdom of her ways. The

times are truly different; we mothers of the present have lost our

power to control our children, and cannot as in former days compel

obedience. I can only talk to her; she laughs. I quote to her the words

of the Sage: "Is any blessing better than to give a man a son, man's

prime desire by which he and his name shall live beyond himself; a

foot for him to stand on, a hand to stop his falling, so that in his son's

youth he will be young again, and in his strength be strong." Be the

mother of men; and I hear that, that is China's trouble. She has too

many children, too many thousands of clutching baby fingers, too

many tiny mouths asking for their daily food. I am told, by this learned

daughter of mine, that China has given no new thing to the world for

many tens of centuries. She has no time to write, no time to think of

new inventions; she must work for the morrow's rice. "How have you

eaten?" Is the salutation that one Chinese makes to another when

meeting on a pathway; and in that question is the root of our greatest

need. I am told that we are a nation of rank materialists; that we pray

only for benefits that we may feel or see, instead of asking for the

blessings of the Spirit to be sent us from above; that the women of my

time and kind are the ruin of the country, with our cry of sons, sons!

But if our girls flaunt motherhood, if this thought of each one for

himself prevails, what will become of us, a nation that depends upon

its worship of the ancestors for its only practical religion? The

loosening of the family bonds, the greater liberty of the single person,

means the lessening of the restraining power of this old religion which

depends upon the family life and the unity of that life. To do away with

it is to do away with the greatest influence for good in China to-day.

What will become of the filial piety that has been the backbone of our

country? This family life has always been, from time immemorial, the

foundation-stone of our Empire, and filial piety is the foundation-stone

of the family life.

I read not long since, in the Christian's Sacred Book, the

commandment, "Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may

be long in the land which the Lord thy God hath given thee," and I

thought that perhaps in the observance of that rule is to be found one

of the chief causes for the long continuance of the Chinese Empire.

What is there to compare in binding power to the family customs of

our people? Their piety, their love one for the other and that to which it

leads, the faithfulness of husband to his wife-- all these, in spite of

what may be said against them by the newer generation, do exist and

must influence the nation for its good. And this one great fact must be

counted amongst the forces, if it is not the greatest force, which bind

the Chinese people in bonds strong as ropes of twisted bamboo.

Our boys and girls will not listen; they are trying to be what they are

not, trying to wear clothes not made for them, trying to be like nations

and people utterly foreign to them; and they will not succeed. But,

"into a sack holding a ri, only a ri will go," and these sacks of our

young people are full to overflowing with this, which seems to me

dearly acquired knowledge, and there is not room for more. Time will

help, and they will learn caution and discretion in life's halls of

experience, and we can only guard their footsteps as best we may.

In the meantime, Mother mine, my days are full and worried, and I, as

in the olden time, can only come to thee with my rice-bowl filled with

troubles and pour them all into thy kindly lap. It is my only comfort, as

thy son is bitter and will not talk with patience, and it would not be

seemly for me to open wide my heart to strangers; but I know thou

lovest me and art full of years and knowledge and will help me find the

way.

Kwei-li.

7

My Dear Mother,

These are most troublous times, and thy son is harassed to the verge

of sickness. Shanghai is filled with Chinese who come seeking foreign

protection. Within the narrow confines of the foreign settlements, it is

said, there are nearly a million Chinese, half of them refugees from

their home provinces, fearing for their money or their lives, or both.

The great red houses on the fashionable streets, built by the English

for their homes, are sold at fabulous prices to these gentlemen, who

have brought their families and their silver to the only place they know

where the foreign hand is strong enough to protect them from their

own people. There are many queer tales; some are simply the breath

of the unkind winds that seem to blow from nowhere but gain in

volume with each thing they touch. Tan Toatai, who paid 300,000

taels for his position as Toatai of Shanghai, and who left for his home

province with 3,000,000 taels, as the gossips say, was asked to

contribute of his plenty for the help of the new government. He

promised; then changed his mind, and carefully gathered all his

treasures together and left secretly one night for Shanghai. Now he is

in fear for his life and dares not leave the compound walls of the

foreigner who has befriended him.

It makes one wonder what is the use of these fortunes that bring

endless sorrow by the misery of winning them, guarding them, and

the fear of losing them. They who work for them are as the water

buffalo who turns the water-wheel and gets but his daily food and the

straw-thatched hut in which he rests. For the sake of this food and

lodging which falls to the lot of all, man wastes his true happiness

which is so hard to win.

These Chinese of the foreign settlements seem alien to me. Yuan

called upon thy son the other day, and had the temerity to ask for

me-- a most unheard-of thing. I watched him as he went away,

dressed in European clothes, as nearly all of our younger men are

clothed these days, and one would never know that he had worn his

hair otherwise than short. There are no more neatly plaited braids

hanging down the back, and the beautiful silks and satins, furs and

peacock feathers are things of the past. These peacock feathers,

emblems of our old officialdom, are now bought by foreign ladies as a

trimming on their hats. Shades of Li Hung-chang and Chang

Chih-tung! What will they say if looking over the barriers they see the

insignia of their rank and office gracing the glowing head-gear of the

tourists who form great parties and come racing from over the seas to

look at us as at queer animals from another world?

It is not only the men who are copying the foreign customs and

clothing. Our women are now seen in public, driving with their

husbands, or walking arm in arm upon the public street. I even saw a

Chinese woman driving that "devil machine," a motor-car, with her own

hands. She did not seem a woman, but an unsexed thing that had as

little of woman-hood as the car that took her along so swiftly. I

promised to send Tah-li the new hair ornaments, but there are no hair

ornaments worn now. The old jewels are laid aside, the jade and

pearls are things of the past. The hair is puffed and knotted in a way

most unbecoming to the face. It is neither of the East nor of the West,

but a half-caste thing, that brands its wearer as a woman of no race.

Dost thou remember the story over which the Chinese in all the

Empire laughed within their sleeves? Her Majesty, the Empress

Dowager, was on most friendly terms with the wife of the Minister of

the United States of America, and on one occasion gave her as a gift

a set of combs enclosed within a box of silver. The foreign lady was

delighted, and did not see the delicate sarcasm hidden within the

present. Combs-- the foreign ladies need them! We Chinese like the

locks most smoothly brushed and made to glisten and shine with the

scented elm, but they, the foreign ladies, allow them to straggle in

rude disorder around their long, grave faces, which are so ugly in our

eyes.

Thou hast asked me for the latest style in dress. It is impossible to

say what is the latest style. Some women wear a jacket far too short

and trousers tight as any coat sleeve. The modest ones still cover

them with skirts; but I have seen women walking along the street who

should certainly stay within the inner courtyard and hide their shame.

For those who wear the skirt, the old, wide-pleated model has gone

by, and a long black skirt that is nearly European is now worn. It is

not graceful, but it is far better than the trousers worn by women who

walk along so stiffly upon their "golden lilies." These tiny feet to me

are beautiful, when covered with gay embroidery they peep from

scarlet skirts; but they too are passing, and we hear no more the

crying of the children in the courtyards. I am told that the small-footed

woman of China is of the past, along with the long finger-nails of our

gentlemen and scholars; and I am asked why I do not unbind my feet.

I say, "I am too old; I have suffered in the binding, why suffer in the

unbinding?" I have conceded to the new order by allowing unbound

feet to all my girls, and everywhere my family is held up as an

example of the new Chinese. They do not know of the many bitter

tears I have shed over the thought that my daughters would look like

women of the servant class and perhaps not make a good marriage;

but I was forced to yield to their father, whose foreign travel had taught

him to see beauty in ugly, natural feet. Even now, when I see Wan-li

striding across the grass, I blush for her and wish she could walk

more gracefully. My feet caused me many moons of pain, but they

are one of the great marks of my lady-hood, and I yet feel proud as I

come into a room with the gentle swaying motions of the bamboo in a

breeze; although my daughter who supports me takes one great step

to five of mine.

The curse of foot binding does not fall so heavily upon women like

myself, who may sit and broider the whole day through, or, if needs

must travel, can be borne upon the shoulders of their chair bearers,

but it is a bane to the poor girl whose parents hope to have one in the

family who may marry above their station, and hoping thus, bind her

feet. If this marriage fails and she is forced to work within her

household, or, even worse, if she is forced to toil within the fields or

add her mite gained by most heavy labour to help fill the many eager

mouths at home, then she should have our pity. We have all seen the

small-footed woman pulling heavy boats along the tow-path, or leaning

on their hoes to rest their tired feet while working in the fields of

cotton. To her each day is a day of pain; and this new law forbidding

the binding of the feet of children will come as Heaven's blessing. But

it will not cease at once, as so many loudly now proclaim. It will take

at least three generations; her children's children will all quite likely

have natural feet. The people far in the country, far from the noise of

change and progress, will not feel immediately that they can wander

so far afield from the old ideas of what is beautiful in their womanhood.

I notice, as I open wide my casement, that the rain has come, and

across the distant fields it is falling upon the new-sown rice and

seems to charm the earth into the thought that spring is here, bringing

forth the faint green buds on magnolia, ash, and willow. Dost thou

remember the verse we used to sing:

"Oh she is good, the little rain, and well she knows our need,

Who cometh in the time of spring to aid the sun-drawn seed.

She wanders with a friendly wind through silent heights unseen,

The furrows feel her happy tears, and lo, the land is green!"

I must send a servant with the rain coverings for the children, that they

may not get wet in returning from their schools.

We greet thee, all.

Kwei-li.

8

My Dear Mother,

Last night I heard a great wailing in the servants' courtyard, and found

there the maid of thy old friend, Tang Tai-tai. She came from Nanking

to us, as she has no one left in all the world. She is a Manchu and

has lived all her life in the Manchu family of Tang within the Tartar city

of Nanking. It seems the soldiers, besieging the city, placed their

guns on Purple Hill, so that they would cause destruction only to the

Tartar city, and it was levelled to the ground. No stone remains upon

another; and the family she had served so faithfully were either killed

in the battle that raged so fiercely, or were afterward taken to the

grounds of Justice to pay with their life for the fact that they belonged

to the Imperial Clan. She is old, this faithful servant, and now claims

my protection. It is another mouth to feed; but there is so much

unhappiness that if it were within my power I would quench with rains

of food and drink the anguish this cruel war has brought upon so

many innocent ones. A mat on which to sleep, a few more bowls of

rice, these are the only seeds that I may sow within the field of love,

and I dare not them withhold.

I am most sorrowful for these poor Manchus. For generations they

have received a pension from the government; to every man-child an

allowance has been made; and now they find themselves with

nothing. Even their poor homes are piles of stone and rubbish. What

will they do to gain their food in this great country which is already full

to over-flowing? They are so pitiful, these old men and women thrown

so suddenly upon the world. Their stories pierce my marrow, and I

would that my sleeve were long and wide enough to cover all the earth

and shelter these poor helpless ones. One old man-- his years must

have been near eighty-- came to our door for help. I talked to him and

found that, until his sons were killed before his eyes, his home torn to

the ground, he had never been without the city's walls. He said, just

like a child, "Why should I go? My wife, my sons, my home, my all,

were within the walls; why go outside?"

[Illustration: Mylady17.]

Each hour brings us fresh rumours of the actions of the rebels, Poor

Liang Tai-tai was here and in the sorest trouble. Her husband and her

brother were officers in the army of Yuan, and when in Ranking were

shot along with twenty of their brother officers, because they would

not join the Southern forces. To add to China's trouble, the Southern

pirates are attacking boats; and I am glad to say, although it sounds

most cruel, that the government is taking measures both quick and

just. Ten men were captured and were being brought by an English

ship to Canton, and when in neutral waters it is said a Chinese

gunboat steamed alongside with an order for the prisoners. As they

stepped upon the Chinese boat, each man was shot. The English

were most horrified, and have spoken loudly in all the papers of the

acts of barbarism; but they do not understand our people. They must

be frightened; especially at a time like this, when men are watching

for the chance to take advantage of their country's turmoil.

These pirates of Canton have always been a menace. Each village in

that country must be forever on the defensive, for no man is safe who

has an ounce of gold. When father was the prefect of Canton, I

remember seeing a band of pirates brought into the Yamen, a ring of

iron around the collarbone, from which a chain led to the prisoner on

either side. It was brutal, but it allowed no chance of escape for these

men, dead to all humanity, and desperate, knowing there awaited

them long days of prison, and in the end they knew not what.

In those days imprisonment was the greatest of all evils; it was not

made a place of comfort. For forty-eight long hours, the man within

the clutches of the law went hungry; then, if no relative or friend came

forth to feed him, he was allowed one bowl of rice and water for each

day. A prison then meant ruin to a man with money, because the

keepers of the outer gate, the keepers of the inner gate, the guardian

of the prison doors, the runners in the corridor, the jailer at the cell,

each had a hand that ached for silver. A bowl of rice bought at the

tea-shop for ten cash, by the time the waiting hungry man received it,

cost many silver dollars. Yet a prison should not be made a tempting

place of refuge and vacation; if so in times of cold and hunger it will be

filled with those who would rather suffer shame than work.

Another thing the people who cry loudly against our old-time Courts of

Justice do not understand, is the crushing, grinding, naked poverty

that causes the people in this over-crowded province to commit most

brutal deeds. The penalties must match the deeds, and frighten other

evil-doers. If the people do not fear death, what good is there in using

death as a deterrent; and our Southern people despise death,

because of their excessive labour in seeking the means of life. But--

what a subject for a letter! I can see thee send for a cup of thy fragrant

sun-dried tea, mixed with the yellow flower of the jessamine, to take

away the thoughts of death and evil and the wickedness of the world

outside thy walls. It will never touch thee, Mother mine, because the

Gods are holding thee all safe within their loving hands.

Thy daughter,

Kwei-li.

9

My Mother,

I have most joyful news to tell thee. My father has arrived! He came

quite without warning, saying he must know the changing times from

word of mouth instead of reading it in papers. He has upset my

household with his many servants. My father keeps to his old ways

and customs and travels with an army of his people. His pipe man,

his hat man, his cook, his boy-- well, thou rememberest when he

descended upon us in Sezchuan-- yet he could bring ten times the

number, and his welcome would be as warm. The whole town knows

he is our guest, and foreigners and Chinese have vied one with the

other to do him honour. The foreign papers speak of him as "the

greatest Chinese since Li Hung-chang," and many words are written

about his fifty years' service as a high official. The story is retold of his

loyalty to Her Majesty at the time of the Boxer uprising, when he

threatened the foreigners that if Her Majesty was even frightened, he

would turn his troops upon Shanghai and drive the foreigners into the

sea. I wonder if the present government can gain the love the Dowager

Empress drew from all who served her.

My father was the pioneer of the present education, so say the

papers, and it is remembered that his school for girls in the province

where he ruled, nearly caused him the loss of his position, as His

Excellency, Chang Chih-tung, memorialised the throne and said that

women should not have book learning; that books would only give

them a place in which to hide their threads and needles. It is also said

of him that he was always against the coming of the foreigners. They

could obtain no mine, no railway, no concession in a province where

he was representing his Empress. China was closed, so far as lay

within his power, to even men of religion from other lands. It was he

who first said, "The missionary, the merchant, and then the gunboat."

My father will not talk with men about the present trials of China; he

says, most justly, that he who is out of office should not meddle in

the government. When asked if he will give the results of his long life

and great experience to the Republic, he answers that he owes his

love and loyalty to the old regime under which he gained his wealth

and honours; and then he shakes his head and says he is an old

man, nothing but wet ashes. But they do not see the laughter in his

eyes; for my father "is like the pine-tree, ever green, the symbol of

unflinching purpose and vigorous old age."

So many old-time friends have been to see him. Father, now that the

heavy load of officialdom is laid aside, delights to sit within the

courtyards with these friends and play at verse-making. No man of his

time is found lacking in that one great attribute of a Chinese

gentleman. He has treasures of poetry that are from the hands of

friends long since passed within the Vale of Longevity. These poems

are from the pens of men who wrote of the longing for the spiritual life,

or the beauties of the world without their doors, or the pleasure of

association with old and trusted friends. I read some scrolls the other

day, and it was as though "aeolian harps had caught some strayed

wind from an unknown world and brought its messages to me." It is

only by the men of other days that poetry is appreciated, who take

the time to look around them, to whom the quiet life, the life of thought

and meditation is as vital as the air they breathe. To love the beautiful

in life one must have time to sit apart from the worry and the rush of

the present day. He must have time to look deep within his hidden

self and weigh the things that count for happiness; and he must use

most justly all his hours of leisure, a thing which modern life has

taught us to hold lightly.

But with our race verse-making has always been a second nature. In

the very beginning of our history, the Chinese people sang their songs

of kings and princes, of the joys of family life and love and home and

children. It is quite true that they did not delve deep into the mines of

hidden passions, as their songs are what songs should be, telling

joyful tales of happiness and quiet loves. They are not like the songs

of warrior nations, songs of battle, lust and blood, but songs of peace

and quiet and deep contentment. When our women sang, like all

women who try to voice the thoughts within them, they sang their

poems in a sadder key, all filled with care, and cried of love's call to

its mate, of resignation and sometimes of despair.

My father learned to love the poets in younger days, but he still reads

them o'er and o'er. He says they take him back to other years when

life with all its dreams of beauty, love, and romance, lay before him. It

brings remembrance of youth's golden days when thoughts of fame

and mad ambition came to him with each morning's light. This father

of mine, who was stiffly bound with ceremony and acts of statecraft

for ten long months of the year, had the temerity to ask two months'

leave of absence from his duties, when he went to his country place in

the hills, to his "Garden of the Pleasure of Peace." It was always in

the early spring when "that Goddess had spread upon the budding

willow her lovely mesh of silken threads, and the rushes were

renewing for the year." He sat beneath the bamboos swaying in the

wind like dancing girls, and saw the jessamine and magnolia put forth

their buds.

What happy days they were when father came! For me, who lived

within the garden all the year, it was just a plain, great garden; but

when he came it was transformed. It became a place of rare

enchantment, with fairy palaces and lakes of jewelled water, and the

lotus flowers took on a loveliness for which there is no name. We

would sit hand in hand in our gaily painted tea-house, and watch the

growing of the lotus from the first unfurling of the leaf to the fall of the

dying flower. When it rained, we would see the leaves raise their

eager, dark-green cups until filled, then bend down gracefully to empty

their fulness, and rise to catch the drops again.

[Illustration: Mylady18.]

The sound of the wind in the cane-fields came to us at night-time as

we watched the shimmer of the fireflies. We sat so silently that the

only thing to tell us that the wild duck sought his mate amidst the

grass, was the swaying of the reed stems, or the rising of the teal

with whirring wings.

My father loved the silence, and taught me that it is in silence, in the

quiet places, rather than on the house-tops, that one can hear the

spirit's call, and forget the clanging of the world. It is the great gift

which the God of nature alone can give, and "he has found happiness

who has won through the stillness of the spirit the Perfect Vision, and

this stillness comes through contentment that is regardless of the

world."

He often said to me that we are a caravan of beings, wandering

through life's pathways, hungering to taste of happiness, which comes

to us when we find plain food sweet, rough garments fine, and

contentment in the home. It comes when we are happy in a simple

way, allowing our wounds received in life's battles to be healed by the

moon-beams, which send an ointment more precious than the oil of

sandalwood.

I could go on for pages, Mother mine, of the lessons of my father, this

grand old man, "who steeled his soul and tamed his thoughts and got

his body in control by sitting in the silence and being one with nature,

God, the maker of us all." And when I think of all these things, it is

hard to believe that men who love the leisure, the poetry, the beautiful

things of life, men like my father, must pass away. It seems to me it

will be a day of great peril for China, for our young ones, when these

men of the past lose their hold on the growing mind. As rapidly as this

takes place, the reverence for the old-time gentleman, the quiet lady

of the inner courtyards, will wane, and reverence will be supplanted by

discourtesy, faith by doubt, and love of the Gods by unbelief and

impiety.

Yet they say he does not stand for progress. What is progress? What

is life? The poet truly cries: "How short a time it is that we are here!

Why then not set our hearts at rest, why wear the soul with anxious

thoughts? If we want not wealth, if we want not power, let us stroll the

bright hours as they pass, in gardens midst the flowers, mounting the

hills to sing our songs, or weaving verses by the lily ponds. Thus may

we work out our allotted span, content with life, our spirits free from

care."

My father has a scroll within his room that says:

"For fifty years I plodded through the vale of lust and strife,

Then through my dreams there flashed a ray of the old sweet peaceful

life.

No scarlet tasselled hat of state can vie with soft repose;

Grand mansions do not taste the joys that the poor man's cabin

knows.

I hate the threatening clash of arms when fierce retainers throng,

I loathe the drunkard's revels and the sound of fife and song;

But I love to seek a quiet nook, and some old volume bring,

Where I can see the wild flowers bloom and hear the birds in spring."

Ah, dear one, my heart flows through my pen, which is the

messenger of the distant soul to thee, my Mother.

Kwei-li.

10

My Dear Mother,

My days are passed like a water-wheel awhirl, and I can scarcely find

time to attend to the ordinary duties of my household. I fear I seem

neglectful of thee, and I will try to be more regular with my letters, so

that thou wilt not need reproach me. To-night my house is quiet and

all are sleeping, and I can chat with thee without the many

interruptions that come from children, servants, and friends during the

waking hours.

I have had callers all the day; my last, the wife of the Japanese

Consul, who brought with her two children. They were like little

butterflies, dressed in their gay kimonas and bright red obis, their

straight black hair framing their tiny elfin faces. I was delighted and

could scarcely let them go. Their mother says she will send to me

their photographs, and I will send them to thee, as they seem children

from another world. They are much prettier, in my eyes, than the

foreign children, with their white hair and colourless, blue eyes, who

always seem to be clothed in white. That seems not natural for a

child, as it is our mourning colour, and children should wear gay

colours, as they are symbols of joy and gladness.

My husband watched them go away with looks of hatred and disdain

within his eyes, and when I called them Butterflies of Gay Nippon, he

gave an ejaculation of great disgust, as at this time he is not o'erfond

of the Japanese. He believes, along with others, that they are helping

the rebels with their money, and we know that many Japanese

officers are fighting on the side of the Southern forces. He could not

forget the words I used, "Dainty Butterflies," and he said that these

dainty butterflies are coming far too fast, at the rate of many tens of

thousands each year, and they must be fed and clothed and lodged,

and Japan is far too small. These pretty babies searching for a future

home are China's greatest menace. Japan reels that her destiny lies

here in the Far East, where she is overlord, and will continue as such

until the time, if it ever comes, when new China, with her far greater

wealth and her myriads of people, dispute the power of the little

Island. At present there is no limit to Japan's ambition. Poor China! It

will take years and tens of years to mould her people into a nation;

and Japan comes to her each year, buying her rice, her cotton and

her silk.

These wily merchants travel up her path-ways and traverse her rivers

and canals, selling, buying, and spreading broadcast their influence.

There are eight thousand men of Japan in Shanghai, keen young men,

all looking for the advantage of their country. There is no town of any

size where you cannot find a Japanese. They have driven the traders

of other nationalities from many places; the Americans especially

have been compelled to leave; and now there is a bitter struggle

between the people from the British Isles and the Japanese for the

trade of our country. In the olden time the people from Great Britain

controlled the trade of our Yang-tse Valley, but now it is almost wholly

Japanese.

The British merchant, in this great battle has the disadvantage of

being honest, while the trader from Japan has small thoughts of

honesty to hold him to a business transaction. We say here, "One

can hold a Japanese to a bargain as easily as one can hold a slippery

catfish on a gourd." The Sons of Nippon have another point in their

favour: the British merchant is a Westerner, while the Japanese uses

to the full his advantage of being an Oriental like ourselves. Trade--

trade-- is what Japan craves, and it is according to its need that she

makes friends or enemies. It is her reason for all she does; her

diplomacy, her suavity is based upon it; her army and her vast navy

are to help gain and hold it; it is the end and aim of her ambitions.

We, Chinese, have people-- millions, tens of millions of them. When

they are better educated, when China is more prosperous, when new

demands and higher standards of living are created, when the coolie

will not be satisfied with his bowl of rice a day and his one blue

garment, then possibilities of commerce will be unlimited. Japan sees

this with eyes that look far into the future, and she wants to control

this coming trade-- and I fear she will. She has an ambition that is as

great as her overpowering belief in herself, an ambition to be in the

East what England is in the West; and she is working patiently,

quietly, to that end. We fear her; but we are helpless. I hear the men

talk bitterly; but what can they do. We must not be another Corea; we

must wait until we are strong, and look to other hands to help us in

our struggle.

We hope much from America, that country which has so wonderful an

influence upon us, which appeals to our imagination because it is

great and strong and prosperous. The suave and humorous American,

with his easy ways, is most popular with our people, although he

cannot always be trusted nor is his word a bond. He is different from

the man of England, who is not fond of people not of his own colour

and will not try to disguise the fact. He is cold and shows no

sympathy to those of an alien race, although we must admit he

always acts with a certain amount of justice. America is

contemptuous of China and her people, but it is a kindly contempt,

not tinged with the bitterness of the other Powers, and we hope,

because of that kindliness and also because of trade interests (the

American is noted for finding and holding the place that yields him

dollars), she will play the part of a kindly friend and save China from

her enemies who are now watching each other with such jealous

eyes. There is another reason why we like America: she does not

seem to covet our land. There is no Shang-tung nor Wei-hai-wei for

her. I would that she and England might form a bond of brotherhood

for our protection; because all the world knows that where Germany,

Russia, or Japan has power, all people from other lands are barred by

close-shut doors.

Since hearing my husband talk I see those babies with other eyes,

with eyes of knowledge and dislike. I see them becoming one of the

two great classes in Japan-- merchants with grasping hands to hold

fast all they touch, or men of war. There is no other class. And, too,

they have no religion to restrict them, irreverence already marks their

attitude toward their gods. They will imitate and steal what they want

from other countries, even as their ancestors took their religion, their

art, their code of ethics, even their writing, from other peoples. Their

past is a copy of the East; their present is an attempt to be a copy of

the West. They cannot originate or make a thing from within

them-selves.

Their lives are coarse and sordid when stripped of the elaborate

courtesy and sham politeness that marks their dealings with the

outside world. Their courtesy, what is it? This thin veneer of politeness

is like their polished lacquer that covers the crumbling wood within.

But we have a proverb, "Even a monkey falls"; and some distant day

the Western world that thinks so highly of Japan will see beneath the

surface and will leave her, and the great pagoda she has builded

without foundation will come tumbling down like the houses of sand

which my children build in the garden. It will be seen that they are like

their beautiful kimonas, that hang so gracefully in silken folds. But

take away the kimonas, and the sons and daughters of that Empire

are revealed in all their ugliness-- coarse, heavy, sensual, with no

grace or spirit life to distinguish them from animals.

[Illustration: Mylady19.]

Do I speak strongly, my Mother? We feel most strongly the action of

the Japanese in this, our time of trouble. We have lost friends; the

husbands, brothers, fathers of our women-folk are lying in long

trenches because of training given to our rebels by members of that

race. I should not speak so frankly, but it is only to thee that I can

say what is within my heart. I must put the bar of silence across my

lips with all save thee; and sitting here within the courtyard I hear all

that goes on in Yamen, shop, and women's quarters. One need not

leave one's doorway to learn of the great world. I hear my sons speak

of new China, and many things I do not understand; my husband and

his friends talk more sedately, for they are watching thoughtful men,

trying hard to steer this, our ship of State, among the rocks that now

beset it close on every side. My daughters bring their friends, my

servants their companions, and the gossip of our busy world is

emptied at my feet.