The clock strikes one, and all the world_My Lady of the Chinese Courtyard

Kwei-li.

Dear Mother,

She is here, my daughter-in-law, and I can realise in a small degree

thy feelings when I first came to thy household. I know thou wert

prepared to give me the same love and care that my heart longs to

give to this, the wife of my eldest son. I also know how she feels in

this strange place, with no loved faces near her, with the thought that

perhaps the new home will mean the closed doors of a prison, and the

husband she never saw until the marriage day the jealous guardian

thereof. I have tried to give her welcome and let her see that she is

heart of our hearts, a part of us.

She is different from the young girls I have seen these latter days,

different from my daughters, and-- I may say it to thee, my Mother-- a

sweeter, dearer maiden in many ways. She has been trained within

the courtyards in the old-fashioned customs that make for simplicity

of heart, grace of manner, that give obedience and respect to older

people; and she has the delicate high-bred ways that our girls seem

to feel unnecessary in the hurry of these days. She takes me back to

years gone by, where everything is like a dream, and I can feel again

the chair beneath me that carried me up the mountain-side with its

shadowing of high woods, and hear the song of water falling gently

from far-off mountain brooks, and the plaintive cry of flutes unseen,

that came to welcome me to my new home.

[Illustration: Mylady20.]

With her dainty gowns, her tiny shoes, her smooth black hair, she is

a breath from another world, and my sons and daughters regard her

as if she were a stray butterfly, blown hither by some wind too strong

for her slight wings. She is as graceful as the slender willow, her

youthful charm is like the cherry-tree in bloom, and the sweet

thoughts natural to youth and the springtime of life, flow from her heart

as pure as the snow-white blossoms of the plum-tree. She does not

belong to this, our modern world; she should be bending with iris

grace above goldfish in the ponds, or straying in gardens where there

are lakes of shimmering water murmuring beneath great lotus flowers

that would speak to her of love.

We are all more than charmed, and gather to the sunshine she has

brought. As they knelt before us for our blessing, I thought what a

happy thing is youth and love. "Kings in their palaces grow old, but

youth dwells forever at contentment's side."

But I must tell thee of the marriage. Instead of the red chair of

marriage, my new daughter-in-law was brought from the house of her

uncle in that most modern thing, a motor-car. I insisted that it should

be covered with red satin, the colour of rejoicing; and great rosettes

trailed from the corners to the ground. The feasting was elaborate and

caused me much care in its preparation, as not only had been

provided the many different kinds of food for our Chinese friends, but

foreigners, who came also, were served with dishes made expressly

for them, and with foreign wines, of which they took most liberally.

The Europeans, men and women, ate and drank together with a

freedom that to me is most unseemly, and I cannot understand the

men who have no pride in their women's modesty but allow them to sit

at table with strange men close by their side. Behind the archway, we

Chinese women "of the old school," as my daughter calls us, feasted

and laughed our fill, just as happy as if parading our new gowns before

the eyes of stranger-men.

Li-ti is delighted with thy gift, the chain of pearls. It is a most

appropriate present, for "pearls belong of right to her whose soul

reflects the colour of youth's purity"; and I, I am so happy in this new

life that has come to dwell beneath our rooftree. I had many fears that

she would not be to my liking, that she would be a modern Chinese

woman; and another one, oh, Mother mine, would fill to overflowing my

bowl of small vexations; but the place is perfumed by her scent, the

scent of sandalwood, which represents the China that I love, and

flowers of jessamine and purple hyacinths and lilies-of-the-valley,

which speak to us of youth and spring and love and hope.

Thy daughter, who gives the messages from all thy family, who touch

thy hand with deep respect.

My Dear Mother,

I am sorry that thou hast been troubled by news of the fighting within

the province. All is well with us, as we sent thee word by telegraph. If

anything happens that touches any of thy household, we will send

thee word at once.

This town is a hotbed of rebellion, and it is all because the rebels have

been enabled to perfect their plans through the existence of the

foreign settlements. How I dislike these foreigner adventurers! I wish

they would take their gilded dust, their yellow gold, and leave us to

our peace; but they walk our streets as lords and masters, and allow

the plotting traitors to make their plans, and we are helpless. If I were

China's ruler and for one day had power, there would not be one white

man left within the borders of my country. We hear each day of

friends who give their lives on the field of battle, these battles and this

conflict which would not be present with us were it not for the foreign

powers, who within these settlements, protect the low-browed ruffians

who are plotting China's ruin.

Did I say I disliked these foreigners? How mild a word! Thou, in

Sezchuan, far from the touch of the alien life, hast never seen these

people who cause us so much trouble. How can I describe them to

thee so that thou wilt understand? They are like unto the dragons of

the earth, for ugliness. Men have enormous stature and mighty

strength, and stride with fierce and lordly steps. Their faces have great

noses between deep-set eyes, and protruding brows, and ponderous

jaws like animals-- symbols of brute force which needs but to be seen

to frighten children in the dark. We are the gentler race, and we feel

instinctively the dominating power of these men from over the seas,

who all, American, Russian, German, English, seem to be cast in the

same brutal mould. Their women have long, horse-like faces, showing

the marks of passion and discontent, which they try to cover with the

contents of the powder-jar and with rouge; they are utterly unlike the

women of our race, who are taught to express no hate, no love, nor

anything save perfect repose and gentleness, as befits true ladyhood.

One has but to see a Chinese gentleman, with his easy manners,

composed, self-contained, with a natural dignity, to know that we are

better trained than the people from the West. It is because we are

true idealists. We show it in our grading of society. With us the

scholar is honoured and put first, the farmer second, the artisan third,

and the merchant and the soldier last. With them, these worshippers

of the dollar, the merchant is put first, and the man to guard that dollar

is made his equal! That is a standard for a nation! The barterer and the

murderer; let others follow where they lead.

These foreigners rate China low, who have never met a Chinese

gentleman, never read a line of Chinese literature, and who look at

you in ignorance if you mention the names of our sages. They see no

Chinese except their servants, and they judge the world about them

from that low point of view. I know a lady here who is a leader in their

society, a woman who has lived within our land for many tens of

years; when asked to meet a prince of our house Imperial, she

declined, saying she never associated with Chinese. A prince to her

was no more than any other yellow man; she said she would as soon

think of meeting her gate coolie at a social tea. How can there be a

common meeting-ground between our people and the average

European, of whom this woman is a representative and who is not

alone in her estimation of the people amongst whom she lives but

whom she never sees. They get their knowledge of China from

servants, from missionaries who work among the lower classes, and

from newspaper reports that are always to the disadvantage of our

people.

More and more the West must see that the East and West may meet

but never can they mingle. Foreigners can never enter our inner

chamber; the door is never wholly opened, the curtain never drawn

aside between Chinese and European. The foreign man is a

materialist, a mere worshipper of things seen. With us "the taste of

the tea is not so important as the aroma." When Chinese gentlemen

meet for pleasure, they talk of poetry and the wisdom of the sages, of

rare jade and porcelains and brass. They show each other treasures,

they handle with loving fingers the contents of their cherished boxes,

and search for stores of beauty that are brought to light only for those

who understand. But when with foreigners, the talk must be of tea, its

prices, the weight of cotton piece goods, the local gossip of the town

in which they live. Their private lives are passed within a world apart,

and there is between these men from different lands a greater bar than

that of language-- the bar of mutual misunderstanding and lack of

sympathy with the other race.

Poor China! She is first clubbed on the head and then stroked on the

back by these foreigners, her dear friends. Friends! It is only when the

cold season comes that we know the pine-tree and the cypress to be

evergreens, and friends are known in adversity. The foreigners who

profess to be our friends are waiting and hoping for adversity to come

upon us, that they may profit by it. They want our untouched wealth,

our mines of coal and iron and gold, and it is upon them they have

cast their eyes of greed.

The foreigners have brought dishonesty in business dealings to our

merchants. At first, the trader from the foreign land found that he

could rely on old-time customs and the word of the merchant to bind a

bargain; but what did the Chinese find? There are no old-time customs

to bind a foreigner, except those of bond and written document. He

has no traditions of honour, he can be held by nothing except a court

of law. For years the word "China" has meant to the adventurers of

other lands a place for exploitation, a place where silver was to be

obtained by the man with fluent tongue and winning ways. Even

foreign officials did not scruple to use their influence to enter trade.

An old case has recently come before the Governor. It has been

brought many times to the ears of the officials, but they have said

nothing, for fear of offending the Great Government whose

representative is involved in the not too pleasant transaction. One of

our great inland cities had no water nearer than the river, several miles

away. A foreign official with a machine of foreign invention digged deep

into the earth and found pure, clear water. Then he thought, "If there is

ater here for me, why not for all this great city of many tens of

thousands?" Which was a worthy thought, and he saw for himself

great gains in bringing to the doors of rich and poor alike the water

from the wells. He told the Taotai that he would go to his country and

bring back machines that would make the water come forth as from

living springs. The official met his friends and the plan was discussed

and many thousands of taels were provided and given into the hands

of the official from over the seas. The friends of the Taotai felt no fear

for their money, as the official signed a contract to produce water from

the earth, and he signed, not as a simple citizen but as the

representative of his government, with the great seal of that

government attached to the paper. Of course our simple people

thought that the great nation was behind the project; and they were

amazed and startled when, after a trip to his home land and a return

with only one machine, a few holes were made but no water found,

and the official announced that he was sorry but there was nothing

more that he could do. He did not offer to return the money, and in his

position he could not be haled into a court of law; there was nothing

for his dupes to do but to gaze sadly into the great holes that had

taken so much money, and remember that wisdom comes with

experience.

"When a man has been burned once with hot soup he forever after

blows upon cold rice"; so these same men of China will think o'erlong

before trusting again a foreigner with their silver.

Thy son has been trying to settle another case. Some men from

America went to Ningpo, and talked long and loud of the darkness of

the city, its streets dangerous in the night-time, its continual fires

caused by the flickering lamps of oil that are being so constantly

overturned by the many children. They told the officials that the times

were changing, that to walk the streets with a lighted lantern in the

hand is to lose step with the march of progress. They showed the

benefits of the large lights of electricity blazing like a sun on each

corner of the great city, making it impossible for robbers and

evil-doers to carry on their work in darkness. They promised to turn

night-time into day, to put white lights in Yamen, office, and

house-hold. There should be a light beneath each rooftree, at no

greater expense than the bean-oil lamp. They were most plausible,

and many thousands of silver dollars were brought forth and given to

the men as contract money. They left us to buy machinery; the years

have passed; they never have returned. Ningpo still has streets of

darkness, men still walk abroad with lighted lanterns, the bean-oil

lamp is seen within the cottage and-- will be until the hills shall fade,

so far as the officials are concerned, who once dreamed dreams of a

city lit by the light as of myriad suns.

How can the missionaries have the face to come here with their

religion, when the dissolute white man is in every port manifesting a

lust and greed and brutality which Chinese are accustomed to

associate with the citizenship and religion attributed to Christianity.

No wonder it is hard for them to make converts among the people who

have business dealings with these men from Christian nations.

But China will not forever bear the ill-treatment of men from Western

lands. She is awake to all the insults; she has learned in the bitter

halls of experience. She sleeps no longer; she will rise in self-defense

and fight aggression; and the nations who have misused her must

remember that when she moves it will be the movement of a mighty

people aroused by the thought of their great wrongs. She is peaceful

and long-suffering, but she is different from the old-time China. She

has now a national spirit that has been brought about by better means

of communication between provinces. In the olden time it was difficult

for one part or the Empire to know the conditions in another. But now

the telegraph and the daily newspaper come to all the smallest

villages. I am sure that the watchman by thy outer gate reads as he

guards thy household, and learns in far Sezchuan what has happened

to-day in Peking, or the Southern city of Canton, and the news is

discussed in the tea-shops and on corners by men from farm and

shop and office.

The foreigners are mistaken in their belief that China can never be

united. She has been one for centuries, in beliefs, in morals, in

education, and in religion, and now she will be more united in her

stand against the hated white man who covets her treasures. She

may quarrel with her brothers within her borders; but that is nothing

but a family feud, and in time of danger from outside, like all families,

she will unite to fight for her own until the last red lantern fades and

the morning star is shining. Enough of politics and bitterness! I hear

thy son, who is coming for his evening cup of tea.

Thy daughter,

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

The times here are very bad; people are fleeing from the inland cities

and coming to Shanghai by the thousands. The place is crowded to

suffocation.

[Illustration: Mylady21.]

Wu Ting-fang was here and talked long into the night with my

husband. My son, who, I am afraid, does not think too highly of this

great man, says that he is with the party that is "on top," that he

spends most of his time sitting on the fence-- whatever that may

mean. I drove past his house the other day and did not see him sitting

on the fence, but on his veranda, calmly drinking tea.

Sun Yat-sen has violated his word of honour and has joined the

Southern forces. We feel he has acted most dishonourably and (my

son again) should have "staid bought." Gossips say he received many

millions of taels, presumably for the railroads, but that was only an

excuse to slip the money into his wide and hungry pockets.

It is decided to send my son to Canton, into the office of the governor

of that province. We are glad to get him away from Shanghai, which is

a nest of adders and vipers, conspiring and raising their poisonous

heads in the dark. One does not know whom to trust, or who may

prove to be a traitor.

Li-ti, his wife, wishes to go with him, and weeps the whole day

through because we will not permit it. She is not well, and we tell her

she will not be really separated from her husband, because, as the

poets tell us, people who love, though at a distance from each other,

are like two lutes tuned in harmony and placed in adjoining rooms.

When you strike the kung note on one, the kung note on the other will

answer, and when you strike the cho note on the one the cho note on

the other will give the same sound. They are both tuned to the same

pitch, when the influence of the key-note, love, is present.

I took my son apart the other night and said, "I am thy mother and I

want to speak words to thee straight from the heart. Thou art to have

the joy of work, and remember the pride of work lies in the thought,

'For me alone is the task.'" I tried to make him understand that praise,

glory, and honours are good, but they do not make for long life, and

especially in these times it is better to work quietly without attracting

too much attention. It is more safe, for "he who raises himself on

tiptoe cannot stand, and he who stretches his legs wide apart cannot

walk."

His father was especially anxious that he be not pierced with the

arrow of treachery that poisons the blood and finds the weak spot in

the armour of so many of our young men. He told him to keep himself

above suspicion, to avoid those entangled in the nets of double

dealing of whom one is uncertain, because "the red glow of the

morning sun seems to stain even the pure whiteness of the new-fallen

snow."

Why, Mother-mine, didst thou send the old priest from the temple

down here? He abides in the courtyard, squatting on his heels,

serving the spirits neither of Heaven nor of earth, but he sits and talks

and talks and talks with the women of the courtyards. There are some

of them I would fain send to a far-off province, especially Fang Tai, the

mother of our gateman.

"A woman with a long tongue is a flight of steps leading to calamity."

This priest of thine has been quarrelling with her now over the question

of the son of Wong Tai, who is accused of being on too friendly terms

with some of the leaders of the rebellion. He made the unfortunate

remark that perhaps the man was innocent but "one does not arrange

his head-dress under an apricot-tree, nor his foot-gear in a melon

patch, if he wishes to be above suspicion," and this simple remark

has called down upon his priestly head the wrath of all the women. I

think he will go to the monastery within the city to pass the night-- at

least if he has wisdom equal to his years.

Yesterday I thought that I might make some use of him, and I felt

when he was working he would not be stirring up the courtyards. I

bade him write the Sage's words upon a scroll of satin for my boy to

take with him to his new home. He did it very beautifully, as he is a

real artist with the brush. This is the reading of the scroll:

"There are three things for a man to guard against:

The lusts of the flesh in early years,

The spirit of combativeness in middle-age,

And ambition as the years go on.

There are three things to command your reverence:

The ordinances of Heaven,

Great men, and the words of the sages.

There are three times three things to be remembered:

To be clear in vision,

Quick in hearing,

Kindly in expression,

Respectful in demeanour,

True in word,

Serious in duty,

Inquiring in doubt,

Self-controlled in anger,

And just and fair when the chair of success is before your door."

I made a roll of it and placed it upon his desk, and when he opened it

he found within another scroll of silk, the same in colour, size, and

finish, written by his most unfilial sisters, which read:

"Remember that thou art young.

What thou dost know is not to be compared,

With what thou dost not know."

It made him angry at first, but I do not know but that the shorter scroll

contains the greater wisdom.

I am anxious for this boy of mine, who is starting to sail his ship of

manhood across the Broad River of Life in these most perilous times.

I think he is strong enough to conquer all, but I have lighted candles

and bought fine incense to persuade the Gods to temper winds to

untried hands.

Thy daughter,

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

I have not written thee for several days. We are in Nanking, where my

husband is presiding at a meeting of the officials in order to discuss

the question of a compromise, or to try in some way to settle the

questions that are causing this dreadful rebellion, without more loss of

life. He is also acting as judge in the case of some of the men who

have been caught pillaging and destroying the homes of the innocent

people. It is hard for him to act with strict justice, remembering the

many friends he has lost, and it is necessary to see things without

their individuality in order to be wise in all judgments. I came,

ostensibly to see the friends of my childhood, but really to take care

of thy son and see that he eats with regularity and takes his rest. He

is working far too hard. He gives himself to whatever task arrives,

greedy for the work, like one who lusts in the delight of seeing tasks

accomplished. But he is trusted by all, both sides agreeing to rest on

his decisions, all realising that personal feeling is put far into the

background of his mind when the interests of new China are at stake.

We are in the Yamen where I lived as a young girl, but now all is

changed. Instead of the old guard of honour, with their great flapping

hats, their gaily decorated jackets, baggy trousers tucked into velvet

boots, pennants flying from their spear-points as their small ponies

dashed madly in front of the official carriage, we were met by a body

of foreign-dressed soldiers who conducted us with military precision

quite different from the old-time dash and lack of discipline.

Inside the Yamen, also, things are different. Everything is orderly and

moves with a machine-like regularity that seems totally foreign to an

Eastern official's residence. There is not the democracy of other days;

the man from the street, the merchant or the coolie with his burden on

his shoulders, did not follow us into the courtyards to see what was

being done, nor were there crowds of idle men gazing with mild

curiosity at the visitors to their city.

We hear much of the old-time power of the officials; but things are not

nearly so democratic under this new government as in former times,

when, it is true, the governor had power of life and death, but still was

obliged to deal leniently with his people. A little larger demand for

tribute, a case of rank injustice, and he became the object of the

people's wrath and would quite likely see his Yamen in a blaze, or

pay with his life for his greed. The masses held real power within their

hands. If their officials did not deal justly with them, they caused a

riot, and if the frightened official could not still it within a certain time,

he was told that he evidently could not control his people and so was

removed.

My husband inspected the regiments stationed here. I saw them from

a veranda in the Yamen where we women were unseen. Fifteen

thousand men marched past him; and they were a sight for one who

loves his country. They were all young men, no one seeming to be

over twenty-five, and as they marched my heart was filled with pride

and hope in them. I thought, it is of just such men, such sons of

peasants and working people, that Japan made her army that gained

a victory over one of the greatest nations in the Western world. Why

cannot we, with our unlimited numbers, make an army that will cause

our country to be respected and take its place among the powers of

the world? We have the men, myriads and myriads of them; men who

are used to hardship and privation in their daily life, who, on a bowl of

rice, a morsel of dried fish, can fight the whole day through. Our men

are not accustomed to the luxuries of the foreigners, who, even in

times of war, carry great stores of what seems to Eastern nations,

unnecessary baggage. With them their endless string of wagons is

their greatest pitfall, and with us these latter could be reduced to the

smallest count.

Yet we hear on every hand that the courage of the Chinese soldier is

held at low value. But why? When sent unarmed, or with guns for

which there were no bullets, into the Japanese war, against troops

with the latest inventions in weapons to kill, the only thing to be done

was to retreat. But when they are paid, fed, and armed, and have

leaders who will go to the front with them, instead of saying, "There is

the enemy. Charge! I will go back to the hills and await your hour of

glory," they are found to be courageous to the verge of fanaticism.

Under trusted leaders there is no forlorn hope or desperate service for

which they would not volunteer. Let them have confidence in their new

generals, and, even though not understanding the cause, they will

make the best soldiers in the world.

But I must not talk to thee of war; we want not more bloodshed and

the fatherless homes and lean years that follow in the track of great

armies. Yet, if we cannot be without it, let it serve war's ends-- the

ultimate safety of our people, and bring them peace and tranquillity,

their heart's desire.

I visited the ruined homes of friends of mine, who are no more. It made

me feel that life is nothing but a mirage, a phantom, or as foam, and

"even as all earthly vessels made on the potter's wheel must end by

being broken, so end the lives of men." I went out to the home of

Yuan Tai-tai, who, to my childish mind was the great lady of my

dreams. I can close my eyes and see her still, like a brilliant

butter-fly, dressed in her gay brocades, her hair twined with jewels of

pearl and jade; with hand in mine she wandered o'er her garden,

bending over goldfish ponds, or clipping fading flowers from off their

stems. There reigned a heavy silence in her palace, with its

memories, that seemed full of sadness and a vague regret, reminding

me of an old blue China bowl which a hand of other days had filled

with roses. The flowers trying to struggle from beneath the thorns and

brambles that always come where troops are quartered, seemed to

say, "Behold, they are not here who once have cared for us and

cherished us, but the gardens breathe of them and we are fragrant for

their sakes." I picked a branch of cherry-blossoms, and swiftly fell the

perfumed petals to the ground-- symbols of the dainty lives that

bloomed so short a time in this fair garden of my lady. Liu Che, the

poet of the olden time, seems to have been speaking of this, my

friend, when he says:

[Illustration: Mylady22.]

"The sound of rustling silk is stilled,

With dust the marble courtyard filled;

No footfalls echo on the floor,

Fallen leaves in heaps block up the door...

For she, my pride, my lovely one is lost."

We went from Yuan's palace to the Temple of Kwan-yin, which I often

visited as a child. It also was a ruin, but it spoke to me of the dead

thousands of weary feet that had climbed the steps leading to its

shrines; of the buried mothers who touched the floor before its altars

with reverent heads and asked blessings on their children's lives; of

their children, taught to murmur prayers to the Mother of all Mercies,

who held close within her loving heart the sorrows, hopes, and fears of

woman's world. Ghosts of these spirits seemed to follow as we

wandered through deserted courtyards, and an odour as of old

incense perfumed the air. I went out and stood upon the tortoise that

is left to guard the ruined temple; the great stone tortoise that is the

symbol of longevity of our country, that even armies in their wrath

cannot destroy.

From the gateway we could see the river, a gleaming thread of silver,

and the hillsides, tree clad, flower wreathed, painted with the colours

that the Gods give to the spring-- the spring that "thrills the warm

blood into wine." But I miss the natural songs that should float upward

from the valley, and down the reed-strewn banks of the canals, where

labourers in olden days were happy in their toil.

[Illustration: Mylady23.]

Even as we left the place the pattering rain-drops came as rice grains

falling upon the threshing-floor, and the hills seemed "folding veils of

sorrow round their brows." It was brought to our remembrance that we

must return to a city where war and famine may come thundering at

her gates, and we must stand with helpless hands.

Dear Mother mine, stay upon thy flower-scented balustrade, and drink

great draughts of that wine of spring, the vintage of the wise, that the

Gods give to thee freely in thy mountain home, and leave to younger

hands the battles with the world. Thou must not come; write no more

that thou wouldst be amongst us. We love thee dearly, but we would

cherish thee and keep thee from all care.

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

I have had a most interesting day, and I hasten to tell thee all about it.

I have just returned from opening a home for motherless children,

given by a mission of a foreign land. It is a beautiful thought, and a

kindly one, to give a home to these poor waifs of an alien land, all in

the name of their Saviour of the World. I saw for the first time a picture

of this Christ, with little children around Him. The message I read

within His eyes seemed to be: "I will be father and mother, father and

mother and playmate to all little children." The words of the Japanese

poet describe Him: "He was caressing them kindly, folding His

shining robes round them; lifting the smallest and frailest into His

bosom, and holding His staff for the tumblers to clutch. To His long

gown clung the infants, smiling in response to His smile, glad in His

beauteous compassion."

I looked at the picture and at the people around me on the platform,

and wondered why in all the Christian world that claims this loving

Master there should be such exceeding bitterness between His

followers. How can they expect us to believe in this great Teacher

when they themselves are doubtful of his message, and criticise quite

openly their Holy Book? If it is true, should education and science

make its teaching less authentic? We do not want a religion that is

uncertain to its own people, yet we take with many thanks what it can

give us, the things we understand, such as their schools and

hospitals. Where there is pain or ignorance, there is no distinction in

the God that brings relief. We may not believe in the doctrines that we

are taught in the waiting-rooms of their hospitals, but we do believe in

the healing power of the medicines that are brought by religious zeal

from over the seas.

If their teaching has not as yet made many converts, the effect has

been great in the spread of higher ideals of education, and much of

the credit for the progress of our modern life must be given to the

mission schools, which, directly or indirectly, have opened new

pathways in the field of education for our country, and caused the

youth of China to demand a higher learning throughout the land. This

aggressive religion from the West, coupled with the education that

seems to go hand in hand with it, is bound to raise the religious plane

of China by forcing our dying faiths to reassume higher and higher

forms in order to survive.

But I believe that these teachers from the foreign lands should

understand better the religions they are so anxious to displace, and

instead of always looking for the point of difference or weakness in our

faith, should search more anxiously for the common ground, the spark

of the true light that may still be blown to flame, finding the altar that

may be dedicated afresh to the true God.

Every religion, however imperfect, has something that ought to be held

sacred, for there is in all religions a secret yearning after the unknown

God. This thought of God "is an elixir made to destroy death in the

world, an unfailing treasure to relieve the poverty of mankind, a balm

to allay his sickness, a tree under which may rest all creatures

wearied with wanderings over life's pathways. It is a bridge for passing

over hard ways, open to all wayfarers, a moon of thought arising to

cool the fever of the world's sin, and whatever name His followers may

call Him, he is the one True God of all mankind."

Whether we see the coolie bowing his head before the image of the

Lord of Light, the Buddha, or the peasant woman with her paper

money alight in the brazier at the feet of Kwan-yin, we ought to feel

that the place where he who worships stands, is holy ground. We

hear it said that he is worshipping an image, an idol, a thing of stone

or wood or clay. It is not so; he is thinking far beyond the statue, he is

seeing God. He looks upwards towards the sky and asks what

supports that cup of blue. He hears the winds and asks them whence

they come and where they go. He rises for his toil at break of day and

sees the morning sun start on his golden journey. And Him who is the

cause of all these wonders, he calls his Life, his Breath, his Lord of

All. He does not believe that the idol is his God. "'Tis to the light

which Thy splendour lends to the idol's face, that the worshipper

bends."

[Illustration: Mylady24.]

The difference between us all lies not in the real teaching of our Holy

Men, Confucius, Buddha, Lao Tze, or Christ, but in the narrowness of

the structure which their followers have built upon their words. Those

sages reared a broad foundation on which might have been built,

stone by stone, a mighty pagoda reaching to the skies. There could

have been separate rooms, but no closed doors, and from out the

pointed roofs might have pealed the deep-toned bells caught by every

wandering breeze to tell the world that here spoke the Truth or the

One Great God. But, instead, what have they done? The followers

have each built separately over that portion which was the work of

their own Master. The stories have grown narrower and narrower with

the years; each bell rings out with its own peculiar tone, and there is

no accord or harmony.

I do not dispute with those who have found a healing for themselves.

To us our religion is something quite inseparable from ourselves,

something that cannot be compared with anything else, or replaced

ith anything else. It is like our bodies. In its form it may be like other

bodies, but in its relation to ourselves it stands alone and admits of no

rival; yet the remedy that has cured us should not be forced upon a

people, irrespective of their place, their environment or their

temperament.

We of the East "have sounded depth on depth only to find still deeper

depths unfathomed and profound," and we have learned to say that no

sect or religion can claim to be in possession of all the Truth. Let the

teachers from other countries learn of our doctrines. Let them learn of

Buddha. To one who reads his pure teaching, nothing so beautiful,

nothing so high, has been heard in all the world. We admit that, little

by little, changes have come, simplicity has been lost, and with every

addition something departed from its purity and it became stained.

Yet I believe that much of the kindliness, much of the gentleness now

so marked in Chinese nature, may be traced to the teaching of this

great apostle of peace and quietude.

That other great religion, the religion of the Way, has become steeped

in superstition and has been made a reproach in all our land. Yet Lao

Tze had noble sentiments and lofty thoughts that have helped

generations of mankind in many struggles.

Confucius, it is said, presented high ideals without the breath of spirit;

his system was for the head and did not feed the heart; yet he taught

that, from the highest in the land to the lowest worker in the field,

personal virtue, cleanness of heart and hands, is to be held the thing

of greatest value. Men are urged to cherish all that is of good in them,

to avoid evil living, to cultivate right feeling, and to be true and faithful

to their tasks.

We should not value the teaching of our religion "as a miser values his

pearls and jade, thinking their value lessened if pearls and jade are

found in other parts of the world." But the searcher after Truth will

welcome any true doctrine, and believe it no less precious because it

was spoken by Buddha, Lao Tze, Confucius or Christ. We should not

peer too closely to learn what the temple may enshrine, but "feel the

influence of things Divine and pray, because by winding paths we all

may reach the same great Ocean's shore." We all are searchers for

the Way. Whence do I come; where do I go? In this passage from the

unknown to the unknown, this pilgrimage of life, which is the straight

path, which the true road-- if indeed there be a Way? Such are the

questions that all the world is asking. What is the true answer; where

may we find it? Whose holy book holds the key that will open wide

the door?

All have a hunger of the soul for something beside life's meat and

drink; all want a remedy for the sorrows of the world. The Buddhists

believe that it can be found in the destruction of desire, by renouncing

the world and following the noble path of peace until death shall open

the portals of the unknowable, everlasting stillness from which there is

no return. The Confucianists say the remedy is found within the world

by fulfilling all its duties and leaving to a greater Justice the future and

its rewards. The Christians give a whispered message of hope to the

lonely soul beating against the bars of the world about him, and say

that a life of love and joy and peace is the gift of their great

Messenger, and when the years have passed that He stands within

an archway to welcome those, His chosen, to a land of bliss where

we shall meet all who have loved us and whom we have loved in life,

and gaze upon His face.

Which is the Way, which path to God is broad enough for all the

world?

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

I received thy letter which was full of reproaches most unjust. I have

not broken my word, given to thee so long ago. I opened the home for

friendless children, not because it belonged to a mission of a foreign

religion, but because I think it a most worthy cause. There are many

homeless little ones in this great city, and these people give them

food and clothing and loving care, and because it is given in the name

of a God not found within our temples, is that a reason for withholding

our encouragement?

Thou hast made my heart most heavy. Twenty-five years ago, when

my first-born son was taken from me, I turned from Gods who gave no

comfort in my time of need: all alone with hungry winds of bitterness

gnawing the lute strings of my desolate mother-heart, I stood upon my

terrace, and fought despair. My days were without hope and my

nights were long hours filled with sorrow, when sleep went trailing

softly by and left me to the old dull pain of memory. I called in anguish

upon Kwan-yin, and she did not hear my prayer. The painted smile

upon her lips but mocked me, and in despair I said, "There are no

Gods," and in my lonely court of silent dreams I lost the thread of

worldly care until my tiny bark of life was nearly drifting out upon the

unknown sea.

Thou rememberest that the servants brought to me from out the

market-place the book of the foreign God, and in its pages I woke to

life again. I looked once more from out my curtained window, and saw

the rosy glow of dawn instead of grey, wan twilights of the hopeless

days before me; and, as on a bridge half seen in shadows dim, I

returned to the living world about me. Thou saidst nothing until it had

brought its healing, then thou tookest the book and kept it from me.

Thou toldst me with tears that it would bring thine head in sorrow to

thy resting-place upon the hillside if I left the Gods of my ancestors

and took unto my heart the words and teachings of the God of an

alien race. I promised thee that I would not cause thee grief, and I

have kept my word.

In my ignorance I have longed for knowledge, for some one to explain

the teaching that rolled away for me the rush of troubled waters that

flooded all my soul; but as I looked about me and saw the many

warring factions that follow the great Teacher of love and peace, I did

not know which way to turn, which had the truth to give me; and I

wanted all, not part. I have this book, and have not sought for wisdom

from outside, but only search its pages to find its messages to me.

Thou must not say I have deserted China's Gods, nor is it just to write

that my children are wandering from the Way. I have observed the

feasts and fastings; each morn the Household God has rice and tea

before him; the Kitchen God has gone with celebrations at springtime

to the spirit up above. The candles have been lighted and the smoke

of incense has ascended to propitiate the God of Light, Lord Buddha,

and Kwan-yin, and my children have been taught their prayers and

holy precepts. It is not my fault, nor shouldst thou blame it to my

teaching if rites and symbols have lost their meaning, and if the Gods

of China are no longer strong enough to hold our young.

Oh, Mother mine, thou knowest I would not cause thee sorrow, and

thou hast hurt me sorely with thy letter of bitterness and reproach. If

thou couldst have seen within my heart these many ears, and known

the longing for this light that came to me in darkness, then thou

wouldst not have burned the book that brought me hope and life again

when all seemed gone.

Thou askest me to promise thee anew that I will not trouble thy last

few years with thoughts that seem to thee a sacrilege and a

desecration of thy Gods. Thou art the mother of my husband, and 'tis

to thee I owe all loyalty and obedience. I promise thee, but-- that

which is deep within my heart-- is mine.

Thy daughter,

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

I, thy son's wife, have been guilty of the sin of anger, one of the seven

deadly sins-- and great indeed has been my anger. Ting-fang has

been bringing home with him lately the son of Wong Kai-kia, a young

man who has been educated abroad, I think in Germany. I have never

liked him, have looked upon his aping of the foreign manners, his

half-long hair which looks as if he had started again a queue and then

stopped, his stream of words without beginning and without end, as a

foolish boy's small vanities that would pass as the years and wisdom

came. But now-- how can I tell thee-- he asks to have my daughter as

his wife, my Luh-meh, my flower. If he had asked for Man-li, who

wishes to become a doctor, I might have restrained my anger; but, no,

he wants the beauty of our house-hold, and for full a space of ten

breaths' breathing-time, I withheld my indignation, for I was

speechless. Then I fear I talked, and only stopped for lack of words.

My son is most indignant, and says I have insulted his dear friend.

His dear friend indeed! He is so veiled in self-conceit that he can be

insulted by no one; and as for being a friend, he does not know the

word unless he sees in it something to further his own particular

interests.

I told my son that he is a man who leads a life of idleness and worse.

The tea-house knows him better than his rooftree. He is most learned

and has passed safely many examinations, and writes letters at the

end of his name, and has made an especial study of the philosophers

of the present time; and because of this vast amount of book learning

and his supposedly great intelligence he is entitled to indulgence,

says my son, and should not be judged by the standards that rule

ordinary people, who live upon a lower plane. I say that his knowledge

and greater intelligence (which latter I very much doubt) increase his

responsibilities and should make of him an example for the better

living of men.

[Illustration: Mylady25.]

A clever bad man is like vile characters scrawled in ink of gold, and

should be thrown aside as fit only for the braziers.

He is handsome in my daughter's eyes; but I say virtue is within the

man, not upon his skin. He fascinates my younger sons with his

philosophy and his tea-house oratory. I do not like philosophy, it is all

marked with the stamp of infidelity and irreligion. It is rarely that a

man devotes himself to it with-out robbing himself of his faith, and

casting off the restraints of his religion; or, if they do not lose it utterly,

they so adulterate it with their philosophy that it is impossible to

separate the false from the true. The reading of philosophic writings,

so full of vain and delusive reasonings, should be forbidden to our

young folk, just as the slippery banks of a river are forbidden to one

who knows not how to swim. I will have none of them in our library,

nor will I allow their father to read them where his sons can see him.

The snake-charmer should not touch the serpents before his child's

eyes, knowing that the child will try to imitate him in all things.

It is "as pouring water in a frog's face" to talk to these, my children,

who think a man, with words upon his lips, a sage. I say a dog is not

a good dog because he is a good barker, nor should a man be

considered a good man because he is a good talker; but I see only

pity in their faces that their mother is so far behind the times. These

boys of ours are so much attracted by the glimpses they have had of

European civilisation, that they look down upon their own nationality.

They have been abroad only long enough to take on the veneer of

Western education; it is a half-and-half knowledge; and it is these

young men who become the discontented ones of China. When they

return they do not find employment immediately, since they have

grown out of touch with their country and their country's customs.

They feel that they should begin at the top of the ladder, instead of

working up slowly, rung by rung, as their fathers did before them.

They must be masters all at once, not realising that, even with their

tiny grains of foreign knowledge, they have not yet experience to

make them leaders of great enterprises or of men; yet they know too

much to think of going back into their father's shop.

I realise that the students who go abroad from China have many

difficulties to overcome. It is hard to receive their information and

instruction in a language not their mother tongue. They have small

chance to finish their education by practical work in bank or shop or

factory. They get a mass of book knowledge and little opportunity to

practise the theories which they learn, and they do not understand

that the text-book knowledge is nearly all foreign to their country and

to the temperament of their race. I often ask, when looking at my son,

what is his gain? I presume it is in securing a newer, broader point of

view, an ability to adjust himself to modern conditions, and a wider

sympathy with the movements of the world.

China has for centuries been lost to the world by reason of her great

exclusion, her self-satisfaction and blind reliance upon the ways

marked out for her by sages of other days. These young men, with

the West in their eyes, are coming back to shock their fathers' land

into new channels. The process may not be pleasant for us of the old

school, but quite likely it is necessary. Yet, I feel deep within me, as I

look at them, that these new Westernised Easterners with their

foreign ways and clever English are not to be the final saviours of

China. They are but the clarion voices that are helping to awake the

slumbering power. China must depend upon the firmer qualities of the

common people, touched with the breath of the West.

It is with great sorrow that we mothers and fathers see our boys and

girls, especially those who return from abroad, neglecting and scoffing

at our modes of education that have endured and done such noble

work for centuries past. I know it is necessary to study things modern

to keep up with the demands of the times; but they can do this and

still reserve some hours for the reading of the classics. Instead of

always quoting Byron, Burns, or Shelley, as do my son and daughter,

let them repeat the beautiful words of Tu Fu, Li Po, Po Chu-i, our

poets of the golden age.

In no country is real learning held in higher esteem than in China. It is

the greatest characteristic of the nation that, in every grade of society,

education is considered above all else. Why, then, should our young

people be ashamed of their country's learning? The Chinese have

devoted themselves to the cultivation of literature for a longer period by

some thousands of years than any existing nation. The people who

lived at the time of our ancestors, the peoples of Egypt, the Greeks,

the Romans, have disappeared ages ago and have left only their

histories writ in book or stone. The Chinese alone have continued to

give to the world their treasures of thought these five thousand years.

To literature and to it alone they look for the rule to guide them in their

conduct. To them all writing is most sacred. The very pens and

papers used in the making of their books have become objects of

veneration. Even our smallest village is provided with a scrap-box into

which every bit of paper containing words or printed matter is carefully

placed, to await a suitable occasion when it may be reverently

burned.

Change is now the order of the day, educationally as well as

politically. We do not hear the children shouting their tasks at the top

of their voices, nor do they learn by heart the thirteen classics, sitting

on their hard benches within the simple rooms with earthen floor,

where the faint light comes straggling through the unglazed windows

on the boy who hopes to gain the prize that will lead him to the great

Halls of Examination at Peking. If, while there, he is favoured by the

God of Learning and passes the examination, he will come back to

his village an honour to his province, and all his world will come and

do him reverence, from the viceroy in his official chair to the meanest

worker in the fields. These old-time examinations are gone, the

degrees which were our pride have been abolished, the subjects of

study in the schools have been completely changed. The privileges

which were once given our scholars, the social and political offices

which were once open to the winner of the highest prize, have been

thrown upon the altar of modernity. They say it is a most wise move

and leads to the greater individualism, which is now the battle-cry of

China. The fault of the old examination, we are told, is the lack of

original ideas which might be expressed by a student. He must give

the usual interpretations of the classics. Now the introduction of free

thought and private opinion has produced in China an upheaval in

men's minds. The new scholars may say what they think wisest, and

they even try to show that Confucius was at heart a staunch

republican, and that Mencius only thinly veiled his sentiments of

modern philosophy.

Perhaps the memory work of the Chinese education was wrong; but it

served its purpose once, if tales are true.

It is said that many hundreds of years ago, the founder of the Chinese

dynasty, the man of pride who styled himself Emperor the First,

conceived the idea of destroying all literature which was before his

reign, so that he might be regarded by posterity as the founder of the

Chinese Empire. It is believed by many Chinese scholars that this

wicked thing was done, and that not a single perfect copy of any book

escaped destruction. He even went so far as to bury alive above five

hundred of the best scholars of the land, that none might remain to

write of his cruel deed. But the classics had been too well learned by

the scholars, and were reproduced from memory to help form the

minds of China for many tens of years. This could be done to-day if a

similar tragedy were enacted. Thousands of boys have committed the

great books to heart, and this storing in the mind of enormous books

has developed in our race a marvellous memory, if, as others say, it

has taken away their power of thinking for themselves.

Which is the best? Only time will tell. But we are told that the literati

of China, the aristocracy of our land, must go. Yet, as of old, it is the

educated men who will move China. Without them, nothing can be

done, for the masses will respect education and the myriads will

blindly follow a leader whom they feel to be a true scholar; and it will

be hard to change the habits of a people who have been taught for

centuries that education is another word for officialdom.

This new education, in my mind, must not be made so general; it

must be made more personal. Three things should be taken into

account: who the boy is, where he is, and where he is going. It is not

meet to educate the son of my gate-keeper the same as my son. He

should be made a good workman, the best of his kind, better to fill the

place to which the Gods have called him. Give our boys the modern

education, if we must, but remember and respect the life work each

may have to follow. Another thing we should remember: the progress

in the boy's worldly knowledge should not make him hard in his revolt

against his Gods, nor should his intelligence be freed without teaching

him self-control. That is fatal for our Eastern race. Let him learn, in his

books and in his laboratories, that he moulds his destiny by his acts

in later life, and thus gain true education, the education of the soul as

well as of the mind.

I have written thee a sermon, but it is a subject on which we mothers

are thinking much. It is before us daily, brought to our courtyards by

our sons and daughters, and we see the good and the evil of trying to

reach at a single bound the place at which other nations have at last

arrived after centuries of weary climbing.

I must go to the women's quarters and stop their chattering. Oh,

Mother mine, why didst thou send to me that priest of thine?

[Illustration: Mylady26.]

Kwei-li.

Dear Mother,

I must introduce thee to thy new daughter-in-law. Yes, I can see thee

start. I will tell thee quickly. Thy son hath not taken to himself another

wife, but it is I, Kwei-li, who should be made known to thee anew.

Kwei-li, the wife of the Governor of Kiang-si, who has become so

foreignised that the mother of her husband would never know her. If

things keep on the path they have gone for these last few moons, I

fully expect thou wilt see me with that band of women who are making

such a great outcry for their rights and freedom. I cannot even explain

them to thee, as thou wouldst not understand.

My last adventure in the ways or the modern woman is in relation to

the courtship of my son. Tang-si, my second son, is in love; and I, his

mother, am aiding and abetting him, and allowing him to see his

sweet-heart in the foreign way. I know thou wilt blush when thou

readest this; but I have been in the hands of the Gods and allowed not

to speak of "custom," or propriety, and when I have tried to reason

with my son and talk to him in regard to what is seemly, he laughs at

me and calls me pet names, and rubs my hair the wrong way and

says I am his little mother. I knew that astounding fact long years

ago, and still I say that is no reason why I should go against all

customs and traditions of my race.

I told him I was taught that men and women should not sit together in

the same room, nor keep their wearing apparel in the same place, nor

even cleanse them in the same utensils. They should not look upon

each other, or hand a thing directly from man to woman hand. I was

taught that it was seemly and showed a maidenly reserve to observe

a certain distance in my relations even with my husband or my

brothers, but I have found that the influence of reason upon love is like

that of a raindrop upon the ocean, "one little mark upon the water's

face and then it disappears."

Now I will tell thee all about it. Tang-si came to me one day, and after

speaking of many things of no importance, he finally said, "Mother,

wilt thou ask Kah-li, Wu Tai-tai's daughter, here to tea?" I said, "Why,

is she a friend of thy sister's?" He said, while looking down upon the

floor, "I do not know, but-- but-- she is a special friend of mine." I

looked at him in amazement. "Thou hast seen her?" "Yes, many

times. I want thee to ask her to the house, where we may have a

chance to talk." I sat back in my chair and looked at him, and said

within myself, "Was ever mother blessed with such children; what

may I next expect?" He gave me a quick look, and came over and

took my hand in his, and said, "Now, Mother, do not get excited, and

don't look as if the Heavens were going to fall. I-- well-- thou makest it

hard to tell thee, but I want to marry Kah-li, and I would like a chance

of seeing her as the foreign men see their wives before they marry

them." I said, quite calmly for me, "Thou meanest thou art choosing

thy wife instead of allowing thy father and mother to choose her?" He

said, "Why, yes; I have to live with her and I ought to choose her." I

said nothing-- what is the use? I have learned that my men-folk have

strong minds, which they certainly must have inherited from thine

honourable family. I said that first I would speak to her mother, and if

she approved of her daughter's seeing my son in this most

unbecoming manner, I would do whatsoever he wished in the matter. I

could not wait, but went at once to the house of Wu Tai-tai. We

discussed the matter over many cups of tea, and we saw that we are

but clouds driven by the winds and we must obey.

She has been here for tea, and I am charmed with her. She is as

pretty as a jewel of pure jade; I do not blame my son. She has

laughter in her dancing eyes and seems as if she would sing her life

away from year to year and see life always through the golden gleam

of happy days. She is respectful and modest, and now I feel she is

one of the family and I ask her to join us in all our feastings. She

came to the feast when we burned the Kitchen God, and joined with

us in prayers as he ascended to the great Spirit to tell him of our

actions in the past year. I am afraid our young people do not believe

o'ermuch in this small God of the Household, who sits so quietly upon

his shelf above the kitchen stove for twelve long months, watching all

that goes on within the home, then gives his message for good or ill to

Him above; but they are too respectful to say ought against it-- in my

hearing. They must respect the old Gods until they find something

better to take their place.

I do not know but that my son is right in this question of his courtship.

It is pretty to see them as they wander through the gardens, while we

mothers sit upon the balconies and gossip. Their love seems to be as

pure as spotless rice and "so long as colour is colour and life is life

will the youth with his sublime folly wait for the meeting of his loved

one." What matter if the winter days will come to them or if "the snow

is always sure to blot out the garden--" to-day is spring, and love is

love and youth is happy.

Thy shameless daughter,

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

Thy gifts which came by the hand of Tuang-fang are most welcome.

We have already drunk of the sun-dried tea, and it brings to thought

the sight of the long, laden trays of the fragrant leaves as they lie in

the sun on the mountain-side. The rose wine we will use on occasions

of special rejoicing; and I thank thee again for the garments which will

bring comfort to so many in the coming days of cold. I was glad to

see Tuang-fang, and sorry to hear that he, with his brother, are going

so far away from home in search of labour. Is there not work enough

for our men in the province without going to that land of heat and

sickness?

Our people go far in their passion for labour; in search of it they cross

land and sea. They are the workers of the world, who sell their labour

for a price; and it is only strong men with great self-dependence who

are capable of taking a road that is likely never to join again those

who speak their language and worship their Gods. What is it that has

given these men this marvellous adaptability to all conditions, however

hard they may seem? They can live and work in any climate, they are

at home in the sandy wastes of our great deserts or in the swamps of

the southern countries. They bear the biting cold of northern lands as

readily as they labour under the burning sun of Singapore and Java.

The more I come out from the courtyard and see our people, the more

I admire them; I see the things that are so often lost sight of by those

of other lands who seek to study them. They are a philosophical race

and bear the most dreadful losses and calamities with wonderful

bravery. Nothing daunts them. Behold the family of Tuang-fang: they

saw their home ruined at time of flood and began again on the morrow

to build on the remaining foundations. They saw their fields burned up

by drouth, and took their winter clothing to the pawn-shop to get

money to buy seed for the coming spring. They did not complain so

long as they could get sufficient food to feed their bodies and the

coarse blue cloth with which to clothe them, and when these failed

they sent their three strong sons, the best of the family, to the rubber

plantations of the South.

[Illustration: Mylady27.]

We hear so much in the papers here of the "Yellow Peril." If there is a

Yellow Peril, it lies in the fact that our men are ready to labour

unceasingly for a wage on which most Europeans would starve, and

on that pittance they manage to save and become rich and

prosperous. They have gone into other lands wherever they have found

an opening, and some of the southern countries, like Singapore and

the Philippines, owe much of their commercial progress to our people.

They are honest and industrious, and until the foreigner began to feel

the pinch of competition, until he found that he must work all day and

not sleep the hours away if he would be in the race with the man from

the Eastern land, he had nothing to say about the character of the

man from China. But so soon as he felt the pressure of want because

of his sloth, he began to find that the "yellow man" was vicious, and

soon his depravity became a by-word. The Chinese were abused

because of their virtues rather than their vices, for things for which all

other nations are applauded-- love of work and economy. It is the

industry of our people that offends, because it competes with the

half-done work of the white man, who dissipates his time and money.

The men from this land have learned their ways of work at home,

where the struggle for existence is hard. Sunrise sees the carpenter

and the smith, the shoemaker and the beater of cotton at their labour,

and the mid-night cry of the watchman often finds them patiently

earning the rice for the morrow's meal. And they have not learned to

disobey when told to go to work. There are no strikes as in the foreign

countries. Our workmen are obedient, although it is said that they

lack in leadership, that nothing is originated within themselves; but

they can be taught, and all who employ Chinese labour testify to their

ability to follow a good master.

I think, from hearing the gossip from thy son's courtyard, that when

China is again peaceful, there will be more chance for the men within

her borders, who can then stay beside their fires and earn their food.

Our land is a land of fertile soil, of rich minerals, and great rivers. It is

said that there are millions and millions of acres on which food or

other products can be grown, and that a great part of China may be

made one vast garden. The German scientist who is trying to get a

coal mine concession from the government told my husband that

there were tens of millions of tons of coal of the best quality in China,

and that the single province of Shansi could supply the entire world for

a thousand years. No wonder the Germans are looking with longing

eyes on China! But we want these riches and this labour for our

people. If it is worth the time of men of other countries to come to this

far-off land in search of what lies beneath our soil, it is worth our while

to guard it and keep it for our own.

We hear news of battles and of secret plottings, and I am worried

about my son, who is in Canton, the province that seems to be the

centre of rebellion and the breeding-place of plots and treachery. I

wonder what will be the outcome of it all; if after all this turmoil and

bloodshed China will really become a different nation? It is hard to

change the habits of a nation, and I think that China will not be

changed by this convulsion. The real Chinese will be the same

passive, quiet, slow-thinking and slow-moving toiler, not knowing or

caring whether his country is a republic or whether he is ruled by the

Son of Heaven. He will be a stable, peaceable, law-abiding citizen or

subject, with respect for his officials so long as they are not too

oppressive; not asking whether the man who rules him is called a

governor or a futai, so long as work is plentiful and rice is cheap.

These patient, plodding men of China have held together for countless

thousands of years, and I am sure that their strength is derived from

qualities capable of bearing great strain; and our government, even the

government which we are trying so hard to overturn and mould on

Western lines, must have suited the country and the people, because

nothing ever persists generation after generation, century after

century, without being suited to its environment and more or less

adapted to the changes which time always brings.

Confucius said, "When I was on a mission to Ch'u State, I saw a litter

of young pigs nestling close to their dead mother. After a while they

looked at her, then all left the dead body and went off. For their

mother did not look at them any more, nor did she seem any more to

be of their kind. What they loved was their mother: not the body which

contained her, but that which made the body what it was."

That is the way with our country. She may leave the dead forms of her

old government, perhaps it will be her misfortune to leave her religion,

but the spirit of her government and the spirit of her religion she will

always love.

But I must not gossip more with thee over my dearly loved country

and her people. I know I talk to thee o'ermuch of politics and the

greedy eyes of foreigners which are fixed upon our land, but one

cannot live in Shanghai, even behind the women's archway, without

hearing, night and day, the things that move this, our world, so

strongly. Even my small children play at war, shoot their rebels, build

their fortresses and drive the foreigners from off their piles of sand.

I cry to thee, my Mother, because a heart must speak its bitterness,

and here our lips are sealed to all. I dare not even tell thy son, my

husband, all that passes in my mind as I look from out my window at

this fighting, struggling, maddened world that surges round me. We

are more than troubled about our son.

Thy daughter,

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

I send to thee some silken wadding for the lining of thy coat, also a

piece of sable to make a scarf for Su-su, and a box of clothing for her

new-born son. The children each have written her a letter, and the

candles have been lighted before Kwan-yin, to show our joy.

We have a guest, old General Wang, who is on his way to visit with

my father. He is of the old, old China, and wags his head most

dolefully over the troubles of his country, and says a republic never

will succeed. My husband was bewailing the fact of the empty

strong-box, and Wang said, "Why don't you do what I did when I was

in command of the troops? When money was scarce, I simply

stopped a dollar a month from each man's pay, and, lo, there was the

money." He was quite shameless in regard to the old-time "squeeze"

and said it was necessary. When he was general he received the

salary of an ill-paid servant and was expected to keep up the state of

a small king. But there were many ways to fill the empty pockets.

When a high official was sent to inspect his troops, men were

compelled to come from the fields, the coolies to lay down their

burdens, the beggar to leave his begging-bowl, and all to stand

straight as soldiers with guns within their hands. But when the officer

was gone each went his way with a small present in his hand and did

not appear again until the frightened official was compelled to sweep

the highways and byways to find men enough to agree with lists paid

by the government.

But those times are past, and these old-time officials find it safer to

retire to homes within their provinces.

He told us of Chung-tai, who was Taotai of our city at one time. Dost

thou remember him? He made many millions in the exportation of rice

at time of famine. He was asked to go to Peking, and promised a high

position. He sent as answer the story of Chung Tzu the philosopher,

who was fishing in the Piu when the Prince of Ch'u sent high officials

to ask him to take charge of the State. Chung went on fishing and

without turning his head said: "I have heard that in Ch'u there is a

sacred tortoise which has been dead now some three thousand

years, and that the Prince keeps this tortoise carefully enclosed in a

chest on the altar of the sacred temple. Now would this tortoise rather

be dead and have its remains venerated, or be alive and wagging its

tail in the mud?" "It would rather be alive and wagging its tail in the

mud," said the officials. "Begone" said Chung. "The tortoise is a

symbol of longevity and great wisdom. It would not befit me to aspire

to greater wisdom than the tortoise. I, too, prefer the mud."

Chung spoke bravely in sending this reply to Peking; but no sooner

was it sent than he gathered his family and his sycee and departed

for Shanghai, where he feels more sure of the protection of the foreign

settlements than he does of the kindly intentions of His Excellency

Yuan toward his dollars.

The children have come home and are clamouring for their supper.

They are growing rougher and noisier each day, and, I fear, are

spending far too many hours in the servants' courtyard, where they

hear of things not seemly for young ears. Canst thou send me

Wong-si for a few months? She might be able to keep some order in

my household, although I doubt a person of a nature not divine being

able to still the many tongues I have now about me.

We send thee love, and greetings to thy new-born great-grandson.

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

I have been in the country with my friend Ang Ti-ti. It was the time of

pilgrimage to the graves of her family at the temple near Wu-seh. My

household gave me many worries, and my husband said it was a time

of rest for me, so we took a boat, with only a few servants, as I am

tired of chattering women, and spent three long happy days amongst

the hills. We sat upon the deck as the boat was slowly drawn along

the canal, and watched the valley that autumn now is covering with

her colours rare. All the green of the fields is changed. All the gay

foliage of the trees upon the hillsides will soon be dead and crumbling.

These withered leaves that once waved gaily in the air are lying now in

clustered heaps, or fluttering softly to the ground like dull, brown

butterflies who are tired with flight. The only touch of colour is on the

maple-trees, which still cling with jealous hands to coverings of red

and gold. The autumn winds wailed sadly around our cabin windows,

and every gust brought desolation to tree and shrub and waving grass.

Far away the setting sun turned golden trees to flame, and now and

then on the sluggish waters of the canal would drift in lonely splendour

a shining leaf that autumn winds had touched and made into a thing of

more than beauty.

[Illustration: Mylady28.]

We anchored the first night by a marshy bank girdled with tall yellow

reeds and dwarf bamboo, and from our quiet cabin listened to the

rainy gusts that swept the valley. Out of the inky clouds the lightning

flashed and lighted up each branch and stem and swaying leaf,

revealing to our half-blinded eyes the rain-swept valley; then darkness

came with her thick mantle and covered all again.

[Illustration: Mylady29.]

We discussed the past, the present, and the future; and then, as

always when mothers meet, the talk would turn to children. How we

are moved by our children! We are like unto the Goddess of the

Pine-tree. She came out from her rugged covering and bore a

man-child for her husband's house, and then one day the overlord of

all that land sent to cut down the pine-tree, that its great trunk might

form the rooftree of his temple. At the first blow of the axe the soul

glided back into its hiding-place, and the woman was no more. And

when it fell, three hundred men could not move it from its place of

falling; but her baby came and, putting out his hand, said, "Come,"

and it followed him quite quietly, gliding to the very doorway of the

temple. So do our children lead us with their hands of love.

On the second day we went to the temple to offer incense at the

family shrine of Ang Ti-ti. We Chinese ladies love these pilgrimages to

these shrines of our ancestors, and it is we who keep up the family

worship. We believe that it is from the past that we must learn, and

"the past is a pathway which spirits have trodden and made

luminous." It is true, as Lafcadio Hearn has written, "We should be

haunted by the dead men and women of our race, the ancestors that

count in the making of our souls and have their silent say in every

action, thought and impulse of our life. Are not our ancestors in very

truth our souls? Is not every action the work of the dead who dwell

within us? Have not our impulses and our tendencies, our capacities

and our weaknesses, our heroisms and our fears, been created by

those vanished myriads from whom we received that all-mysterious

gift of life? Should we think of that thing which is in each of us and

which we call 'I' should it be 'I' or 'they'? What is our pride or shame

but the pride or shame of the unseen in that which they have made?

And what is our conscience but the inherited sum of countless dead

experiences with all things good and evil?"

"In this worship that we give the dead they are made divine. And the

thought of this tender reverence will temper with consolation the

melancholy that comes with age to all of us. Never in our China are

the dead too quickly forgotten; by simple faith they are still thought to

dwell among their beloved, and their place within the home remains

holy. When we pass to the land of shadows we know that loving lips

will nightly murmur our names before the family shrine, that our faithful

ones will beseech us in their pain and bless us in their joy. We will

not be left alone upon the hillsides, but loving hands will place before

our tablet the fruits and flowers and dainty food that we were wont to

like, and will pour for us the fragrant cups of tea or amber rice-wine."

"Strange changes are coming upon this land, old customs are

vanishing, old beliefs are weakening, the thoughts of to-day will not be

the thoughts of to-morrow; but of all this we will know nothing. We

dream that for us as for our mothers the little lamp will burn on

through the generations; we see in fancy the yet unborn, the children

of our children's children, bowing their tiny heads and making the filial

obeisance before the tablets that bear our family name."

This is our comfort, we who feel that "this world is not a place of rest,

but where we may now take our little ease, until the landlord whom we

never see, gives our apartment to another guest."

As I said to thee, it is the women who are the preservers of the family

worship and who are trying hard to cling to old loved customs.

Perhaps it is because we suffer from lack of facility in adapting

ourselves to new conditions. We are as fixed as the star in its orbit.

Not so much the men of China but we women of the inner courtyards

seem to our younger generation to stand an immovable mountain in

the pathway of their freedom from the old traditions.

In this course we are only following woman nature. An instinct more

powerful than reason seems to tell us that we must preserve the thing

we know. Change we fear. We see in the new ideas that our

daughters bring from school, disturbers only of our life's ideals. Yet

the new thoughts are gathering about our retreats, beating at our

doorways, creeping in at the closely shuttered windows, even winning

our husbands and our children from our arms. The enclosing walls and

the jealously guarded doors of our courtyards are impotent. While we

stand a foe of this so-called progress, a guardian of what to us seems

womanhood and modesty, the world around us is moving, feeling the

impulse of a larger life, broadening its outlook and clothing itself in

new expression that we hardly understand. We feel that we cannot

keep up with this generation; and, seeing ourselves left behind with

our dead Gods, we cry out against the change which is coming to our

daughters with the advent of this new education and the knowledge of

the outside world. But--.

All happy days must end, and we floated slowly back to the busy life

again. As we came down the canal in the soft moonlight it recalled

those other nights to me upon the mountain-side, and as I saw the

lights of the city before us I remembered the old poem of Chang Chili

Lo:

"The Lady Moon is my lover,

My friends are the Oceans four,

The Heavens have roofed me over,

And the Dawn is my golden door.

I would liefer follow a condor,

Or the sea-gull soaring from ken,

Than bury my Godhead yonder,

In the dust and whirl of men."

Thy daughter,

Kwei-li.

My Dear Mother,

I have not written thee for many days. I came back from my happy

country trip to find clouds of sorrow wrapping our home in close

embrace. We hear Ting-fang is in deep trouble, and we cannot

understand it. He is accused of being in league with the Southern

forces. Of course we do not believe it, my son is not a traitor; but

black forebodings rise from deeps unknown and the cold trail of fear

creeps round my heart.

But I cannot brood upon my fears alone; this world seems full of

sorrow. Just now I have stopped my letter to see a woman who was

brought to the Yamen for trying to kill her baby daughter. She is

alone, has no one to help her in her time of desolation, no rice for

crying children, and nothing before her except to sell her daughter to

the tea-house. She gave her sleep; and who can blame her?

Mother, send me all that thou canst spare from out thy plenty. I would

I could give more. I would be a lamp for those who need a lamp, a bed

for those who need a bed; but I am helpless. O, He who hears the

wretched when they cry, deign to hear these mothers in their sorrow!

Thy daughter,

Kwei-li.

I know that thou hast heard the news, as it is in all the papers.

Ting-fang is accused of throwing the bomb that killed General Chang. I

write to reassure thee that it cannot be true. I know my son. Thou

knowest thy family. No Liu could do so foul a deed.

Do not worry; we will send thee all the news. The morrow's tidings will

be well, so rest in peace.

Kwei-li.

24,a.

I thank thee from my heart for the ten thousand taels telegraphed for

the use of our son. Father has sent fifty thousand taels to be used in

obtaining his freedom. I am sure it will not be needed, as my son is

not the culprit. And if he were, it is not the olden time when a life

could be bought for a few thousand ounces of silver, no matter how

great the crime. We will not bribe the Courts of Law, even for our son.

But I am sure it will pass with the night's darkness, and we will wake

to find it all a dream. I know, my mother's heart assures me, that my

boy is innocent.

Do not speak or think of coming down. We will let thee know at once

all news.

The clock strikes one, and all the world's asleep except,