Chimpanzee

CHINA

THE account of this great empire of Eastern Asia may fitly commence with a brief notice, lst , of China as known to the ancients (the land of Since or Seres), and, 2d , of China as known to mediaeval Europe (Cathay). China as known to the Ancients.

The spacious seat of ancient civilization which we call China has loomed always so large to Western eyes, and has, in spite of the distance, subtended so large an angle of vision, that, at eras far apart, we find it to have been distinguished by different appellations, according as it was reached by the southern sea-route, or by the northern landroute traversing the longitude of Asia.

In the former aspect the name has nearly always been some form of the name Sin, Chin, Since, China. In the latter point of view the region in question was known to the ancients as the land of the Seres, to the Middle Ages as the empire of Cathay.

The name of Chin has been supposed (doubtfully) to be derived from the dynasty of Thsin, which a little more than two centuries before our era enjoyed a brief but very vigorous existence, uniting all the Chinese provinces under its authority, and extending its conquests far beyond those limits to the south and the west.

The mention of the Chinas in ancient Sanskrit literature, both in the laws of Manu and in the Mahâbhârat, has often been supposed to prove the application of the name long before the predominance of the Thsin dynasty. But the coupling of that name with the Daradas, still surviving as the people of Dardistan, on the Indus, suggests it as more probable that those Chinas were a kindred race of mountaineers, whose name as Shinas in fact likewise remains applied to a branch of the Dard races. Whether the Sinim of the prophet Isaiah should be interpreted of the Chinese is probably not at present susceptible of any decision; by the context it appears certainly to indicate a people of the extreme east or south.

The name probably came to Europe through the Arabs, who made the China of the further east into Sin, and perhaps sometimes into Thin. Hence the Thin of the author of the Periplus of the Erythraean Sea, who appears to be the first extant writer to employ the name in this form (i.e., assuming Müller’s view that he belongs to the 1st century); hence also the Since and Thince of Claudius Ptolemy.

It has often indeed been denied that the Sinae of Ptolemy really represented the Chinese. But if we compare the statement of Marcianus of Heraclea (a mere condenser of Ptolemy), when he tells us that the “nations of the Sinae lie at the extremity of the habitable world, and adjoin the eastern Terra Incognita,” with that of Cosmas, who says, in speaking of Tzinista, a name of which no one can question the application to China, that “beyond this there is neither habitation nor navigation,”—we cannot doubt the same region to be meant by both. The fundamental error of Ptolemy’s conception of the Indian Sea as a closed basin rendered it impossible but that he should misplace the Chinese coast. But considering that the name of Sin has come down among the Arabs from time immemorial as applied to the Chinese, considering that in the work of Ptolemy this name certainly represented the furthest known East, and considering how inaccurate are Ptolemy’s configurations and longitudes much nearer home, it seems almost as reasonable to deny the identity of his India with ours as to deny that his Sinae were Chinese.

If we now turn to the Seres we find this name mentioned by classic authors much more frequently and at an earlier date, for the passages of Eratosthenes (in Strabo), formerly supposed to speak of a parallel passing through Thinoe — διά Θιrωv, are now known to read correctly διΑΛ/νών. The name Seres indeed is familiar to the Latin poets of the Augustan age, but always in a vague way, and usually with a general reference to Central Asia and the further East. We find, however, that the first endeavours to assign more accurately the position of this people, which are those of Mela and Pliny, gravitate distinctly towards China in its northern aspect as the true idea involved. Thus Mela describes the remotest east of Asia as occupied by the three races (proceeding from south to north), Indians, Seres, and Scyths; just as in a general way we might say still that Eastern Asia is occupied by the Indies, China, and Tartary.

Ptolemy first uses the names of Sera and Serιce, the former for the chief city, the latter for the country of the Seres, and as usual defines their position with a precision far beyond what his knowledge justified,—the necessary result of his system. Yet even his definition of Serice is most consistent with the view that this name indicated the Chinese empire in its northern aspect, for he carries it eastward to the 180th degree of longitude, which is also, according to his calculation, in a lower latitude the eastern boundary of the Sinae.

Ammianus Marcellinus devotes some paragraphs to a description of the Seres and their country, one passage of which is startling at first sight in its seeming allusion to the Great Wall, and in this sense it has been rashly interpreted by Lassen and by Reinaud. But Ammianus is merely converting Ptolemy’s dry tables into fine writing, and speaks only of an encircling rampart of mountains within which the spacious and happy valley of the Seres lies. It is true that Ptolemy makes h;s Serice extend westward to Imaus, i.e., to Pamir. But the Chinese empire did so extend at that epoch, as it did twenty years ago, and we find Lieut. John Wood in 1838 speaking of “ China” as lying immediately beyond Pamir, just as the Arabs of the 8th century spoke of the country beyond the Jaxartes as “Sin,” and as Ptolemy spoke of “Series ” as immediately beyond Imaus.

If we fuse into one the ancient notices of the Seres and their country, omitting anomalous statements and manifest fables, the result will be something like the following :— “The region of the Seres is a vast and populous country, touching on the east the Ocean and the limits of the habitable world, and extending west to Imaus and the confines of Bactria. The people are civilized, mild, just, and frugal, eschewing collisions with their neighbours, and even shy of close intercourse, but not averse to dispose of their own products, of which raw silk is the staple, but which include also silk-stuffs, fine furs, and iron of remarkable quality.” That is manifestly a definition of the Chinese.

That Greek and Roman knowledge of the true position of so remote a nation should at best have been somewhat hazy is nothing wonderful. And it is worthy of note that the view entertained by the ancient Chinese of the Roman empire and its inhabitants, under the name of Τadhsin t had some striking points of analogy to those views of the Chinese which are indicated in the classical descriptions of the Seres. There can be no mistaking the fact that in this case also the great object was within the horizon of vision, yet the details ascribed to it are often far from being true characteristics, being only the accidents of its outer borders.

China as known to Mediaeval Europe. Cathay is the name by which the Chinese empire was known to mediaeva] Europe, and is in its original form {Kitai) that by which China is still known in Russia, and to most of the nations of Central Asia. West of Russia the name has long ceased to be a geographical expression, but it is associated with a remarkable phase in the history of geography and commerce, of which we purpose under this head to give some account.

The name first became known to Europe in the 13th century, when the vast conquests of Jenghiz and his house drew a new and vivid attention to Asia. For some three centuries previously the northern provinces of China had been detached from indigenous rule, and subject to northern conquerors. The first of these foreign dynasties was of a race called Khitán, issuing from the basin of the Sungari River, and supposed (but doubtfully) to have been of the blood of the modern Tunguses. The rule of this race endured for two centuries, and originated the application of the name Khitat or Khitdi to Northern China. The dynasty itself, known in Chinese history as Liao, or “Iron,” disappeared from China 1123, but the name remained attached to the territory which they had ruled.

The Khitán were displaced by the Nyûchá or Chdrclιe race, akin to the modern Manchus who now rule China. These reigned, under the title of Kin, or “Golden,” till Jenghiz and his Mongols invaded them in turn. In 1234 the conquest of the Kin empire was completed, and the dynasty extinguished under Okkodai, the son and successor of Jenghiz Khán. Forty years later, in the reign of Kublaï, grandson and ablest successor of Jenghiz, the Mongol rule was extended over Southern China (1276), which till then had remained under a native dynasty, the Sung, holding its royal residence in a vast and splendid city, now known as Hang-chow, but then as Ling-ngan, or more commonly as Kingsze, i.e., the Court. The southern empire was usually called by the conquerors Mantzi (or as some of the old travellers write, Mangï), a name which Western Asiatics seem to have identified with Mðxhvn (from the Sanskrit Mahaxhin), one of the names by which China was known to the traders from Persian and Arabian ports.

The conquests of Jenghiz and his successors had spread not only over China and the adjoining East, but westward also over all Northern Asia, Persia, Armenia, part of Asia Minor, and Russia, threatening to deluge Christendom. Though the Mongol wave retired, as it seemed almost by an immediate act of Providence, when Europe lay at its feet, it had levelled or covered all political barriers from the frontier of Poland to the Yellow Sea, and when Western Europe recovered from its alarm, Asia lay open, as never before or since, to the inspection of Christendom. Princes, envoys, priests,—half-missionary half-envoy—visited the court of the great Khán in Mongolia; and besides these, the accidents of war, commerce, or opportunity carried a variety of persons from various classes of human life into the depths of Asia. “ ’Tis worthy of the grateful remembrance of all Christian people,” says an able missionary friar of the next age (Ricold of Monte Croce), “that just at the time when God sent forth into the Eastern parts of the world the Tartars to slay and to be slain, He also sent into the West his faithful and blessed servants, Dominie and Francis, to enlighten, instruct, and build up in the faith.” Whatever on the whole may be thought of the world’s debt to Dominic, it is to the two mendicant orders, but especially to the Franciscans, that we owe a vast amount of information about mediaeval Asia, and, among other things, the first mention of Cathay. Among the many strangers who reached Mongolia were (1245-47) John de Plano Carpini (see Carpini) and (1253) William of Rubruk (Rubruquis) in French Flanders, both Franciscan friars of high intelligence, who happily have left behind them reports of their observations.

Carpini, after mentioning the wars of Jenghiz against the Kitai, goes on to speak of that people as follows :— “Now these Kitai are heathen men, and have a written character of their own. . . . They seem, indeed, to be kindly and polished folks enough. They have no beard, and in character of countenance have a considerable resemblance to the Mongols” [are Mongoloid, as our ethnologists would say], “but are not so broad in the face. They have a peculiar language. Their betters as craftsmen in every art practised by man are not to be found in the whole world. Their country is very rich in com, in wine, in gold and silver, in silk, and in every kind of produce tending to the support of mankind.” The notice of Rubruk, shrewder and more graphic, runs thus :—“Further on is Great Cathay, which I take to be the country which was anciently called the Land of the Seres. For the best silk stuffs are still got from them. . . . The sea lies between it and India. Those Cathayans are little fellows, speaking much through the nose, and, as is general with all those Eastern people, their eyes are very narrow. They are first-rate artists in every kind, and their physicians have a thorough knowledge of the virtues of herbs, and an admirable skill in diagnosis by the pulse. . . . The common money of Cathay consists of pieces of cotton-paper, about a palm in length and breadth, upon which certain lines are printed, resembling the seal of Mangu Khán. They do their writing with a pencil, such as painters paint with, and a single character of theirs comprehends several letters, so as to form a whole word.” Here we have not only what is probably the first European notice of papermoney, but a partial recognition of the peculiarity of Chinese writing, and a perception that puts to shame the perverse boggling of later critics over the identity of these Cathayans with the Seres of classic fame.

But though these travellers saw Cathayans in the bazaars of the Great Khan’s camps, the first actual visitors of Cathay itself were the Polo family (see Polo, Marco), and it is to the book of Marco’s recollections mainly that Cathay owed the growing familiarity of its name in Europe during the 14th and 15 th centuries. It is, however, a great mistake to suppose, as has often been assumed, that the residence of the Polos in that country remained an isolated fact. They were but the pioneers of a very considerable intercourse, which endured till the decay of the Mongol dynasty in Cathay, τ.e., for about half a century.

We have no evidence that either in the 13th or 14th century Cathayans, i.e., Chinese, ever reached Europe, but it is possible that some did, at least, in the former century. For, during the campaigns of Hulaku in Persia (1256-1265), and the reigns of his successors, Chinese engineers were employed on the banks of the Tigris, and Chinese astrologers and physicians could be consulted at Tabriz. Many diplomatic communications passed between the Hulakuid Ilkhans and the princes of Christendom. The former, as the great Khan’s liegemen, still received from him their seals of state; and two of their letters which survive in the archives of France exhibit the vermilion impressions of those seals in Chinese characters,—perhaps affording the earliest specimen of that character which reached Western Europe.

Just as the Polos were reaching their native city (1295), after an absence of quarter of a century, the forerunner of a new series of travellers was entering Southern China by way of the Indian seas. This was John of Monte Corvino, another Franciscan who, already some fifty years of age, was plunging single-handed into that great ocean of Paganism to preach the gospel according to his lights. After years of uphill and solitary toil converts began to multiply; coadjutors joined him. The Papal See became cognizant of the harvest that was being reaped in the far East. It made Friar John Archbishop in Cambaluc (or Peking), with patriarchal authority, and sent him batches of suffragan bishops and preachers of his own order. The Roman Church spread; churches and Minorite houses were established at Cambaluc, at Zayton or Tswan-chow in Fuh-keen, at Yang-chow, and elsewhere; and the missions flourished under the smile of the Great Khan, as the Jesuit missions did for a time under the Manchu emperors three centuries and a half later. Archbishop John was followed to the grave, about 1328, by mourning multitudes of Pagans and Christians alike. Several of the bishops and friars who served under him have left letters or other memoranda of their experience, e.g., Andrew, bishop of Zayton, John of Cora, afterwards archbishop of Sultania in Persia, and Odoric of Pordenone, whose fame as a pious traveller won from the vox populi at his funeral a beatification which the church was fain to seal. The only ecclesiastical narrative regarding Cathay, of which we are aware, subsequent to the time of Archbishop John, is that which has been gathered from the recollections of John de’ Marignolli, a Florentine Franciscan, who was sent by Pope Benedict XII. with a mission to the Great Khan, in return for one from that potentate which arrived at Avignon from Cathay in 1338, and who spent four years (1342-46) at the court of Cambaluc as legate of the Holy See. These recollections are found in a singular position, dispersed incoherently over a chronicle of Bohemia which the traveller wrote by order of the emperor Charles IV., whose chaplain he was after his return.

But intercourse during the period in question was not confined to ecclesiastical channels. Commerce also grew up, and flourished for a time even along the vast line that stretches from Genoa and Florence to the marts of Chĕ-keang and ¢uh-keen. The record is very fragmentary and imperfect, but many circumstances and incidental notices show how frequently the remote East was reached by European traders in the first half of the 14th century,— a state of things which it is very difficult to realize when we see how all those regions, when reopened to knowledge two centuries later, seemed to be discoveries as new as the empires which, about the same time, Cortes and Pizarro were conquering in the West.

This commercial intercourse probably commenced about 1310-1320. Monte Corvino, writing in 1305, says it was twelve years since he had heard any news from Europe; the only Western stranger who had arrived in all that time being a certain Lombard chirurgeon (probably one of the Patarini who got hard measure at home in those days), who had spread the most incredible blasphemies about the Roman Curia and the order of St Francis. Yet even on his first entrance to Cathay Friar John had been accom panied by one Master Peter of Lucolongo, whom he describes as a faithful Christian man and a great merchant, and who seems to have remained many years at Peking. The letter of Andrew, bishop of Zayton (1326), quotes the opinion of Genoese merchants at that port regarding a question of exchanges. Odoric, who was in Cathay about 1323-1327, refers for confirmation of the wonders which he related of the great city of Cansay (z.e., King-sze, hod. Hang-chow), to the many persons whom he had met at Venice since his return, who had themselves been witnesses of those marvels. And John Marignolli, some twenty years later, found attached to one of the convents at Zayton, in Fuh-keen, a fondaco or factory for the accommodation of the Christian merchants.

But by far the most distinct and notable evidence of the importance and frequency of European trade with Cathay, of which silk and silk goods formed the staple, is to be found in the commercial hand-book (circa 1340) of Francesco Balducci Pegolotti, a clerk and factor of the great Florentine house of the Bardi, which was brought to the ground about that time by its dealings with Edward III. of England. This book, called by its author Libro di diυisamenti di Paesi, is a sort of trade-guide, devoting successive chapters to the various ports and markets of his time, detailing the nature of imports and exports at each, the duties and exactions, the local customs of business, weights, measures, and money. The first two chapters of this work contain instructions for the merchant proceeding to Cathay; and it is evident, from the terms used, that the road thither was not unfrequently travelled by European merchants, from whom Pegolotti had derived his information. The route which he describes lay by Azoff, Astrakhan, Khiva, Otrar (on the Jaxartes), Almálik (Gulja in Hi), Kan∙chow (in Kansuh), and so to Hang-chow and Peking. Particulars are given as to the silver ingots which formed the currency of Tartary, and the paper-money of Cathay. That the ventures on this trade were not insignificant is plain from the example taken by the author to illustrate the question of expenses on the journey, which is that of a merchant investing in goods there to the amount of some <£12,000 (⅛.e., in actual gold value, not as calculated by any fanciful and fallacious equation of values).

Of the same remarkable phase of history that we are here considering we have also a number of notices by Mahometan writers. The establishment of the Mongol dynasty in Persia, by which the Great Khan was acknowledged as lord paramount, led (as we have already noticed in part) to a good deal of intercourse. And some of the Persian historians, writing at Tabriz, under the patronage of the Mongol princes, have told us much about Cathay, especially Rashiduddin, the great minister and historian of the dynasty (died 1318). We have also in the book of the Moorish traveller Ibn Batuta, who visited China about 1347-48, very mιny curious and in great part true notices, though it is not possible to give credence to the whole of this episode in his extensive travels.

About the time of the traveller first named the throne of the degenerate descendants of Jenghiz began to totter to its fall, and we have no knowledge of any Frank visitor to Cathay in that age later than Marignolli; missions and merchants alike disappear from the field. We hear, indeed, once and again of ecclesiastics despatched from Avignon, but they go forth into the darkness, and are heard of no more. Islam, with all its jealousy and exclusiveness, had recovered its grasp over Central Asia; the Nestorian Christianity which once had prevailed so widely was vanishing, and the new rulers of China reverted to the old national policy, and held the foreigner at arm’s length. Night descended upon the further East, covering Cathay with those cities of which the old travellers had told such marvels, Cambaluc and Cansay, Zayton and Chinkalan. And when the veil rose before the Portuguese and Spanish explorers of the 16th century, those names are heard no more. In their stead we have China, Peking, Hangchow, Chincheo, Canton. Not only were the old names forgotten, but the fact that those places had ever been known before was forgotten also. Gradually new missionaries went forth from Rome—Jesuits and Dominicans now; new converts were made, and new vicariats constituted; but the old Franciscan churches, and the Nestorianism with which they had battled, had alike been swallowed up in the ocean of Pagan indifference. In time a wreck or two floated to the surface,—-a MS. Latin Bible or a piece of Catholic sculpture; and when the intelligent missionaries called Marco Polo to mind, and studied his story, one and another became convinced that Cathay and China were one.

But for a long time all but a sagacious few continued to regard Cathay as a region distinct from any of the new-found Indies; whilst mapmakers, well on into the 17th century, continued to represent it as a great country lying entirely to the north of China, and stretching to the Arctic Sea.

It was Cathay, with its outlying island of Zipangu (Japan), that Columbus sought to reach by sailing westward, penetrated as he was by his intense conviction of the smallness of the earth, and of the vast extension of Asia eastward; and to the day of his death he was full of the imagination of the proximity of the domain of the Great Khan to the islands and coasts which he had discovered. And such imaginations are curiously embodied in some of the maps of the early 16th century, which intermingle on the same coast-line the new discoveries from Labrador to Brazil with the provinces and rivers of Marco Polo’s Cathay.

Cathay had been the aim of the first voyage of the Cabots in 1496, and it continued to be the object of many adventurous voyages by English and Hollanders to the N.W. and N.E. till far on in the 16th century. At least one memorable land-journey also was made by Englishmen, of which the exploration of a trade-route to Cathay was a chief object,—that in which Anthony Jenkinson and the two Johnsons reached Bokhara by way of Russia in 1558- 1559. The country of which they collected notices at that city was still known to them only as Cathay, and its great capital only as Carnbaluc.

Cathay as a supposed separate entity may be considered to come to an end with the journey of Benedict Goes, the lay-Jesuit. This admirable person was, in 1603, despatched through Central Asia by his superiors in India with the specific object of determining whether the Cathay of old European writers, and of modern Mahometans, was or was not a distinct region from that China of which parallel marvels had now for some time been recounted. Benedict, as one of his brethern pronounced his epitaph, “seeking Cathay found Heaven.” He died at Suhchow, the frontier city of China, but not before he had ascertained that China and Cathay were the same. After the publication of the narrative of his journey (in the Expeditio Christiania apud Sinas of Trigault, 1615) inexcusable ignorance alone could continue to distinguish between them, and though such ignorance lingered many years longer, the result of his exploration fitly brings this prefatory notice to a close. (H. Y. )

General Description of China Proper.

China, as the name is at present used, embraces within its boundaries the dependencies of Manchuria, Mongolia, and Tibet, in addition to China Proper. This vast empire extends from 18° 30' to 53° 25' N. lat. and from 80° to 130° E. long. It is bounded on the N. by Asiatic Russia along a frontier extending nearly 3000 miles; on the E. by those portions of the Pacific Ocean which are known in the north as the Sea of Japan, in the central portion as the Yellow Sea, and in the south as the China Sea; on the S. and S.W. by the China Sea, Cochin China, and Burmah; and on the W. by Kashmir and Eastern Turkestan, which province has within the last few years been wrested from China by the Ataligh Ghazee.

Table of Provinces, with Area and Population. [table]

The area of China Proper is not more than half that of the whole empire; it extends as far north only as 41° lat., and as far west as 98° long. It is about 1474 miles in length, and its breadth is about 1355 miles. Its coast line measures about 2500 miles; its land frontier is described as being 4400 miles in length, and its area is said to contain 1,399,609 square miles.

Surface. — One of the most noticeable features in the surface of China is the immense delta plain in the northeastern portion of the empire, which, curving round the mountainous districts of Shan-tung, extends for about 700 miles in a southerly direction from the neighbourhood of Peking, and varies from 150 to 500 miles in breadth. Commencing in the prefecture of Yung-ping Foo, in the province of Ckih-U, its outer limit passes in a westerly direction as far as Ckang-ping Chow, north-west of Peking. Thence running a south-south-westerly course it passes westward of Ching-ting Fοο and Kwang-ping Foo till it reaches the upper waters of the JFei River in Ho-nan. From this point it turns westward and crosses the Uwang-ho, or Yellow River, in the prefecture of Hwαi-king. Leaving this river it takes a course a little to the east of south, and passing west of Joo-ning Foo, in the province of lío-nan, it turns in a more easterly direction as far as Leuchow Foo. From this prefecture an arm of the plain, in which lies the Tsaοu Lake, stretches southward from the Hwαi River to the Yang-tsze Keang, and trending eastward occupies the region between the river and Hang-chow Bay. To the north of this arm rises a hilly district, in the centre of which stands Nanking.

The boundary of the plain round the mountainous region of Shan-tung begins at Lai-chow Foo, and describes a huge bow to the west and south, reaching westward to the prefecture of Tse-nan, and southward to the frontier of the province of Keang-sοο, which boundary it follows to the sea. The greater part of this vast plain descends very gently towards the sea, and is generally below the level of the Yellow River,—hence the disastrous inundations which so often accompany the rise of the Hwang-ho. It is the delta of the Yellow River, and also to some extent of the Yang-tsze Keang, and it is chiefly remarkable for its semiannular shape, within which it encloses the mountain districts of the province of Slιan-tung. Owing to the great quantity of soil which is brought down by the waters of the Yellow River, and to the absence of oceanic currents, this delta is rapidly increasing and the adjoining seas are as rapidly becoming shallower. As an instance, it is said that the town of Pootai was 1 le west of the sea-shore, in the year 220 b.c., and in 1730 it was 140 le inland, thus giving a yearly encroachment on the sea of about 100 feet. Again, Seen-shwuy Kow on the Peïho was on the sea-shore in 500 a.d., and it is now about 18 miles inland.

The rest of the empire may be described as being either mountainous or hilly. Several ranges of high mountains, in connection with the mountain system of Central Asia, enter the western provinces of the empire, and after traversing the western and southern provinces in various directions dwindle down to low hills as they approach the sea-coast. In the eastern portion of Tibet the Kwan-lun range throws off a number of branches, which spread first of all in a south-easterly direction, and eventually take a north and south course, partly in the provinces of Sze-chuen and Yun-nan, where they divide the beds of the rivers which flow into Siam and Cochin-China, as well as the principal northern tributaries of the Yang-tsze Keang. Another range, known as the Tung-nan, or Foo-new Shan, which appears to be the eastern termination of the great Kwan-lun range of Central Asia, and which is said to have several snow-clad peaks, enters China in the soutem portion of the province vf Kan-suh, and stretches in an easterly direction across the province of Sken-se into that of Uo-nan, where it finally disappears. This range separates the waters which enter the Hwαng-ho, or Yellow River, through the ĬFei and the Lo from those which flow into the Yang-tzse Keang, through the Kia-ling and the Han. Forming the northern frontier of the province of Sze-chuen runs the Kew-lung or Po-mung range, which entering China in 102° long, takes a general course of east as far as 112° long., at about which point it is lost sight of in the province of Hoo-pih. In the south the Nan-shan ranges, some peaks of which are said to reach above the snow-level, take their rise in Yun-nan, and after spreading in a series of ranges over the south and east portions of Kwang-se trend in an easterly direction, covering the entire province of Kwang-tung. Then turning north-eastward, they occupy the whole area of the provinces of Fuh-keen, Keang-se, Che-keαng, Hooman, and southern Gαn-hwug, until they reach the Yang-tsze Keang ; which river, from the Tung-ting Lake to Chin-keang Foo, forms their northern boundary. It is reckoned that this mountain region occupies an area of about 300,000 square miles. Besides these more important ranges there are the Lung Mountains in Kan-suh, the Τα -hang Mountains in Shan-se, the Tae Mountains in Shan-tung, and many others, among which may be mentioned the ranges which form the northern frontier of Chih-li. It will thus be seen that there is a general subsidence from the mountain districts in the western portions of the empire to the central and south-eastern provinces, where the mountains dwindle down to hills, and where the snowy peaks and rugged sides of the ranges in Ywn-nan and Sze-chuen are exchanged for tho wooded tops and carefully-cultivated terraces of the littoral provinces.

Rivers. — The rivers of China are very numerous, and, with the canals, form some of the most frequented highways in the empire. The two largest are the Yang-tsze Keang and the Hwang-ho, or Yellow River, the latter of which is less known to fame for its value in a commercial sense, than by reason of the vast and destructive floods which have from time to time caused it to inundate the low-lying country on either side of its banks. According to Chinese geographers the Hwang-hο takes its rise in the “Sea of Stars,” on the eastern side of the Bayen-kára Mountains, in the Mongolian province of Kokonor, where it has gained for itself the name of Áh-urh-tan, or Golden River, from the colour of its waters. For some miles it runs in two streams, and when united takes at first a south-easterly course. Next trending in a north-easterly direction it traverses the province of Kan-suh and passes northwards through the Great Wall until it reaches the rising ground in the neighbourhood of the In-shan. Thence curving to the south-east and south it re-enters China through the Great Wall and continues its southerly course, forming the boundary between the provinces of Shen-se and Shαn-se as far as Tung-kwan. Here it makes a sharp bend and runs nearly due east to Kai-fung Foo. In the neighbourhood of this city it enters on the great eastern plain of China, and the alterations which have taken place in its bed between this district and the sea has earned for it the well-deserved title of “the Sorrow of Han.” According to the Chinese records this portion of the river has changed its course nine times during the last 2500 years, and has emptied itself into the sea at as many different mouths, the most northerly of which is represented as having been in about 39° lat., or in the neighbourhood of the present mouth of the Peihο, and the most southerly being that which existed before the last change in 1851-53, in 34° lat. The breaches that were made in the northern bank of the river east of Kaifung Foo during the floods of 1851, 1852, and 1853 caused its waters gradually to overflow the low-lvin<r conntrv to the northwards: and these, after snread-ing over a belt of country about 12 miles in width, struck the bed of the Ta-tsing River, and having forced their way into that narrow, clean cut channel, followed it to the sea. The result of this change has been that the old course of the river is dry, and that the muddy dun-coloured waters—hence the name Hwang-ho, or Yellow River—after permanently flooding a large tract of country, are now leading up to another grand catastrophe by destroying the banks of the new channel which they have found for themselves. Already the increased volume of water has added another obstruction to those before existing to the navigation of the river by destroying a large stone bridge of seven arches at Tse-hoheen, a town situated 210 miles from the mouth, the ruins of which have seriously impeded the course of the stream. But the Hwang-ko is of little value for navigating purposes. At its mouth lies a bar having at its deepest part about from 7 to 9 feet of water only; further up, about 3 miles below Tse-hoheen, there is a shoal extending right across its bed, at the deepest point of which there is about 11 feet of water, while in the passage at the extremity of the sunken bridge at Tse-hoheen there is a depth of only about 5 feet.

A far more valuable river in every way is the Yaηg-tsze Keang, which takes its rise in the Min Mountains of Tibet, and after a course of 2900 miles empties itself into the Yellow Sea in about 31° lat. Tn common with most of the large rivers of China, the Yang-tsze Keang is known by various names in different parts of its course. From its source in Tibet to Seu-chow Foo in Sze-chuen, it bears the name of Kin-ska Keang, or River of the Golden Sands. From Seu-chow Foo to Yang-dhow Foo in Keang-soo, its volume has gained for it the title of Ta Keang, or the Great River; and from the ancient name of the district through which it thence passes, it is known for the remainder of its course as the Yang-tze Keang, or the Yangtze River. Chinese geographers state that it has two sources, the more northerly of which gives birth to the Kangchuh ah-lin at a point about 1600 le to the southeast of the source of the Yellow River; and to the more southerly one of the two the Na-ko-to-moo-tsing ah-lin, which rises on the south of the range, owes its existence. Both these streams twist and turn eastward for upwards of 200 le, when they unite and form one stream, which flows in an easterly and afterwards southerly course until it enters the Chinese province of Yun-nan at the Hwang-dhing Pass, or Pass of Imperial Victory. It then turns northward into the province of Sze-chuen, and thence after receiving several important tributaries it takes an east-northeasterly course, until passing into Hoo-pih it dips southwards to the boundary of Hoo-nan in the neighbourhood of the Tung-ting Lake, the waters of which contribute largely to swell its volume. From this point it makes a curve northwards as far as Han-kow, receiving on the way the waters of the Han River. From Han-kow it bends its course again southwards to the Ρο -yang Lake. Thence through the province of Gan-hwuy it proceeds in a north-easterly direction until it reaches Nanking, 200 miles from the sea. Here the influence of the tide begins to be felt, and beyond this point it gradually widens into the great estuary by which it is connected with the ocean. The basin area of the Yang-tsze Keang is reckoned to be about 548,000 square miles, and it is navigable for steamers as far as Ι -chang, upwards of 1200 miles from its mouth. Unlike the Yellow River, along the navigable portion of the Yang-tsze Keang are dotted many rich and populous cities, among which the chief are Nanking, Can-king, Kew-keang, Han-kow, and I-dhang. Beyond this last-named city the navigation becomes impossible for any but light native craft, by reason of the rapids which occur at frequent intervals in the deep mountain gorges through which the river runs beteen Kwai-chow and I-chang.

Next in importance to the Yang-tsze Keang as a water highway is the Yun-ho, or, as it is generally known in Europe, the Grand Canal. This magnificent artificial river reaches from Hang-chow Foo in the province of Chc-keang to Tientsin in Chih li, where it unites with the Peiho, and thus may be said to extend to Tung-chow in the neighbourhood of Peking. After leaving Hang-chow it passes round the eastern border of the Tai-hoo, or Great Lake, surrounding in its course the beautiful city of Soo-chow, and then trends in a generally north-westerly direction through the fertile districts of Keang-soo as far as Chin keang on the Yang-tsze Keang. Mr Ney Elias, who in 1868 travelled along the Grand Canal from Chin-keang to the new course of the Yellow River, thus describes the characteristics of this portion of its course :—

The Grand. Canal between Chin-keang and Tsín-keang-pu, or in other words, between the Yang-tsze and the old bed of the Yellow River, . . . is everywhere in good repair, and the adjacent country well irrigated, and apparently in a thriving state, both as regards cultivation, and, to judge by the aspect of the towns on and near its banks, as regards trade also. After crossing the old Yellow River, however, a part of the canal somewhat less known is reached, and the flourishing condition of the country is no longer noticeable; on the contrary, for a distance of about 150 miles, though the canal itself is in tolerably good working order, the country in its vicinity has an arid, sterile appearance, and is but thinly populated. There are few towns or villages, and some there are seem neither populous nor busy, though they are not in ruins, and bear but few traces of the rebellion. . . . The canal, which at one time was so deep tl tat at many places the level of the water was above that of the adjacent country, is now everywhere considerably below it, rendering irrigation at even a short distance from its banks, without mechanical appliances, almost an impossibility; even the dry bed of the Loma Lake is scarcely cultivated on account of its elevation above the level of the canal, though it is only separated from it in some parts by a bank of a few yards in width. It is true that this lake appears never to have been more than a shallow flood lagoon, nevertheless it was some feet below the general level of the country, and was connected with the canal by means of water-courses and sluice gates; andif this is difficult to irrigate how much more so must be the country above and beyond it! This 150 miles being passed over, the Wai Shan (sometimes called Yiì Shan) Lake is reached at a small village, called Han-chuang-cha. This is the most southern of a chain of lakes or rather lagoons, which stretch from far to the south of Han-chuang-cha (I believe from near Su-chan-fu on the old Yellow River) to within a few miles of Tse-ning-ehow, and which constitute the only important feeder of the Grand Canal to the southward. In the summer they merge one into the other, and form a continuous sheet of water, though very shallow in parts. In winter, when the water is low, these shallow parts are mere morasses, which divide the sheet into three or four separate lagoons. In former days the canal ran in some places by the side of these lagoons, and in others through portions of them, but being everywhere embanked on both sides, it was only dependent upon them for its supply of water, the canal itself forming an unobstructed means of communication through the year. Of late years, however, this section of the canal has been allowed to go to ruin, and those portions only are used which run through the morasses existing in the dry season, the lagoons themselves forming elsewhere the only channel for navigation. Near the northern lunit of these lagoons stands the city of Tse-ning-chow, the first place of any importance on the canal north of Tsin-kiang-pu ; it is said to be a place of considerable trade in ordinary times. . . . Still proceeding northward, a distance from Tse-ning-ehow of about 25 miles, the summit level of the canal is reached near a small town called A τ αn Wang. It is here that the River Wen falls into the canal, a portion of its waters flowing to the south, and the rest to the north, precisely as described by Staunton and other writers. . . . About 30 miles beyond Nan Wang we come to the new Yellow River, the canal for that distance being extremely narrow and shallow—a mere ditch in fact, running between embankments large enough to confine a stream of infinitely greater volume. The banks along nearly the whole of the Grand Canal between the old and the new bed of the Yellow River, excepting those portions bordering on or traversing the lagoons, are surrounded by earthen walls crenellated after the fashion of city walls, behind which are stockades at intervals of every few miles. All this work has the appearance of being recently constructed, though in many places it is already being broken up by the country people to make room for cultivation, for they can ill afford to lose that strip of land immediately adjacent to and irrigated by the canal. The villages also make an attempt at fortifications, some of them being surrounded by earthen or mud walls or moats; and, indeed, many solitary farms have some species of defensive works round them, and in most cases a small, square brick tower within. These towers are rarely met with to the south of the province of Shan-tung —they are probably the “water castles” mentioned by the historian of the Dutch Embassy.

On the west side of the canal, at the point where the Yellow River now cuts across it, there is laid down in Chinese maps of the last century a dry channel which is described as being that of the old Yellow River. Leaving this point the canal passes through a well-wooded and hilly country west of Tung-ping Chow, through the city of Chang-kew Chin and to the east of Tung-chang Foo. At Lin-tsing-Chow it is joined at right angles by the Wei Fiver in the midst of the city, and from thence crosses the frontier into Chih-li, and passing to the west of Tïh Chow and Tsang ChoioyovoA the Peiho at Tien-tsin, after having received the waters of the Ke-to River in the neighbourhood of Tsing Heen. At Tien-tsin the canal ends, and the Peiho completes the communication to the vicinity of Peking.

Another of the large rivers of China is the Han Keang, which rises in the Ρο -mung or Kev)-lung mountains to the north of the city of Ning-keang Chow in Skxn-se. Taking a generally easterly course from its source as far as Fan-ching, it from that point takes a more southerly direction and empties itself into the Yang-tsze Keang at Han-kow, “the mouth of the Han.” This river has some noticeable peculiarities. Not the least of these is that it is very narrow at its mouth (200 feet) and grows in width as the distance from its mouth increases. Another marked feature is that the summer high-water line is for a great part of its course, from E-ching Heen to Han-kow, above the level of its banks, the result being that were it not for artificial barriers the whole of the surrounding country would be under water for a great part of the year. In the neighbourhood of Seen-taou Chin the elevation of the plain above low-water is no more than 1 foot, and in summer the river rises about 26 feet above its lowest level. To protect themselves against this inevitably recurring danger of inundations the natives have here, as elsewhere, thrown up high embankments on both sides of the river, but at a distance from the natural banks of about 50 to 100 feet. This intervening space is flooded every year, and by the action of the water new layers of sand and soil are deposited every summer, thus strengthening the embankments from season to season. In summer the river would be navigable for steamers of moderate size as far as Laou-ho Kow, which is situated 180 le above Fan-chiιιg, but in winter it would be quite impossible to reach the latter place. The chief trading places on the Hαn-keang are Sha-yang Chin, Yo-J ∖ ow, Sin-Kow, Seen-taou Chin, Fan-ching, and Lαou-lιo Kow.

In the southern provinces the Se-keang, or Western River, is the most considerable. This river takes its rise in the prefecture of Kwang-nan Foo in Yun-nan, whence it reaches the frontier of Kwang-se at a distance of about 90 le from its source. Then trending in a north-easterly direction it forms the boundary between the two provinces for about 150 le. From this point it takes a generally south-easterly course, passing the cities of Teen Chow, Fung-e Chow, Shang-lin Heen, Lung-gan Heen, Yung-kang Chow, and Nan-ning Foo to Yung-shun Heen. Here it makes a bend to the north-east, and continues this general direction as far as Sin-chow Foo, a distance of 800 le, where it meets and joins the waters of the Keen Keang from the north. Its course is then easterly, and after passing Woo-chow Foo it crosses the frontier into Kwang-tung, and finally empties itself into the China Sea in the neighbourhood of Macao. Like the Yang-tsze Keang this river is known by various names in different parts of its course. From its source to Nan-ning Foo in Kwang-se it is called the Se-yang Keang, or River of the Western Ocean; from Nan-ning Foo to Sin-chow Foo it is known as the Yuh-keαng, or the Bending River; and over the remainder of its course it is recognized by the name of the Se-kxang or Western River. The Se-keang is navigable as far as Shαou-king, 130 miles, for vessels not drawing more than 15 feet of water, and steamers of a light draught might easily reach Woo-chow Foo, in Kwang-se, which is situated 75 miles further up. In winter the navigation for junks is difficult above Woo-chow Foo, and it is said that rapids are met with about 100 miles beyond that city.

The Peiho is a river of importance as being the high water-way to Peking. Taking its rise in the Se-shan, or Western Mountains, beyond Peking, it passes the city of Tung-chow, the port of Peking, and Tien-tsin, where it meets the waters of the Yun-ho, and empties itself into the Gulf of Pih-chih-li at the village of Takoo. The Peiho is navigable for small steamers as far as Tien-tsin during the greater part of the year, but throughout the winter months, that is to say, from the end of November to the beginning of March, it is frozen up.

Lakes. — There are numerous lakes in the central provinces of China. The largest of these is the Tung-ting Lake in H∞-nan, which, according to Chinese geographers, is upwards of 800 le, or 266 miles, in circumference. In native gazetteers its various portions are known under distinct names; thus it is said to include the Tsing-tsaou, or Green Grass Lake; the Ung, or Venerable Lake; the ChïEsha, or Red Sand Lake; the Hwang-yιh, or Imperial Post-house Lake; the Gan-nan, or Peaceful Southern Lake; and the Ta-tung, or Great Deep Lake. In ancient times it went by the name of the Kew-keang Hoo, or Lake of the Nine Rivers, from the fact that nine rivers flowed into it. During the winter and spring the water is so low that the shallow portions become islands, separated by rivers such as the Seang and Yuen, and numberless streams; but in summer, owing to the rise in the waters of the Yang-tsze Keang, the whole basin of the lake is filled. The Poyang Lake is also subject to a wide difference between high and low water, but not quite to the same extent as the Tung-ting Lake, and its landmarks are more distinctly defined. The Tai Lake, in the neighbourhood of Soo-chow Foo, is also celebrated for its size and the beauty of its surroundings. It is about 150 miles in circumference, and is dotted over with islands, on which are built temples for the devotees of religion, and summer-houses for the votaries of pleasure from the rich and voluptuous cities of Hang-chow and Soochow. The boundary line between the provinces of Choke an g and Keang-soo crosses its blue waters, and its shores are divided among thirteen prefectures. Besides these lakes there are, among others, two in Yun-nan, the Teen-chx near Yun-nan Foo, which is 40 miles long and is connected with the Yang-tsze Keang by the Poo-to River, and the Urh hai to the east of the city of Ta-le. Loess. — One of the most remarkable features in the physical geography of China is the existence of a vast region of loess in the northern portion of the empire. This peculiar formation covers the province of Chih-li (with the exception of the alluvial plain), Shan-se, northern Slaen-se, Kan-suh, and northern Ho-nan, constituting altogether an area of about 250,000 square miles. Loess is a solid but friable earth of a brownish-yellow colour. It spreads alike over high and low grounds, smoothing off the irregularities of the surface, and is often to be found covering the sub-soil to a depth of more than 1000 feet. It has a tendency to vertical cleavage, and wherever a river cuts into it, the loess encloses it between perpendicular cliffs, in many places 500 feet in height. These when washed by the water are speedily undermined, and the loess breaks off in vertical sheets, which fall into the river and are carried down by the stream. In this way have been deposited the sediments which to a great extent constitute the great plain, and render the Gulf of Pih-chih-li and the Yellow Sea so shallow. From an economical point of view the loess is invaluable to the natives of the north of China. In its perpendicular cliffs which are removed from the action of running water are dug out innumerable caves, in which a large majority of the people inhabiting the loess region dwell, while its surface yields abundant crops, requiring no application of manure and but slight expenditure of labour in preparation. Wherever it is found, therefore, whether on the plain or at an elevation of 7000 or 8000 feet, it is available for agricultural purposes. The Chinese call it Hwawg-too, or “Yellow Earth,” and it has been suggested that the imperial title Hwang-te, “Yellow Emperor,” or “Ruler of the Yellow,” has had its origin in the fact that the emperor was lord of the loess or the “Yellow Earth.”

Provinces. — China Proper is divided into nineteen provinces,— Chih-li, Shan-tung, Shan-se, Ho-nan, Keang-soo, Gan-lιwuy, Keang-se, Che-keang, Full-keen, Iloo-pih, Hoonan, Shen-se, Kan-suh, Sze-chuen, Kwang-tung, Kwang-se, Kweirchοw, Yun-nan, and Shing-king in Manchuria.

The metropolitan province of Chih-li, in which is situated Peking, the capital of the empire (see Peking), contains eleven prefectural cities, and occupies an area of 58,949 square miles. By the latest census reports the population was returned as 27,000,000. This province forms part of the great delta plain spoken of above, with the exception of the mountain ranges which define its northern and western frontier. It is bounded on the E. by the Gulf of Pih-chih-li and Shan-tung, and on the S. by Shan-tung and Ho-nan. The proportion of Mahometans among the population is very large. In Peking there are said to be as many as 20,000 Mahometan families, and in PaoυAing Foo, the capital of the province, there are about 1000 followers of the Prophet. The extremes of heat and cold in Chih-li are very marked, as a glance at the accompanying table of the temperature at Tixn-tsin during the year 1861, as chronicled by Dr Lamprey’s selfregistering thermometer, will show. , [table]

During the months of December, January, and February the rivers are frozen up, and even the Gulf of Pih-chih-li is fringed with a broad border of ice. There are four rivers of some importance in the province, namely, the Peiho, which has been described above; the Wăn-ho, which rises in the mountains in Mongolia, and flowing to the west of Peking, forms a junction with the Peiho at Tiaι-tsin ; the Shang-se-ho, which rises in the mountains on the north of the province of Shan-se, and takes a south-easterly course as far as the neighbourhood of Ki Chow, from which point it trends north-east, and eventually joins the Wăn-ho some 15 miles above Tùn-tsin ; the Poο-to-ho, which rises in Shan-se, and after running a parallel course to the Shang-se-hο on the south, empties itself in the same way into the Wăn-ho ; and the Lan-ho, which rises in Mongolia, enters the province on the north-east after passing to the west of Jehol, passes the city of Yung-ping Fοo in its course (which is south-easterly) through Chih-li, and from thence winds its way to its mouth at the north-eastern boundary of the Gulf of Pih-chih-li. The province contains three lakes of considerable size. The largest is the Ta-loo-tsze Hoo, which lies in 37° 40' lat. and 115° 20' E. long.; the second in importance is one which is situated to the E. of Paou-ting Foo ; and the third is the Too-loo-tsze Hoo, which lies E. by N. of Shun-tïh Foo. Four high roads radiate from Peking : one leading to Urga by way of Seuen-hwa Foo, which passes through the Great Wall at Chang-kea Kow ; another, which enters Mongolia through the Koo-pei Kow to the north-east, and after continuing that course as far as Fung-ning turns in a north-westerly direction to Dolanor ; a third striking due east by way of Tung-chow and Yung-ping Foo to. Shan-hai Kwan, the point where the great wall terminates on the coast; and a fourth which trends in a south-westerly direction to Paou-ting Foo and on to Tai-yuen Foo in Shan-se. The mountain ranges to the north of the province abound with coal, notably at Chai-tang, Tai-gan-shan, Miaou-gan-ling, and Foo-taou in the Se-shan or Western Hills. “At Chai-tang ·,” Baron von Richthofen says, “I was surprised to walk over a regular succession of coal-bearing strata, the thickness of which, estimating it step by step as I proceeded graduaUy from the lowest to the highest strata, exceeds 7000 feet.” The coal here is anthracite, as is also that at Tai-gan-shan, where are found beds of greater value than any in the neighbourhood of Peking. In Seuen-hwa Foo coal is also found, but not in such quantities as in the places above named. Iron and silver also exist in small quantities in different parts of the province, and hot and warm springs are very common at the foot of the hills along the northern and western edges of the province. The principal agricultural products are wheat, kaou-leang, oats, millet, maize, pulse, and potatoes. Fruits and vegetables are also grown in large quantities. Of the former the chief kinds are pears, apples, plums, apricots, peaches, parsimmons, and melons. Tien-tsin is the Treaty Port of the province, and by the Consular Trade Report for 1874 we find that the total value of the merchandize exported from that city during the year amounted to 1,144,893 taels, and that of the goods imported to 17,682,684 taels. The articles which figure most conspicuously in the lists of exports are dates, dried lily flowers, wool, tobacco, and rhubarb; and the most valuable of the imports are shirtings, drills, T-cloths, jeans and twills, opium, woollens, steel, lead, needles, Japanese seaweeds, and sugar.

The province of Shan-tung, “or East of the Mountains,” is bounded on the N. by the province of Chih-li and the Gulf of Pih-chih-li, on the E. by the Yellow Sea, on the S. by Keang-soo and the Yellow Sea, and on the W. by Chih-U. It contains an area of 65,104 square miles, and the population is estimated to be 30,000,000. It is divided into ten prefectures, with as many prefectural cities, of which Tse-nan Foo, the provincial capital, is the chief. The physical features of the province are very plainly marked. The centre and eastern portions are occupied by a series of mountain ranges running north-east and southwest, between which lie fertile valleys, while the northwestern, southern, and western portions form part of the great delta plain of the north of China. The most considerable range of mountains is that which lies to the north of the city of Tav-gan Foo, of which the highest peak is the Tai-shan, a mountain which has been famous in Chinese history for more than 4000 years, and to which at the present day hundreds of pilgrims annually resort. Another important range is the Laou-shan, which fringe« the south-eastern coast for about 18 miles. With the exception of the Yellow River, which in its new course traverses the province in a north-easterly direction to the sea, there are no large rivers in Shantung. The most considerable are the Wei, which flows into the Gulf of Pih-chih-ii; the Yïh, which empties itself into a lake lying to the east of the Grand Canal; and the Ta-zoan, which rises at the southern foot of the Yih Mountains and terminates its course in the Grand Canal. There are several lakes in the province, notably the He-shang Hoo and the Nan-thang Hoo, both of which border on the Grand Canal in the south-west. Large quantities of foreign and southern goods are consumed in the populous districts surrounding these lakes, the waters of which afford means of export for the cotton, silk, coal, grain, &c., which are produced in the fertile tracts lying in their neighbourhood. Speaking generally the province is not a fertile one. Not being a loess region, the mountains are unproductive, and yield only brushwood and grass, while the plain to the north is so impregnated with salt that it is almost valueless, especially near the sea, for agricultural purposes. The valleys between the mountains and the plain to the southwest are, however, extremely rich and fertile. The chief wealth of Shantung consists in its minerals, the principal of which is coal. There are four large coal-fields and several smaller ones now being worked in the province, the most considerable of which lies in the valley of the Laou-foo River in the centre of the province. The coal and coke from this district are conveyed by road to the city of Letsing on the Yellow River, a distance of about 75 miles, from whence they are exported in all directions. Another large field lies on the plain a little to the south of Yïh-chow Foo in the south. A third field is in the district of Wei Heen to the north; and a fourth in the neighbourhood of Yïh Heen in the south-west. Iron ore, ironstone, gold, galena, lead, and copper are also found in considerable quantities in many parts of the province. The principal agricultural products are wheat, millet, Indian com, pulse, rice, arrowroot, and many varieties of fruits and vegetables. The castor-oil plant is common, and the wax tree grows plentifully in the neighbourhood of Lai-yang in the east, giving rise to a considerable trade in the wax produced by means of the wax insects. Unlike those of their kind in Sze-chuen, the wax insects of Shantung breed and become productive in the same districts. They are placed upon the trees in the spring, and at the close of the summer they void a peculiar substance which when melted forms wax. In the autumn they are taken off the trees, and are preserved within doors until the following spring. Shantung abounds in good harbours, the most noteworthy of which are Chefoo and Wei-hai-wei on the north, and Slvihtaou, Kin-kea-kow, and Chingtaou on the south of the promontory. As being the native province of both Confucius and Mencius, Shantung has acquired an undying fame in the Chinese world of literature. Chefoo, the Treaty Port of Shantung, is situated on the northeastern coast of the province. The value of the foreign trade from this port amounted in 1874 to £2,597,060, £1,882,144 of which represented the imports, and £714,916 the exports.

The province of Shan-se is bounded on the N. by Mongob’a, on the E. by Chih-li, on the S. by Ho-nan, and on the W. by Shen-se. It occupies an area of 53,268 square miles, and contains besides its capital, Toe-yuen Foo, eight prefectural cities. The population is returned as being 14,004,210. The configuration of Shan-se is noteworthy, forming, from its southern frontier to as far north as Ning-woo Foo —an area of about 30,000 square miles —a plateau elevated from 5000 to 6000 feet above the level of the sea, the whole of which is one vast coal-field. The northern and western limits of the plateau are bounded by high mountain ranges trending south-west and northeast. Down the central line of the province from north to south lies a curious series of deep depressions, all of which are ancient lake basins. But though forming a series it is plain that these lakes were not formerly connected with each other, some being separated from those next adjoining by high ridges, and being drained by different rivers and in different directions. Shan-se is one of the most remarkable coal and iron regions in the world, and Baron von Richthofen gives it as his opinion that the world, at the present rate of consumption of coal, could be supplied for thousands of years from Shan-se alone. The neighbourhood of Tse-chow Foo in the south of the province abounds in both coal and iron, and has probably, partly by reason of its situation being within reach of the populous plain of Hwai-kimg Foo, of the Yellow River, of Taou-kaw Chin and Sew-woo Heen (the shipping places for Tientsin and the Grand Canal), and of Homan Fοο, furnished more iron to the Chinese than any other region of a similar extent in the empire. The iron is of great purity and is easily fusible, while the necessary means for manufacturing it, such as all sorts of clay and sand for crucibles, moulds, &c., and a very superior anthracite coal, he ready to hand. The coal is of two kinds, bituminous and anthracite, and the hne of demarcation between the two is formed by the hills which are the continuation of the llο-shan range, the fields of bituminous coal being on the west of these hills, and those of anthracite on the east. In the neighbourhood of Ping-ting Chow the extent of the coal-field is incalculable; and speaking of the whole plateau, Baron von Richthofen says, “These extraordinary conditions, for which I know no parallel on the globe, will eventually give rise to some curious features in mining. It may be predicted that, if a railway should ever be built from the plain to this region— and there is no other means of ever bringing to their due account its mineral resources—branches of it will be constructed within the body of one or other of these beds of anthracite, which are among the thickest and most valuable known anywhere, and continue for miles underneath the hills west of the present coal-belt of Ping-ting Chow. Such a tunnel would allow of putting the produce of the various coal-beds immediately on railroad carts destined for distant places.” Salt is produced in the prefecture of Ping-yang in the south of the province, both from a salt lake and from the alluvial soil in the neighbourhood of the Fun River. In agricultural products the province is poor, and as the means of transport at present existing are rude and insufficient, all kinds of food command unusually high prices. Meat is a rare luxury, and salt fish, the usual substitute for meat, is consumed only by the wealthier classes. As a rule the people are poor, and in the mountainous districts are subject to famine and starvation. The only waggon road leading into and through Shan-se is the great highway from Peking to Sβ-gan Foo, which enters Shan-se west of Chingting Foo, and leaves the province at the Tung-kwan at the great bend of the Yellow River.

The province of IIo-nan is bounded on the N. partly by the Yellow River (which it crosses to the west of Honan Foo, forming an arm northwards between the provinces of Shan-se and Chih-lî), on the W. by Shen-se, on the S. by Hoo-pih, and on the E. by Gan-hwuy. It occupies an area of 65,404 square miles, and contains nine prefectural cities. Its capital is Ho-nan Foo. The prefecture of Hwoe-king, north of the Yellow River, consists of a fertile plain, “rendered park-like by numerous plantations of trees and shrubs, among which thick bosquets of bamboo contrast with the gloomy groves of cypress.” All kinds of cereals grow luxuriantly, and the general productiveness of the district is indicated by the extreme denseness of the population. The most noticeable feature in that portion of the province which is properly called Ho-nan, or “south of the River,” is the Foo-new Shan range, which runs east and west across this part of the province. As the Kwan-lun range, it forms an almost impassable barrier between Kokonor and Tibet, and in China it separates completely the northern from the central provinces. Coal is found on the south of the Yellow River in the districts of Ho-nan Fοο, Lushan, and Jοο Chow. The chief products of the province are, however, agricultural, especially in the valley of the Tang-ho and Pe-hο, which is an extensive and densely populated plain running north and south from the Foo-new Shan. Cotton is also grown extensively and forms the principal article of export, and a considerable quantity of wild silk is produced from the Foο-new Shan. Three roads from the east and south unite at Hο-nan Foο, and one from the west. The southern road leads to Joo Chow, where it forks, one branch going to She-ke-chin, connecting the trade from Fan-ching, Han-kow, and the Han River generally, and the other to Chοw-kea-kοw near the city of Chin-chow Foo, at the confluence of the three rivers which unite to form the Sha-ho; the second road runs parallel with the Yellow River to Kai-fung Foo ; the third crosses the Yellow River at Mang-tsin Heen, and passes thence in a north-easterly direction to Hwae-king Fοo, Sew-wοο Heen, and Wei-hwuy Foo, at which place it joins the high road from Peking to Fan-ching ; and the western road follows the southern bank of the Yellow River for 700 le to its great bend at the fortified pass known as the Tung-kwan, where it unites with the great waggon road leading through Shan-se from Peking to Se-ngan Fοo.

The province of Keang soο is bounded on the N. by Shan-tung, on the S. by Chë-keang, on the W. by Gαn-hwuy, and on the E. by the sea. It occupies an area of 45,000 square miles, and the population, which is larger than that of any other province of China, is estimated at 37,843,501. Keang-sοο forms part of the great plain of Northern China. There are no mountains within its limits, and but few hills. It is watered as no other province in China is watered. The Grand Canal runs through it from south to north; the Yang-tsze Keang crosses its southern portion from west to east; it possesses several lakes, of which the Tai-hοo is the most noteworthy, and numberless streams connect the canal with the sea. Its coast is studded with low islands and sand-banks, the results of the deposits brought down by the Yellow River during the different periods in which in the course of its history it has flowed into the Yellow Sea. Keang-soo is rich in places of interest. Nanking, “the Southern Capital,” was the seat of the Chinese court until the commencement of the 15th century, and in modern times it has been famous as having been the headquarters of the Tai-ping rebels from the year 1853, when they took the city by assault, to 1864, when its garrison yielded to Col. Gordon’s “ever victorious army” (see Nanking), and Hang-dhow Foo and Sοο-chοw Foo on the Tav-lωo, are reckoned to be the most beautiful cities in China. “Above there is Paradise, below are Soο and Hang” says the Chinese proverb. Of late years also Shang-hai has earned for itself a place among the notabilities of the province. Tea and silk are the principal articles of commerce produced in Keang-sοo, and next in importance are cotton, sugar, and medicines. The silk manufactured in the looms of Sοo-chow is famous all over the empire, as a proof of which it may be mentioned that, on the occasion of the marriage of the late emperor Tung-che, large orders were received by the manufacturers in that city for silken goods to be bestowed as imperial presents and to be converted into wedding garments. In the mountains near Nanking, coal, plumbago, iron ore, and marble are found. Shang-hai on the Wοο-sung River, and Chin-keang on the Yang-tsze Keang, are the two Treaty

Ports in the province. According to the trade reports for 1874, the value of the goods exported from Shanghai in that year amounted to 27,541,834 taels, and that of those imported to 89,636,343 taels. From Chin-keang during the same period, £317,277 worth of merchandize was exported, while the value of the imports amounted to £3,527,066. In explanation of this latter figure the British vice-consul writes, “with the exception of opium, the sale of which has steadily advanced since the opening of the port (in 1861), all the principal articles of import exhibit a decline.”

The province of Gan-hwuy “Peace and Plenty,” is bounded on the N. by Ho-nan, on the E. by Keang-soo and Che-keang, on the S. by Keang-se, and on the W. by Hοo-pih and Ho-nan. It covers an area of 48,461 square miles, and contains a population of 34,108,059 souls. Its principal city is Can-king on the Yang-tsze Keang, besides which it numbers seven prefectural cities. The southern half of the province, that portion south of the Yang-tsze Keang, forms part of the Nan-shan, or hilly belt of the south-eastern provinces, and produces, besides cotton and iron ore, large quantities of green tea. Gan-hwuy is one of the most productive provinces of China. Over the whole of its southern portion tea is largely grown, notably in the districts of Hwuy-chow Foο, Tung-lew, Ta-tung, and Wοo-hοο. Speaking of this part Baron von Richthofen says, “The exuberant fertility of the soil in the lower portions of the province is not excelled by anything I have seen in temperate climates. No expense has, therefore, been spared in protecting the lowlands by embankments, and introducing a perfect system of irrigation. Both deserve the highest admiration. On the King River I have walked for miles through fields of hemp the stalks of which were from 11 to 13 feet high. Cotton, too is raised in large quantities.” The Shun-gan Keang is the principal river of the province, and is of great importance for foreign commerce, supplying as it does direct water communication between some of the principal tea-growing districts and the neighbourhood of Hang-dhow.

The province of Keang-se is bounded on the N. by Hoo-pih and Gan-hwuy, on the S. by Kwang-tung, on the E. by Fuh-keen, and on the W. by Hoo-nan. It extends over an area of 72,176 square miles, and its population by the last census was returned as being 19,000,000. It is divided into fourteen prefectures, and the provincial capital is Nan-ehang Foo, a city situated on the Kea Keang, about 35 miles from the Po-yang Lake, into which the river empties itself. The whole province is mountainous, being traversed in a south-westerly and north-easterly direction by the Nan-shan ranges. The largest river is the Kea Keang, which rises in the mountains in the south of the province and flows westward into the Po-yang Lake as mentioned above. During the summer time it has water of sufficient depth for steamers of light draught as far as Nan-chang, and it is navigable by native craft for a considerable distance beyond that city. Another river of note is the Chang Keang, which has its source in the province of Gan-hwuy, and flows into the Ρο -yang Lake, connecting in its course the i ∖ τ oo-yuen district, from whence come the celebrated “Moyune,” green teas, and the city of Kιng-tιh-chin, celebrated for its pottery, with Jaοu-chοw Fοο on the lake. The black “Kaisow” teas are brought from the Hο-kow district, where they are grown, down the River Kin to Juy-hung on the lake, and the Sew-ho connects by a navigable stream E-ning Chow, in the neighbourhood of which city the best black teas of this part of China are produced, with Woo-ehing, the principal mart of trade on the lake. The principal productions of the province are tea (of which 32,733,053 lb were exported in 1874), China ware, grass cloth, hemp, paper, tobacco, and tallow. Kew-keang, the Treaty Port of the province, is situated on the Yang-tsze Keαng, a short distance above the junction of the Γo-yαng Lake with that river. According to the foreign trade returns for this port for the year 1874:, it appears that the value of the imports was £1,179,895, 5s., and that of the exports, £2,976,503,14s.

The province of Chĕ-keaeng is bounded on the N. by the province of Keαng-soo, on the E. by the sea, on the S. by the province of Fuh-keen, and on the W. by the provinces of Keang-se and Gαn-hwuy. It occupies an area of about 36,000 square miles, and contains a population of 21,000,000. With the exception of a small portion of the great delta plain, which extends across the frontier from the province of Keang-soo, and in which are situated the famous cities of Hoo Chow, Keα-hing, Hang-chow, Shαou-hing, and Ning-po, the province forms a portion of the Nαn-shan of south-eastern China, and is hilly throughout. The Nαn-shan ranges run through the centre of the province from S.W. to N.E., and divide it into a northern portion, the greater part of which is drained by the Tseen-tαng-keαng, and a southern portion which is chiefly occupied by the Ta-che basin. The valleys enclosed between the mountain ranges are numerous, fertile, and for the most part of exquisite beauty. The hilly portion of the province furnishes large supplies of tea, and in the plain which extends along the coast, north of Ningpo, a great quantity of silk is raised. In minerals the province is poor. Coal and iron are occasionally met with, and traces of copper ore are to be found in places, but none of these minerals exist in sufficiently large deposits to make mining remunerative. The principal cities are Hang-chow and the Treaty Port of Ning-po. In the foreign trade returns for N^ing-po for 1874 the value of the imports during the year is described as having been £2,565,179, and that of the exports as £2,337,948. Among the latter articles we find tea, silk, cotton, dried cuttie fish, paper fans, straw hats, and medicines occupying the most prominent positions. The principal import was opium, the value of which alone amounted to £1,129,668. Cotton piece goods, annexed to which stands the next largest figure, were imported to the value of £430,692. Opposite Ning-po, at a distance of about 50 miles, lies the Island of Chusan, the largest of a group bearing that general name. This island is 21 miles long, and is about 50 miles in circumference. It is very mountainous, and is surrounded by numerous islands and islets. On its south side stands the walled town of Tinghai, in front of which is the principal harbour. The population is returned as being 50,000.

The province of Fuh-keen, or, as it used to be called, Min, is bounded on the N. by the province of ChA-keang, on the S. by that of Kwang-tung, on the W. by that of Keαng-se, and on the E. by the sea. It occupies an area of 53,480 square miles, and its population is estimated at 14,777,410. The provincial capital is Fuhrchow Foo, and it is divided into eleven prefectures, besides that ruled over by the prefect of the capital city. Fuh-keen is generally mountainous, being overspread by the Nan-shαn ranges, which run a general course of N.E. and S.W. The principal river is the Min, which is formed by the junction, in the neighbourhood of the city of Yen-ping Foo, of three rivers,—namely, the Keen-ke, which takes its rise in the mountains on the western frontier in the prefecture of Keen-ning Foo, the Fuh-tun Ke, the source of which is found in the district of Kwang-tsih in the north-west of the province, and the Shαou Ke, which rises in the mountains in the western district of Ning-kwα. From Yen-ping F oo the river takes a somewhat south-easterly course, and after passing along the south face of the city of Fuh-chow Foo, empties itself into the sea about 30 miles below that town. Its upper course is narrow and rocky and abounds in rapids, but as it approaches Fuh-chow Foo the channel widens, and the current becomes slow and even. Its depth is very irregular, and it is navigable only by native boats of a small class. Two other rivers flow into the sea near the island of Amoy, neither of which, however, is navigable for any distance from their mouths owing to the shallows and rapids with which they abound. The soil of the province is, as its name, “Happy Establishment,” indicates, very productive, and the scenery is of a rich and varied character. Most of the hills are covered with verdure, and the less rugged are laid out in terraces. The principal products of the province are tea, of which the best kind is that known as Bohea, which takes its name, by a mispronunciation, from the Woo-e Mountains, in the prefecture of Keenning Foo, where it is grown; grains of various kinds, oranges, plantains, lichis, bamboo, ginger, gold, silver, lead, tin, iron, salt (both marine and rock), deers’ horns, beeswax, sugar, fish, birds’ nests, medicine, paper, cloth, timber, &c. Fuh-keen boasts of two Treaty Ports, Fuhchow Foo and Amoy. The trade reports for 1874 show that the value of goods imported in foreign vessels to Fuh-chow Foo in that year amounted to £1,332,387, Ils. 8d., and that that of goods similarly exported amounted to £4,397,320, 19s. 4d. The chief articles of export from Amoy are tea, sugar, and sugar candy; of tea £1,129,090 worth was exported during the year 1874.

The Island of Formosa, or Taiwan, “ the Great Bay,” as the Chinese call it, forms part of the province of Fuhkeen. Situated at a distance of about 80 or 90 miles from the mainland, its highest mountains can be easily recognized from the coast near Amoy. And so when Chinese historians assert that its existence first became known to their ancestors in the year 1480, they probably mean that at that date emigrants from the mainland first gained a footing in the island. At all events, when the Japanese two centuries later attempted to establish a colony in the island, they found there a Chinese population sufficiently numerous to be formidable. The island stretches from lat. 21° 53' 30" to lat. 25° 33'. In shape it is long and narrow. Its greatest width is about 70 miles, and it tapers off to a fine point at its southern extremity. A backbone of mountains runs from north to south through almost its entire length, leaving a plain on the western and northern portions. These level districts are occupied by Chinese settlers, while the mountains and their eastern slopes to the sea are inhabited by native tribes. The fertility of the plains has gained for Formosa the name of the Granary of China. On every available piece of land fields of rice and sugar are carefully cultivated, and recompense the farmer by yielding him constant and abundant crops. These alone, in addition to such products as jute, grass cloth, fibre, rice paper, and ratan, would make the island a valuable possession; but far more precious are the sulphur and the camphor, which are obtained from the mines and from the mountains of the island, and which are claimed by the Government as Crown monopolies. When taken from the mine the sulphur is boiled in iron boilers until the slate-like mineral assumes a treacle-like consistency. This is constantly stirred until every impurity is separated from the sulphur, which is then ladled out into wooden tubs shaped like sugar-loaves. In these it is left to cool, and the conical cake is freed from the tub by the simple process of knocking out the bottom of the latter. As the gigantic laurels from which the camphor is obtained are found only in the mountains in the possession of the natives, the acquisition of a constant supply is somewhat difficult. In 1874, however, 14,380½ cwts. of this commodity were exported from the ports of Tam-suy and Kelung. Petroleum also adds to the riches of the island. The Treaty Ports in Formosa are Tai-wan Foo (including Ta-kow) on the south-west coast, and Tam-suy (including Kelung) on the north-west and north coast. The foreign trade returns for Tai-wan Foo for 1874 show that goods to the value of £1,678,858 were imported during the year, and that £1,840,016 was the value of the exports during the same period. The Tam-suy returns present much smaller totals; £304,243 represents the value of the imports, and £203,428 that of the exports in 1874.

The province of Hoo-pilι, “North of the Lakes,” is bounded on the N. by Ho-nan, on the E. by Gan-lιwuy, on the S. by Hοο∙nan, and on the W. by Sheη-se and Szechuen. It occupies an area of 70,450 square miles, and contains a population of 27,370,098. The most important city within its borders is the Treaty Port of Haη-kοw, besides which it contains ten other prefectural cities. The greater part of the province forms a plain, and its most noticeable feature is the Han River, which runs in a south-easterly direction across the province from its northwesterly corner to its junction with the Yang-tsze Keang at Han-kοw. The products of the Han valley are exclusively agricultural, consisting of cotton, wheat, rape seed, tobacco, and various kinds of beans. Vegetable tallow is also exported in large quantities from this part of Hοο-pih. Gold is found in the Han, but not in sufficient quantities to make working it more than barely remunerative. It is washed every winter from banks of coarse gravel, a little above E-ching Heen, on which it is deposited by the river. Every winter the supply is exhausted by the washers, and every summer it is renewed by the river. Baron von Richthofen reckoned that the digger earned from 50 to 150 cash a day. Only one waggon road leads northwards from Hοο-pilι, and that is to Nan-yang Fοο in Hο-nan, where it forks, one brandi going to Peking by way of Kai-fung Fοo, and the other into Shan-se by Hο-nan Fοο. According to the Consular Trade Reports for 1874, the value of the foreign trade at Han-kοw during that year amounted to £9,775,754, of which sum £4,388,113 represents the value of the imports, and £5,387,641 that of the exports.

The province of Hoο-nan, “South of the Lakes,” is bounded on the N. by Hοο-pih, on the E. by Keang-se, on the S. by Kwang-se and Kwang-tung, and on the W. by Kweirchσw and Sze-chuen. It occupies an area of 84,000 square miles, and its population is estimated at 18,652,507. The provincial capital is Chang sha Fοο, in addition to which it counts eight prefectural cities within its boundaries. It is essentially a province of hills, the only plain of any extent being that around the Tung-ting Lake, but this extends little beyond the area which in summer forms part of the lake. To the north of Hang-chοw Fοο detached groups of higher mountains than are found in the southern portion of the province are met with. Among these is the Hang-shan, one of the Wοο-yο, or five sacred mountains of China, upon which the celebrated tablet of Yu was placed. The principal rivers of the province are—(1.) The Seang-keang, which takes its rise in the Nan-shan, and empties itself into the Tung-ting Lake ; it is navigable for a great distance from its mouth, and the area of its basin is 39,000 square miles; (2.) The Tsze-keang, the basin of which covers an area of 10,000 square miles, and which is full of ∙apids, and navigable only for the smallest kinds of boats; áhd (3.) The Yuen-keang, a large river, which has some of its head-waters in the province of Kwei-chοw, and which empties itself into the Tung-ting Lake in the neighbourhood of Chang-tth Fοο ;— its basin has an area of 34,300 square miles, 22,500 of which are in the province of Hοο-nan, and 12,500 in that of Kwei-chοw ; its navigation is difficult and dangerous, and only small boats are able to pass beyond Hang-kea, a mart situated about 500 le above Chang-tïh Fοο ; and (4.) The Ling-keang, whieh flows from the tea district of Hο-fung Chow to the Tung-ting Lake. Its basin covers an area of about 8000 square miles, and it is navigable only in its lowest portion. The principal places of commerce are—(1.) Seang-tang, on the Seang-keang, which is said to contain 1,000,000 inhabitants, and to extend three miles long by five le deep; (2.) Chang sha Foo, the provincial capital on the same river; and (3.) Chang-tιh Foo, on the Yuen-keang. The products of the province are tea (the best quality of which is grown at Gan-hwa, and the greatest quantity at Ping-keang), hemp, cotton, rice, paper, tobacco, tea-oil, and coal. This last is by far the most important of the mineral products of Hoo-nan. The whole of the southeastern portion of the province is one vast coal-field, extending over an area of 21,700 square miles. This area is divided into two nearly equal parts,—one, the Luy River coal-fields, yielding anthracite, and the other the Seang River coal-fields, yielding bituminous coal. The people are, as a rule, more generally prosperous than are the inhabitants of the other provinces, and Baron von Richthofen, in the course of his journey through the province, noticed with surprise the number of fine country seats owned by rich men who had retired from business, which were scattered over the rural districts. Almost all the traffic is conveyed through Hoo-nan by water-ways, which lead northward to Han-kow on the Yang-tsze Keang, and Fan-clwng on the Han River, eastward to Fuh-keen, southward to Kwang-tung and Kwang-se, and westward to Szechuen. One of the leading features of the province is the Tung-ting Lake, which has been already described.

The province of Shxn-se is bounded on the N. by the Great Wall, on the W. by the province of Kan-suh, on the S. by the province of Sze-chuen, and on the E. by Shan-se, from which it is separated by the Yellow River. It contains an area of 67,400 square miles, and its population was said to number upwards of 10,000,000 before the outbreak of the late Mahometan rebellion. Se-gαn Foo is the provincial capital, and besides this there are seven prefectural cities in the province. Shen-se is divided into two parts by a barrier of mountains, consisting of the Foo-new Shan and the Tsing-ling Shan, which runs across the southern portion of the province from east to west. To the north of the mountains lie the basins of the Wei River and of several other tributaries to the Hwang-ho. The position of the Wei basin is peculiar. Cut off from the rest of China on the east by the Yellow River, and on the south by the mountains, it yet forms the great channel of communication with Central Asia. Its position, therefore, in a strategical point of view is at once apparent. Were it in the hands of an enemy the Chinese colonies in Central Asia would be completely severed from the mother country, and hence the eagerness which has been evinced by the Government throughout all history to retain possession of the region. For upwards of 2000 years, with the exception of intervals, from 1122 b.c. to 1127 A.D., the city of Se-gan Foo, which Res in the basin, was the capital of the empire. « Its walls enclose a square space of six geographical miles each way, and, unlike most Chinese cities, its fortifications are kept in perfect repair. During the late Mahometan rebellion it was closely invested for two years by the rebels, who however failed to make themselves masters of it. From Se-gαn Foo radiate a number of roads going east, south, and west. The east road is the great Tung-kwan road, which forms the principal means of communication between Peking and the north-eastern provinces of the empire, and Sze-dιuen, Yun-nαn, and Tibet. To the south, one road crosses the mountains to Shang Chow, and on to the Tan River, an affluent of the Han River, and is thus connected with the trade of the Yang-tsze Keang ; and another leads to Handlung Foo and Sze-chuen. Leaving the west gate of the city two roads lead to Lan-chow Foo, from which town commences the great high road into Central Asia by way of Leang-chow Foo, Kan-chow Foo and Suh-chow to Hamì, where it forks into two branches, which follow respectively the northern and southern foot of the Teen-shan range, and are known as the Teen-shan pih loo and the Teen-shan nan loo. It was along these roads that the fame of China first reached Europe, and it was by the Teen-shan nan loo that Marco Polo entered the empire. To defend this line of communication the Great Wall was extended to beyond Suh Chow, and the Kea-yu gate, which is the door of the empire, was built. During the reign of Hea-woo Te of the Han dynasty Chinese colonies and high roads lined with fortified cities were established along this route, and though at times the Government have lost possession of the line beyond the Great Wall, it has always succeeded in re-establishing its supremacy over it, and the earlier emperors of the present dynasty established a firmer hold over the Teen-shan pih loo and Hi than any of their predecessors had been able to acquire. Occupying a position, then, at the confluence of the roads which connect northeastern China with its western and south-western portions, Se-gan Foo is naturally a city of great commercial importance. Producing no manufactures of its own, its trade consists principally in the importation of silk from Chë-keang and Sze-chuen, tea from Hoo-pih and Hoo-nan, and sugar from Sze-chuen, and in the exportation of these and other articles of commerce to Kan-suh, Russia, and Central Asia. Shen-se is purely an agricultural province, and produces nothing for the foreign markets. Its principal products are cotton, wheat, and opium, and these it exchanges with the neighbouring provinces for coal, iron, salt, &c. But besides these, kaou-leang, pulse, millet, maize, groundnut, barley,beans, pease, lucerne, and rape seed are grown. The Wei basin is the greatest agricultural country in the north-west. Being a loess region it is unfit for rice, but for the same reason it produces fine crops of the kinds mentioned at a minimum expenditure of labour. The Shen-se opium is much valued by smokers, and ranks next to the Shan-se drug, which is second only to that produced in Kan-suh. Coal abounds in the northern part of the province, but owing to difficulty of transit it is not worked to any great extent. The winters are cold, but short, and though fruit trees abound and are most productive, no evergreen trees or shrubs are to be met with within the province.

The province of Kan-suh, which derives its name from the first syllables of the names of the two cities Kan-dιow Foo and Suh-chow, is bounded on the N.E. by the Ordo Mongol tribes and the Desert of Gobi, on the E. by Shen-se, on the S. by Sze-chuen, on the S.W. by Kokonor and the Desert of Gobi, and on the N.W. by Kobdo and Hi. The boundary on the N. remains undefined, but the province may be said to occupy the territory lying between lat. 32° 30' and 40°, and long. 108° to 98° 20', and to contain an area of about 86,688 square miles. The population is estimated at 15,193,125. Kan-suh is for the most part a howling wilderness of sand and snow, but to the east of the Yellow River the country is cultivated and to some extent productive. The principal river is the Yellow River, the course of which through the province has already been described, and in the mountains to the south of Lan-chow Foo rises the Wei River, which traverses Shen-se, and flows into the Yellow River at Tung-kwan. The chief products of Kan-suh are cloth, horse hides, a kind of curd like butter “which melts in the mouth,” and is known by the Mongols under the name of Wuta, musk, plums, onions, dates sweet melons, and medicines.

Sze-chuen, “ the Four Streams,” is the largest province in China. It is bounded on the N. by Kokonor, Kan-suh, and Shan-se, on the E. by Hoo-pih and Hoo-nan, on the S. by Kwei-chow and Yun-nan, and on the W. by Tibet. Its population is estimated at 35,000,000; it occupies an area of 220,000 square miles, and contains fifteen prefectural cities, inclusive of Ching-too Foo, the provincial capital. The western portion of the province forms part of the mountain-lands of Central Asia, and the eastern portion, comprising about 100,000 square miles, is. with the exception of the plain on which the city of Ching-too Foo is situated, emphatically a hilly region. The boundaries of this hilly region may be described by lines drawn from Lung-gan Foo to Kwei-chow Foo on the N., from Kwei-chow Foo to Yung-ning Heen on the S.E., and from this latter place to Lung gan Foo on the W. The ethnological and commercial boundaries are clearly and sharply drawn by these physical features. The mountain districts are poorly cultivated, and are inhabited by “Ejin,” or Barbarians, who are distinguished under the tribal names of Se-fan, Lo-lo, and Man-tsze, and whose allegiance to the Chinese Government sits but lightly on them, while the eastern portion is exclusively Chinese, and is one of the most thriving and populous regions in the empire. Through the southern portion of it runs the Yang-tsze Keang, which is there navigable throughout the year, while it is traversed by three large rivers, the Min-keang, the Το -keang, and the Kea-ling Keang, all of which take their rise in the mountains on its north-west border, and empty themselves into the Yang-tsze Keang at Seu-chow Foo, Loo Chow, and Chungking Foo respectively. The whole province is intersected by numerous but difficult roads. The Ta-pih-loo, or great north road, leads from Ching4oo Foo to Peking. From the same centre there branches out one to Chung king Foo, one to Paou-ning Foo, and one to Ya-choτo Foo, while another road connects Chung-king Foo with Kwei-chow Foo on the Yang-tsze Keang and beyond with E-dιang Foo in Hoo-pih. From Ya-chow Foo, again, start two important roads, one leading into Tibet by way of Yung-king Heen, Tsing-ke Heen, Ta-tseen-loo, Le-tang, Pa-tang, and Tsιamdo, and the other to Western Y unman viâ Tsing-ke Heen, Ning-yuen Foo, and Yen-yxιen Heen to Τα -le Foo. From Τα -le Foo this road continues through Momien to Bhamo in Burmah. Another road connects Pa-tang and Le-keang Foo with Τα -le Foo, and yet another crosses the southernmost corner of the province connecting Tung-dhuen Foo in Y unman with Τα -le Foo in the same province.

The products of Sze-chuen are varied and valuable, and, unlike those of the northern provinces of China, are eminently suitable for foreign export. First on the list stands silk, and of this article of commerce a larger quantity is produced in eastern Sze-chuen than in any other province of the empire. There are few districts in this region in which silk is not produced, and though it is somewhat inferior in quality to that producedin Chë-keaeng yet in strength and durability it is so far superior to it that it is able to compete successfully with the finer kind in the market. Large quantities are exported to Shen-se, Shan-se, Kan-suh, Peking, Yunman, Tibet, Kwei-chow, Kwaeng-se, Hooman, and Hoo-pih, and lately it has begun to figure in the Shanghai returns as an article of foreign export. The cultivation of the poppy is largely carried on in the same portion of the province. The opium produced is, however, of an inferior quality, and the exportation therefore is limited to those provinces which from exceptional circumstances are unable to procure the better description of drug from elsewhere. White wax is another of the most valuable articles of the Sze-chuen, trade. It is made exclusively in the department of Keating Foo, the climate of which appears to favour the pro pagation of the disease among the insects which is said by the natives to be the cause of the plentiful secretion of wax. This belief is borne out by the fact, that in the districts where the insects breed only a small quantity of wax is produced, and experience has therefore taught the natives the advantage of breeding the insects in one district and producing the wax in another. The region of Keen-chaeng in the south of the province has been found most suitable for breeding purposes, and it is there, therefore, on the insect trees, which are evergreens with large and pointed ovate leaves, that the breeding processes are carried on. At the end of April the producers start each with a load of the eggs of the insects for the district of Kea-ting Foo, a journey which on foot occupies about a fortnight. The road between the two districts is very mountainous, and as exposure to the heat of the sun would hatch the eggs too rapidly, the travellers journey only during the night. At Kea-ting Foo they are eagerly bought up, and are at once put upon the wax tree. Baron von Richthofen thus describes the subsequent process :—“When the egg balls are procured they are folded up, six or seven together, in a bag of palm leaf. These bags are suspended on the twigs of the trees. This is all the human labour required. After a few days the insects commence coming out. They spread as a brownish film over the twigs, but do not touch the leaves. The Chinese describe them as having neither shape, nor head, nor eyes, nor feet. It is known that the insect is a species of coccus. Gradually, while the insect is growing, the surface of the twigs becomes encrustated with a white substance; this is the wax. No care whatever is required. The insect has no enemy, and is not even touched by ants. In the latter half of August the twigs are cut off and boiled in water, when the wax rises to the surface. It is then melted and poured into deep pans. It cools down to a translucent and highly crystalline substance. Ten taels weight of eggs produce from two to three catties of wax.” Tobacco is another article which occupies a prominent place among the productions of Sze-dιuen. It is grown very generally throughout the province, and is exported in large quantities to Se-fan, Tibet, Yun-nan, Hoo-nan ; and the export to Han-kow alone is estimated at 50,000 piculs annually. The best is grown in the district of Pe Heen ; the next quality is said to come from Kin-lang Heen, and the third quality from She-fang Heen, all these districts being in the plain of Ching-too Foo. The habit, which is unknown in other provinces, of smoking the tobacco leaves rolled up in the shape of cigars obtains largely in Sze-chτιen. Salt is also produced in Sze-chuen in large quantities from brine, which is raised from wells. Tsze-liu-tsing, in Tsze Chow, Woo-tung-keaοu, near Kea-ting Foo, Paou-ning Foo, and Tung-chuen Foo, are the districts where the wells are most abundant. The brine is raised from the well with long bamboo tubes and bamboo ropes, and is then led to large pans for evaporation. In the district of Tsze-liu-tsing petroleum is struck at a depth of from 1800 to 2000 feet, and is used for evaporating the brine. Coal and iron are found in many parts of the province, but the only coal which is worked is of an inferior quality, and the iron is smelted with wood alone. Sugar, tung oil, wheat, barley, beans, rice, Indian corn, potatoes, &c., are among the other products of Sze-chuen. From the list of exports and reexports from Han-kow in the Trade Returns for 1871, Baron von Richthofen has made a list of the proximate value of the exports of Sze-chuen in this direction. [table] [table]

Ning-yuen Foo is the principal district from which the copper is produced, as much as from 500 to 600 tons a year being exported from this one prefecture. The mines are owned by private companies, who are bound by the terms of their licence to sell the metal at a fixed price (8 taels per picul) to certain holders of a Government concession, who on their part are bound to pay 2 taels per picul into the provincial treasury.

The province of Kwang-tung is bounded on the N. by Hoo-nan, Keang-se, and Fuh-keen, on the S. and E. by the sea, and on the W. by Kwang-se. It contains an area of 79,456 square miles, and is divided into nine prefectures; and the population is estimated at about 19,174,030. Its name, which signifies “East of Kwang,” is derived, according to Chinese writers, from the fact of its being to the east of the old province of Hoo-kwang, in the same way that Kwang-se derives its name from its position to the west of Hoo-kwang. Kwang-tung extends for more than 600 miles from E. to W., and for about 420 from N. to S. It may be described as a hilly region, forming part as it does of the Nan Shan ranges. These mountains, speaking generally, trend in a north-east and south-westerly direction, and are divided by valleys of great fertility. The principal rivers of the province are the Se-keang, which has been already described; the Píh-keang, or North River, which rises in the mountains to the north of the province, and after a southerly course joins the Se-keang at San-shwuy Heen ; the Tung-keang, or East River, which after flowing in a south-westerly direction from its source in the north-east of the province, empties itself into the estuary which separates the city of Canton from the sea; and the Han River, which runs a north and south course across the eastern portion of the province, taking its rise in the mountains on the western frontier of Fuh-keen, and emptying itself into the China Sea in the neighbourhood of Swatow. Kwang-tung is one of the most productive provinces of the empire. Its mineral wealth is very considerable, and the soil of the valleys and plains is extremely fertile. The principal article of export is silk, which is produced in the district forming the river delta, extending from Canton to Macao and having its apex at San-shwuy Heen. The value of the silk and of silken manufactures, especially textures which are annually exported from Canton in foreign bottoms, is estimated at about 14,000,000 dollars. Tea is also grown in many districts, and is exported annually to the amount of about 3,000,000 dollars; cassia lignea, together with cassia buds and twigs (from the sub-prefecture of Lo-ting, 150 miles east of Canton), matting, fire-crackers, sugar, and palm leaf fans, which are annually exported to the number of 4,000,000 or 5,000,000 to New York alone, are among the other prominent articles of merchandize. Sugar is grown on the banks of almost all the rivers, and 40 per cent, of the ground under cultivation in the districts of Pwan-yu, Tung-kwan, and Tsang-ching, is occupied by sugar plantations. Out of the total exports from Swatow during the year 1874, which amounted in value to £4,367,739, sugar was put down as representing £1,023,810. Three large coal-fields exist in the province, namely, the Shaou-chow Fοο field in the north; the Hwα Heen field distant about 30 miles from Canton ; and the west coast field, in the south-west. The last is by far the largest of the three, and extends over the districts of Woo- chuen, Teen-pih, Yang-keang, Yang-chuen, G an-ping, Kae-ping, Sin-hing, Ho-shan, Sin-hwang and Sin-ning. The coal from the two first named fields is of an inferior quality, but that in the west coast field is of a more valuable kind. Iron ore is found in about twenty different districts, notably in Tsing-yuen, Ttung-fa, Lung-mun, and Luh-fung. None, however, is exported in its raw state, as all which is produced is manufactured in the province, and principally at Fatshan, which has been called the Birmingham of China. The Kwang-tung coast abounds with islands, the largest of which is Hainan, which forms part of the prefecture of Keung-dhow Foo. This island extends for about 100 miles from north to south, and the same distance from east to west. The southern and eastern portions of Hainan are mountainous, but on the north there is a plain of some extent. Gold is found in the central part; and sugar, cocoa nuts, betel nuts, birds’ nests, and agar agar, or sea vegetable, are among the other products of the island. By the terms of the treaty Keung-chow Foo on the north coast was to be a Treaty Port, and it is now about to be opened to trade. In the province of Kwang-tung there are two Treaty Ports, namely, Canton and Swatow. At Canton the value of the exports carried in foreign vessels during the year 1874 amounted to £4,672,128, and of imports to £1,985,701. The value of the imports to Swatow during the same period was £3,317,297, and of the exports £1,310,321.

The province of Kwang-se is bounded on the N. by Kwei-dhow and Hoo-nan, on the E. by Kwang-tung, on the S. by the Gulf of Tonquin and Cochin-china, and on the W. by Yun-nan. It covers an area of 78,250 square miles, and its population is estimated at 7,313,895. The provincial capital is Kwei-ling Fοο, or City of the Forest of Cinnamon Trees, and there are besides ten prefectural cities. In the south and east parts of the province the surface is mountainous, but in the north the mountains are exchanged for hills and plains. The principal rivers are the Sè-keang, the course of which has been described above, and the Kwei-keang, or Cinnamon River, which takes its rise in the district of Hing-gan, in the north of the province, and in the neighbourhood of that of the Seang River, which flows northward through Hoο-nan to the Tung ding Lake. The Kwei-keang, on the other hand, takes a southerly course, and passes the cities of Kwei-lin, Yang-so Heen, Ping-16 Foo, Chaon-ping Heen, and so finds its way to Woο-chοw Foo, where it joins the waters of the Se-Keang. Another considerable river is the Lew-Keang, or Willow River, which rises in the mountains inhabited by the Meaou-tsze, in the district of Yung-tsung, in Kwei-cluow. Leaving its source it takes a south-easterly direction, and enters Kwang-se, in the district of Hwae-yuen. After encircling the city of that name, it flows south as far as Lexo-chvng Heen, where it forms a junction with the Lung-keang, or Dragon River. Adopting the trend of this last-named stream, which has its head-waters in Yun-nan, the mingled flow passes eastward, and further on in a south-easterly direction, by Lew-chow Foo, IF oο-seuen Heen, and Sin-chοw Foο, where it receives the waters of the Se-keang, and thenceforth changes its name for that of its affluent.

The province of Kwei-chow is bounded on the N. by Szechuen, on the E. by Hoonan, on the S. by Kwang-se, and on the W. by Yun-nan. It contains 64,554 square miles, and has a population of about 5,288,219. Kwei-yang Foo is the provincial capital, and besides this there are eleven prefectural cities in the province. With the exception of plains in the neighbourhood of Kwei-yang Foo, Ta-Ung Foo, and Tsun-e Foο, in the central and northern regions, the province may be described as mountainous. But the very disturbed state in which it has been for many years makes it difficult to gain much information about it. The mountain ranges in the south are largely inhabited by Meaou-tsze, who are the original owners of the soil, and who have been goaded into a state of rebellion· by the oppression to which they have been subjected by the Chinese officials. To this disturbing cause has been added also another by the spread of the Mahometan rebellion of Yuιwιan into some of the south-western districts of the province. The devastating effects of these civil wars have been most disastrous to the trade and the prosperity of Kwei-chow. The climate is by nature unhealthy, the supply of running water being small, and that of stagnant water, from which arises a very fatal malaria, being considerable; but it is at the present time rendered still more dangerous by the number of corpses which are left to putrefy in the fields. The agricultural products of the province are very limited, and its chief wealth lies in its minerals. Copper, silver, lead, and zinc are· found in considerable quantities, and as regards quicksilver, Kwei-chow is probably the richest country in the world. It has been from of old the chief product of the province, and the belt in which it occurs extends through the whole province from south-west to north-east. One of the principal mining districts is Kae Chow, in the prefecture of Kwei-yang Foo, and this district has the advantage of being situated near Wang-ping Chow, from which place it can be conveniently and cheaply shipped to Hankow. Cinnabar, realgar, orpiment, and coal form the rest of the mineral products of Kwei-chow. Wild silk is another valuable article of export. It is chiefly manufactured in the prefecture of Tsun-e Foo, where three kinds are produced. The first quality, the trade in which is estimated at about 500,000 taels a year, is chiefly exported to Shen-se, Shan-se, and Peking, while some finds its way to Seang-tan and so into Kwang-se. The inferior kinds are locally consumed.

The province of Yun-nan, “ South of the Clouds,” is bounded on the N. by Sze-chuen, on the E. by Kwei-chow and Kwang-se, on the S. by Burmah and the Lao tribes, and on the W. by Burmah and Tibet. It occupies an area of 107,969 square miles, but though thus the second largest province of the empire, its population is estimated at only 5,561,320, and probably this number is at the present time, in consequence of the long continuance and violent extinction of the Panthay rebellion, excessive. The greater part of the province may be said to consist of an extensive plateau, containing numerous valley plains, which is divided in the northern portion by mountain ranges that enter at the north-west corner of the province and separate the waters of the Kin-sha-keang, the Meikοn, and the Salwein. Besides Yumnan Foo, the capital, the province contains twenty prefectural cities, several of which— Tung-chuen Foo, Yun-nan Fοo, Ta-le Foο, Yung-dhang Foo, Tsoο-heung Foo, and Ling-gan Fοο, for example—are situated in the valley plains just spoken of. The principal rivers are the Meikοn, which traverses the province from north to south on its way to the China Sea through Anam; the Salwein, which runs a parallel course through its western portion; the Kin-sha-keang, which runs first in a south-east and then in an easterly direction through the north of the province; and the headwaters of the Songka, which takes its rise in the southeastern part of the province. This last-named river forms a navigable communication from Yun-nan to the Gulf of Tσng-king where it empties itself into the sea. The navigation commences at Μan-haou, a town only ten days’ journey from Yun-nan Foο, and it thus affords an easy outlet for the mining districts of eastern and southern Yun-τιan. There are two large lakes in the province, —one in the neighbourhood of Τα -le Fοo, which is 24 miles in length by 6 miles in breadth, and the other near Yun-nan Foo, which measures from 70 to 80 miles in circumference. Several important roads intersect the province, the chief of which are—1. The road from Yun-nan Foo to Bhamo in Burmah viâ Τα -le Foo (12 days), Tăng-yuë Chow or Momien (8 days), and Manwyne, — an easy road as far as Τα -le Foo, but beyond this city the mountain ranges spoken of above present obstacles of no little difficulty; 2. The road from Τα -le Foo northwards to Ratang viâ Le-keang Foo, which thus connects western Yun-nan with Tibet; 3. The road spoken of in the description of Sze-chuen, from Ta le Foo to Cking-too Foo viâ Ning-yuen Foo and Ya-chow Foo ; 4. The road from Yun-nan Foo to Seu-chow Foo, viâ Tung-chuen Foo and Chaou-tung Foo ; 5. The road from the same city to Wang-ping Chow, in Kwei-chow, viâ Kwei-yang Foo, and down the Yuen River to Chang-tíh Foo in Hoonan ; and 6. the ancient and important trade road to Canton. This route connects Yun-nan Foo with Pïh-se Foo, in Kwang-se, on the Canton west river, a land journey which occupies about twenty days. From this point the river furnishes in quiet times an easy communication with Canton, but of late, owing to the disturbed condition of Kwang-se, this route has been little used. The agricultural products of the province are fully sufficient to supply the wants of the inhabitants, but its chief wealth lies in the minerals with which it abounds. On this subject Baron von Richthofen says, “We are now in an extremely remarkable region, which is highly worthy a detailed examination, because a great variety and quality of metalliferous deposits are distributed throughout its extent. The country so distinguished comprehends nearly the whole of Yun-nan, from Ta-kwanting in the north to Po-urh Foo in the south, and from the eastern boundary of the province to Tăng-yuë Chow (Momien) in the west. Besides, it extends across the Yang-tsze, and comprises the whole department of Ning-yuen Foo, till Tsing-ke Heen, a district of Ya-chow Foo ; and in the east, the district of Wd-ning Chow in Kwei-chow. There are no positive indications to show that the metalliferous region extends beyond those limits to the south, west, and north, but this is different as regards the direction to the east, or rather north-east. I have had several statements given me concerning the occurrence of ores of copper and silver through a large portion of Kwei-chow ; but as no mines are worked outside of Wedning Chow, the statement cannot be considered as proved. It is, however, a remarkable fact, that immediately adjoining the metalliferous region of Yun-nan to the north-east, commences a belt distinguished by the occurrence of quicksilver and its ores. It extends through the whole width of the province of Kwevdhow. Quicksilver is found only in this belt, and not in Yunman.”

Silver and gold are among the metals produced in Yun-nan, but they are not known to exist in any large quantities. Lead is of frequent occurrence in the province, and indeed the area through which copper, silver, lead, tin, and zinc are distributed in sufficient quantities to make mining answer, comprises at least 80,000 square miles. The ores are generally of good quality, and are so deposited as to be easy of extraction. Tea from Po-urh Foo, in southern Yun-nan, which is well known and appreciated throughout the empire; opium of an inferior quality; medicines in the shape not only of herbs and roots, but also of fossil shells, bones, teeth, and various products of the animal kingdom; and precious stones, principally jade and rubies, are among the other exports from Yun-nan.

The imperial province of Shing-king, in southern Manchuria, is bounded on the N. by Mongolia and TsdtsL har ; on the E. by the newly-acquired Russian province of Ámoor, the Sea of Japan, and Corea; on the S. by Corea, the Yellow Sea, and the Gulf of Leaou-tung; and on the W. by Mongolia. It occupies an area of 43,000 square miles, and contains a population of 6,000,000. Its capital city is Moukden (41° 40' N. lat., 130° 30' E. long.) or, as it is otherwise known, Shing-king, “ the Flourishing Capital,” or Shin-yang ; and besides this it has one other prefectural city, namely, Kim-chow Foo. The surface of the province is divided between plain and mountain, the latter feature largely predominating. A line drawn from King-dhow Foo (41° 12' N. lat., 121° 10' E. long.) north-east to Moukden, and then south by west through Leaou-yang and Hai-dhing to Kai-chow and the sea, would define the level country, the rest of the province consisting of mountains intersected with valleys. A large portion of the plain being an alluvial deposit is extremely fertile, but in the neighbourhood of the sea that saline exudation so common in the north of China renders futile all attempts at cultivation. To the north and east of this district run numerous mountain ranges, for the most part in a north-and-southerly direction. The climate of Shing-king is marked by extremes of heat and cold. In summer the temperature varies from 70° to 90°, and in winter from 50° above to 10° below zero. The mountain scenery is extremely picturesque, and the trees and shrubs are such as are common in England, the mountain ash being the only common English tree which is there conspicuous by its absence. The most important rivers are the Leaou-ho and the Ta-yang-ho. The former takes its rise in Mongolia, and after running an easterly course for about 400 miles, turns in a south-westerly direction, and empties itself into the Gulf of Leaou-tung, in the neighbourhood of Ying-tsze, up to which town, 20 miles from the bar, the river is navigable for large junks. The Ta-yang-ho rises in the mountains to the south of the plain, and empties itself into the Yellow Sea. The principal roads through the province are—1st, The imperial highway from Peking, which passes through the Great Wall at Shan-hai-kwan l along the shores of the Gulf of Pih-chih-li to Moukden, and after leaving this city divides into three branches—one going eastward to Corea, another going by Kirin and Ålchuku to San-sing, the limit of the empire in this direction, while a third diverges N. by W. to Fa-kwo-mun, thence through Mongolia to Pe-tu-na, and then to Tsi-tsi-har, Mergen, and the Amoor; 2d, A road from Ying-tsze southward to Kin-chow, in the extremity of the promontory of Leaou-tung ; and 3d, a road from the same point in an easterly direction to Fung-hwang-dhing and the Gate of Corea. The Treaty Port of the province is New-dhwang, but owing to the difficulty of reaching this town, the foreign settlement has been established at Ying-tsze. During 1874 the value of goods imported into this port was 2,433,135 taels, and that of exports was 1,753,543 taels. The chief agricultural products of Shing-king are wheat, barley, millet, oats, maize, cotton, indigo, and tobacco. Coal, iron, and gold are also found in considerable quantities in various localities, but as yet they are very little worked.

History.

Far reaching as is the history of China, it yet fails to give us any account of the origin of the Chinese race. Its first page begins by describing the nucleus of the nation as a little horde of wanderers, roving among the forests of Shan-se, without houses, without clothing, without fire to dress their victuals, and subsisting on the spoils of the chase, eked out with roots and insects. Investigation, however, has proved beyond doubt that these wanderers were no indigenous sons of the soil, but were strangers and pilgrims from other lands. Some believe that their point of departure was in the region to the south-east of the Caspian Sea, and that, having crossed the head waters of the Oxus, they made their way eastward along the southern slopes of the Teen-shan. But however this may be, it is plain that as they journeyed they struck on the northern course of the Yellow River, and that they followed its stream, on the eastern bank, as it trended south as far as Tung-kwan, and that then, turning with it due eastward, they established small colonies on the fertile plains of the modern province of Shan-se. But though these immigrants were for the moment wanderers they brought with them habits of settled labour. Some traces are discernible which might possibly be accepted as evidences that the Chinese had at one time a tendency to a nomadic rather than to an agricultural state of existence. In the Book of Historical Documents the governors of the province are called “pastors” and “herdsmen,” and Mencius speaks of princes generally as “pastors of men.” It is impossible also to overlook the identity of outline between the Chinese house and the sweeping roof supported by poles of the Tatar tent; and it is said that when Jengiz Khan in his invasion of China took a city, his soldiers immediately set about pulling down the four walls of the houses, leaving the overhanging roofs supported by the wooden columns,—by which process they con verted them into excellent tents for themselves and their horses. To some extent it may be said, too, that the language countenances this belief, since many common words find their expression in characters of which the hieroglyphics for sheep and cattle form part. For instance, we find that the character ∣⅞, meaning truthfulness, uprightness, is composed of the two parts, and , or “my sheep,” thus apparently pointing to a time when the ownership of flocks was a common cause of dispute; the same is the case also with the character cho, “right,” which is made up of f}, Tsze, “one’s own,” and î£, yang, “sheep,” and Tseang, “to examine and judge clearly,” which is composed of ^g, yen, “words,” or to talk, and “sheep,” which would indicate that the first idea of a judicial examination arose out of wranglings about sheep. But notwithstanding these apparent evidences in favour of the Chinese having been originally a nomadic rather than an agricultural people, it becomes abundantly evident from the earliest records they possess that at all events, immediately on their arrival in China, they settled down as agriculturists. They cultivated grain for their sustenance, and flax, which they wove into garments. They knew the value of silk-worms and planted the mulberry tree; they developed trade, and established fairs at certain centres in their districts. Neither were they destitute of the elements of intellectual culture. They had some knowledge of astromony, and in all probability they brought with them an acquaintanceship with hieroglyphic writing; at all events, at a very early period, we hear of E Yin (1743-1710 b.c. ), presenting a petition in writing to the king, and there is no surer ground for the belief that knotted cords were in use among them before writing was invented than there is for the legend, that the forms of the characters were first suggested to Tsang-Këĕ by the marks on the back of a tortoise.

The possession of these habits and acquirements gave the immigrants a great advantage over the nations of the land. As they advanced they found the country inhabited by “fiery dogs” on the north, “great bowmen” in the east, “the ungovernable vermin” on the south, and the “mounted warriors” on the west. Differing fc in language, as also in every other respect, from the invaders, these tribes became their natural enemies, but they were unable to stand against the “black-haired race.” During the first centuries after the establishment of a regular system of government we hear of them now as common enemies of the Chinese, and now as temporary allies of one or another of the states into which the growing kingdom was divided. But by degrees they drop out of the history of the empire. Step by step they were driven back into the less inhabited parts; whole tribes were transported, others were annihilated, until but a small remnant was left. These wanderers sought and found refuge from their enemies in the mountainous regions of Kwei-chow and Kwang-se, where their descendants, the Meaou-tsze, still maintain themselves against the forces of China.

It was an ancient belief of Chinese writers that there had existed a period of 2,267,000 and odd years between the time when the powers of Heaven and Earth first united to produce man as the possessor of the soil of China, and the time of Confucius. This having been accepted as a fact, it became necessary for the early historians to invent long lines of dynastic rulers to fill up the gap between the creation and the period with which the Book of Historical Documents commences. Accordingly, we find a series of ten epochs described as preceding the Chow dynasty. The events connected with most of these are purely fabulous, and it is not until we come down to the eighth period that we can trace any glimmer, however obscured, of history. This, we are told, commenced with the reign of Yew-chaou She (the Nest-having), who, if such a man ever existed, was probably one of the first of those who, as the immigrants increased and multiplied, was chosen to direct their counsels and to lead their armies. This chief induced them to settle within the bend of the Yellow River, the site of the modern province of Shan-se, and taught them to make huts of the boughs of trees. Under the next chief, Suy-jin She (the Fire-producer), the grand discovery of fire was effected by the accidental friction of two pieces of dry wood. He taught the people to look up to Teen, the great creating, preserving, and destroying power; and he invented a method of registering time and events, by making certain knots on thongs or cords twisted out of the bark of trees. Next to him followed Yung-ching She, and then Fuh-he, who separated the people into classes or tribes, giving to each a particular name, discovered iron, appointed certain days to show their gratitude to heaven, by offering the first-fruits of the earth, and invented the eight diagrams which serve as the foundation of the Yïh-king. Fuh-he reigned 115 years, and his tomb is shown at Chin-choo, in the province of Shen-se, at this day. His successor, Chin-nung, invented the plough; and from that moment the civilization of China proceeded by rapid and progressive steps.

As the early history of every ancient people is more or less vitiated by fable, we ought not to be more fastidious or less indulgent towards the marvellous in that of China, than we are towards Egyptian, Greek, or Roman history. The main facts may be true, though the details are incorrect; and though the accidental discovery of fire may not have happened under Suy-jin She, yet it probably was first communicated by the friction of two sticks, which at this day is a common method among almost all savages of producing fire. Nor is it perhaps strictly correct that Fuh-he made the accidental discovery of iron, by having burnt a quantity of wood on a brown earth, any more than that the Phoenicians discovered the mode of making glass by burning green wood on sand; yet it is not improbable that some such processes first led to these discoveries. And if it be objected against the history, that the reign of 115 years exceeds the usual period of human existence, this after all is as nothing, when compared with the contemporaneous ones recorded in biblical history. Thus, also, considerable allowances are to be deducted from the scientific discoveries of Chin-nung in botany, when we read of his having in one day discovered no less than seventy different species of plants that were of a poisonous nature, and seventy others that were antidotes against their baneful effects.

The next sovereign, Hwang-te, was a usurper; but during his reign the Chinese are stated to have made a very rapid progress in the arts and conveniences of civilized life; and to his lady, Se-ling-she, is ascribed the honour of having first observed the silk produced by the worms, of having unravelled their cocoons, and of having worked the fine filaments into a web of cloth. The tomb of Hwang-te is also preserved to this day in the province of Shen-se.

But with the reign of Yaou (2356 b.c.) we emerge to some extent from the mist which hangs over the earlier records of China. Here Confucius takes up the strain, and though his narrative will not bear criticism it yet furnishes us with some historical data. The character of Yaou and his successor Shun have been the theme of every writer on history from the time of Confucius downwards. So strong was the force of the examples they set that virtue pervaded the land, crime was unknown, and the nation increased in size and prosperity. During the reign of Yaou the empire extended from 23° to 40° N. lat., and from the 6th degree of longitude west from Peking to the 10th degree east. He established his capital at Ke-choo in Shan-tung, and established marts and fairs throughout the land. After his death he was succeeded by Shun, who for some years had shared with him the responsibilities of government. It was during this period that the “Great” Yu was employed to drain off the waters of the flood which had visited the north of China in consequence, probably, of one of the numerous changes in the course of the YeŪow River. This work he accomplished after having expended nine years’ labour upon it, and as a reward for this and other services he was raised to the throne on the death of Shun. After him succeeded a number of rulers, each one less qualified to govern than the last, until one Këĕ (1818 b.c.) ascended the throne. In this man were combined all the worst vices of kings. He was licentious, cruel, faithless, and dissolute. From such a one Heaven withdrew her protection. The people rose against him, and having swept away all traces of him and his bloody house, they proclaimed the commencement of a new dynasty, to be called the Shang dynasty, and their leader, Tang, they named the first emperor of the new line (1766 b.c. ). Aided by wise counsellors, this monarch restored to the country some of its former prosperity. But the same fatality which attended the descendants of Yu overtook also his successors. They became self-indulgent and effeminate. They lost all hold on the affections of their people, so that when Chow, aided and abetted by his consort Ta-ke, gave vent to passions of a more than usually cruel and debased nature, they revolted, and Woo-Wang ascended the throne as the first emperor of the Chow dynasty. Woo-Wang was all that tradition represents the founders of dynasties to have been. He was brave, talented, and virtuous, but he committed the mistake of dividing his kingdom into seventy-two feudal states in order that he might bestow principalities on his own relations and the descendants of former emperors. The fatal result of this subdivision soon became obvious. Jealousies sprang up among the princes, internecine wars raged unceasingly, and the allegiance of the feudatories to the central authority became daily weakened. Nor were the enemies of the empire confined to those within its borders, for, during the reign of Muh Wang (936 b.c.) we are told that the Tatars, of whom we now hear for the first time, taking advantage of the confusion which reigned within the limits of the empire, made predatory incursions into the states, and though they were invariably driven off, yet from this time they remained a constant source of danger and annoyance to the Chinese. Such was the state of the empire, distracted by internal wars and harassed by the attacks of a foreign foe, when Confucius was born (551 b.c. ), and though the sage devoted his life to the promulgation of virtue and the right principles of government, little or no heed was at the time paid to his remonstrances and exhortations, and he died (475 b.c.) in retirement, a neglected and disappointed man. Neither did the efforts of Laou-tsze, who was a few years senior to Confucius, or of Mencius, who succeeded him after an interval of 107 years, meet with any better success. Disorder was rife throughout the land, and the authority of the central Government was on the wane.

Signs now began to appear foreshadowing the fall of the dynasty. During the reign of Wei-lëĕ Wang, the bra∕° n . vessels upon which Yu had engraved the different provinces of the empire were observed to shake violently and shortly afterwards a mountain fell across the stream of the Yellow River causing a wide-spread inundation. As the empire became weakened by internal dissensions so much the more did the power of the neighbouring states increase. Of these the most important was that of Thsin, on the north-west, which, when it became evident that the kingdom of Chow must fall to pieces, took a prominent part in the wars undertaken by Tsoo on the south and Tsin on the north for the coveted prize. But the struggle was an unequal one. The superiority of Thsin in point of size, and in the number of fighting-men at its command, carried all before it, and in 255 b.c. Chaou-seang Wang, having silenced his rivals, possessed himself of the imperial states. Thus fell the Chow dynasty, during the existence of which the empire may have said to have been extended from the 33d to the 38th parallels of latitude, and from the 106th to the 119th degree of longitude, that is to say, it included the southern portions of the province of Chih-li, Shan-se, and Shen-se, the northern portions of Ho-nan and Keang-soo, and the western half of Shan-tung. The capital was fixed at Chang-gan Heen in Shen-se. But though virtually emperor, Chaou-seang Wang abstained from adopting the imperial title, and he died in 251 B.c., leaving his son Heaou-wăn Wang to succeed him. Scarcely was this sovereign seated on the throne when he was attacked with a fatal illness, and after a reign of but three days he became “a guest in heaven,” and Chang-seang Wang his son reigned in his stead. The only title to fame possessed by this monarch was that he was the father of one of the greatest rulers China has ever had. As he was himself a man of no mark, it was probably fortunate for the country that he occupied the throne for only three years, and at the end of that time (246 b.c.), he yielded up his earthly honours to Che Hwang-te, “the first universal emperor.” This sovereign was but thirteen years of age when he ascended the throne, but young as he was he speedily made his influence everywhere felt. He chose Heen-yang, the modern Se-gan Foo, as his capital, and built there a magnificent palace, which was the wonder and admiration of his contemporaries. He constructed roads through the empire, he formed canals and erected numerous and handsome public buildings. Having by these and other means settled the internal affairs of his kingdom, he turned his attention to the enemies beyond his frontier. Chief among these were the Heung-noo Tatars, whose attacks had for years kept the Chinese and neighbouring principalities in a state of disquiet. Against these foes he marched with an army of 300,000 men and completely routed them, exterminating those in the neighbourhood of China, and driving the rest into the mountains of Mongolia. He had no sooner returned from this campaign than he was called upon to face a formidable rebellion in Ho-nan, which had been set on foot by the adherents of the feudal princes, all of whom he had dispossessed when he reconstructed the empire on the monarchical principle. Against these rebels he was as successful as he had been against the Heung-noo, and as soon as peace was restored he marched southwards to subdue the tribes on the south of the Nan-shan ranges, that is to say the inhabitants of the modern provinces of Fuh-keen, Kwang-tung, and Kwang-se. Having accomplished this vast undertaking, he returned to his capital to administer the empire he had won, the limits of which were as nearly as possible those of modern China proper. One monument remains to the present day to bear witness to his enterprising energy. Finding that the northern states of Thsin, Chaou, and Yen were building lines of fortification along their northern frontier for protection against the incursions of the Heung-noo, he conceived the idea of building one gigantic wall, which was to stretch across the whole northern limit of the huge empire from the sea to the furthest western corner of the modern province of Kan-suh. This work was begun under his immediate supervision in 214 b.c., but though it was energetically proceeded with, he died before it was completed. Notwithstanding all that he had done for the country he was very unpopular with the upper classes. He was a reformer, and reformers were as distasteful to the Chinamen of that time as to those of to-day, and schoolmen and pedants were for ever holding up to the admiration of the people the heroes of the feudal times and the advantages of the system they administered. This doctrine was full of danger to the state, and Che Hwang-te therefore determined to break once and for all with the past. To this end he ordered the destruction of all books having reference to the past history of the empire. This decree was almost universally carried out, and many scholars were put to death for failing in obedience to it. The measure, however, widened the breach between the emperor and the upper classes, and when, on his death, in 210 b.c., his son Urh-she Hwang-te ascended the throne, the wide-spread discontent broke out into tumults. Taking advantage of the confusion which thus arose, the princes who had been dispossessed by Che Hwang-te again attempted to regain the thrones they had lost. Unlike his father, Urh-she Hwang-te was quite unable to grapple with troublous times. He was a weak and debauched youth, and was murdered after having offered a feeble resistance to his enemies. His son Tsze-yung thereupon surrendered himself to Lew Pang, one of the two generals, who at that time were the leaders of the rebellion. Unfortunately, however, he afterwards fell into the hands of Heang Yu, the other chieftain, who was as blood-thirsty as Lew Pang was merciful, and who instantly put him to death along with all his family and associates. The rivalry between these two chieftains broke out into open warfare almost immediately after this event, on Heang Yu usurping to himself imperial honours. For five years war raged between the two combatants, and at the end of that time Lew Pang was left master of the field after a decisive battle before Woo-keang, in which Heang Yu was slain. Lew Pang was then proclaimed emperor (206 b.c.) under the title of Kaou-te, and the new line was styled the Han -dynasty.

On ascending the throne Kaou-te established his capital -at Lo-yang in Ho-nan, and afterwards removed it to Chang-gan in Shen-se. Having founded his right to rebel on the oppressive nature of the laws promulgated by Che Hwang-te, he abolished the ordinances of Thsin, with the exception of that referring to the destruction of the books—for, like his great predecessor, he dreaded the influence exercised by the Literati — and he exchanged the worship of the gods of the soil of Thsin for that of those of Han, his native state. His successor, however, gave every encouragement to literature, and appointed a commission to restore as far as possible the texts which had been destroyed by Che Hwang-te. In this the commission was very successful. It was discovered that in many cases the law had been evaded, and numerous books which had ceased to have any corporeal being were found to exist on the tablets of the memories of scholars. This new period of literary activity added to the general prosperity of the empire. There was peace within its borders, and its frontiers remained unchallenged, except occasionally by the Heung-noo, who suffered many and severe defeats at the hands of the Chinese generals. Thwarted, therefore, in their attacks on China, these incorrigible marauders turned their attention to the kingdom of Yuë-che, which had grown up in the western extremity of Shen-se, and after much fighting drove their victims along the Teen-shan nan-loo to modern Western Tartary, that is to say, the territory between Turkestan and the Caspian Sea. This position of affairs suggested to the emperor the idea of forming an offensive and defensive alliance with the Yuĕ-che against the Heung-noo. With this object an ambassador was sent to Western Tartary, who, after having been twice imprisoned by the Heung-noo, returned with no more beneficial result than that his embassy was the means of introducing silk into Europe. However, in 121 b.c., the reigning emperor, Woo-te, sent an expedition against the Heung-noo, and completely defeated them. The conquered people tendered their submission to the victors, and the Chinese established colonies, built towns, and appointed governors in the vanquished provinces. From this time the power of the Heung-noo began to wane. Dissension broke out among their different chieftains, and in 93 a.d. they were completely driven out of Eastern Asia, and the 3d century witnessed their flight into the district north-east of the Caspian Sea, now occupied by the Kirghese, a broken and impotent remnant. Few Chinese dynasties have lasted much more than two centuries, and the first Han dynasty was no exception to the rule. About the beginning of the Christian era a notable rebel, one Wang Mang, rose in revolt against the infant successor of Ping-te (1 a.d.), and in 9 A.D. proclaimed himself emperor. He, however, at best only gained the suffrages of a portion of the nation, and before long his oppressive acts estranged even these supporters from him. In 23 a.d. Lew Sew headed a formidable rising against him and completely defeated him. He was destined, however, to die by the hands of his followers. In a revolt of his remaining troops his head was struck from his shoulders, and his body was torn in pieces by his own soldiery.

His opponent, Lew Sew, was now proclaimed emperor under the title of Kwang-woo-te, and in consequence of his fixing on Lo-yang in Ho-nan as his capital, the line of which he was the first emperor became known as the Eastern Han dynasty. Within this period are embraced some of the most remarkable events in the history of China. During the reign of his successor Ming-te, 65 A.D., Buddhism was introduced from India into China, and about the same time the celebrated General Pan Chaou was sent on an embassy to the king of Shen-shen, a small state of Turkestan, near the modem Pidjan. So successful was he in his mission, that before long he added the states of Shen-shen, Khoten, Kuché, and Kashgar as apanages to the Chinese crown. But in accordance with precedent, after a time the glory of the dynasty became dimmed. Disturbances occurred in the provinces, and, in 173, a virulent pestilence broke out which held possession of the country for eleven years. A magical cure for this plague was said to have been discovered by a Taouist priest named Chang Keo, who made so good a use of his discovery that in a single month he had gained a sufficiently large following to enable him to gain possession of the northern provinces of the empire. He was, however, opposed and defeated by Tsaou Tsaou, another aspirant to imperial honours, whose son, Tsaou Pei, on the death of Heen-te (220 a.d.), proclaimed himself emperor, adopting the title of Wei as the appellation of his dynasty. But at the same time there were two other Richmonds in the field, Lew Pei and Sun Keuen, and the strength of these three adventurers were so nearly equal that they agreed to divide the empire between them. Tsaou Pei, under the title of Wăn-te, ruled over the kingdom of Wei (220), which occupied the whole of the central and northern portion of China. Lew Pei established the Shuh Han dynasty in the modern province of Sze-chuen (221), and called himself Chaou-lëĕ-te; and to Sun Keuen Khan fell the southern provinces of the empire, from the Yang-tsze Keang south-wards, including the modern Tonquin, which he formed into the kingdom of Woo with Nan-king for his capital, and adopted for himself the imperial style of Ta-te (222 A.D.)

But China during the period of the “Three Kingdoms” was a house divided against itself. Rivalries, the seeds of which had been sown at the time of the partition of territory, broke out more fiercely as soon as the courts were established. Lew Pei, as a descendant of the house of Han, looked upon himself as the rightful sovereign of the whole empire, and he despatched an army under the command of the celebrated general Choo-ko Leang to support his claims. This army was met by an opposing force under the Wei commander Sze-ma E, of whom Chinese historians say that “he led armies like a god,” and who, by adopting a Fabian policy, completely discomfited his adversary. But the close of this campaign brought no peace to the country. Wars became chronic, and by degrees the reins of power slipped out of the hands of emperors into those of their generals. Foremost among these were the members of the Sze-ma family of Wei. Sze-ma E left a son, Sze-ma Chaou, scarcely less distinguished than he was himself, and when Sze-ma Chaou was gathered to his fathers his honours descended to Sze-ma Yen, who, finding the county ripe for a change, deposed the ruling sovereign of Wei, and proclaimed himself emperor of China (265 a.d.) His dynasty he styled the Western Tsin dynasty, and he adopted for himself the title of Woo-te. The most noticeable event in this reign was the advent of the ambassadors of the Emperor Theodosius in 284:. For some years the neighbouring states appear to have transferred their allegiance from the House of Wei to that of Tsin. But the condition of China at this time was such that no government could stand unless administered by an able and powerful chief. Woo-te’s successors failing to fulfil these conditions, the country soon fell again into disorder. The Heung-noo, encouraged by the decadence of the Chinese power, renewed incursions into the empire at the beginning of the 4th century, and in the confusion which followed on these attacks from without as well as those that were distracting the country from within, am adventurer named Lew Yuen established himself (in íll) as emperor, first at Ping-yang in Shan-se and afterwards in Lo-yang and Chang-gan. The history of this period is very chaotic. Numerous states sprung up into existence, some founded by the Heung-noo, and others by the Seen-pe tribe, a Tungusic clan inhabiting a territory to the north of China, and who afterwards established the Leaou dynasty in China. The hand of every man was against his neighbour. Nothing was lasting; and in 419 the Eastern Tsin dynasty, which had dragged on a chequered existence for nearly a century, came to an end, and with it disappeared for close on two hundred years all semblance of united authority. The country became divided into two parts, the north and the south. In the north four familles reigned successively, two of which were of Seen-pe origin, viz., the Wei and the How Chυw r the other two, the Pih Tse and the How Leang, being Chinese. In the south five different houses supplied rulers, who were all of Chinese descent.

This period of disorder was brought to a close by the establishment of the Suy dynasty (590). Among the officials of the ephemeral dynasty of Chow was one Yang Keen, who on his daughter becoming empress (578) was created; duke of Suy. Meanwhile, he waited for an opportunity to overturn the reigning house, and, as has so often happened in the history of China, he had not long to wait. The last of the house of Chin was as weak and profligate as any of his predecessors. Him Yang Keen deposed and immediately ascended the throne (590). The country, weary of contention, was only too glad to acknowledge his undivided authority; and during the sixteen years of his reign the internal affairs of China were comparatively peaceably and prosperously administered. The emperor instituted a new and improved code of laws, and showed his respect for literature by adding 5000 volumes to the 10,000 which composed the imperial library. Abroad, his policy was equally successful. He defeated the Tatars and chastised the Coreans, who were disposed to throw aside his authority. The only scene of disorder was in his own household. His sons were unruly and violent, and after his death, in 604, his second son forced the heir to the throne to strangle himself, and then instantly assumed the imperial yellow. At first this usurper, Yang-te, gave himself up to every species of debauchery, but wearying of sensual lusts, he was seized with a desire for conquest. He sent expeditions against the Tatars, and regained some of the influence which had formerly belonged to China in Central Asia. He himself headed an expedition against the Ouigours at the same time that one of his generals annexed the Lew Kew Island to the imperial crown. During his reign the volumes in the imperial library were increased to 54,000, and he spent vast sums in erecting a magnificent palace at Lo-yang, and in constructing unprofitable canals. These and other extravagances laid so heavy a burden on. the country that discontent began again to prevail, and on the emperor’s return from a successful expedition against, the Coreans, he found the empire divided into rebellious factions. In the turmoil which followed General Le Yuen rose to the surface, and on the death of the emperor by assassination this man set Kung-te, the rightful heir, on the throne (617) until such time as he should have matured his schemes. In the following year a dose of poison vacated the throne, and Le Yuen forthwith assumed the imperial sceptre, and proclaimed himself as Tai-tsung the first emperor of the Tang dynasty. At this time the Turks were at the height of their power in Asia, and Tai-tsung was glad to purchase their alliance with money as the Emperor Justinian had been in 558. But divisions weakened the power of this mighty horde, and Tai-tsung, taking advantage of the opportunity, regained much of tho position in Central Asia which had formerly been held by China. In 640, Hamil, Turfan, and the rest of the Ouigour territory were again included within the Chinese frontier, and four military governorships were appointed in Central Asia, viz., at Kuché, Khoten, Kharastan, and Kashgar. At the same time the frontier was extended as far as Eastern Persia and the Caspian Sea. So great was now the fame of China, that ambassadors from Nepaul, Magadha, Persia, and Rome (643) came to pay their court to the Great Khan. Before this time, in 635, a Nestorian priest, O-lo-peen by name, arrived from Rome, who so ingratiated himself with the emperor that he built for him a church, and appointed twenty priests to perform the services. Subsequently, on the death of Tai-tsung (649), we find the strange phenomenon of the imperial power seized upon by a woman in a country where women were regarded, as little else than slaves. On the accession of Kaou-tsung (650) his wife, Woo How, gained supreme influence in the management of affairs, and on the death of her husband in 683 she set aside his lawful successor, Chung-tsung, and took possession of the throne. Nor was she unequal to the office she had usurped. She governed the empire with discretion, and her armies defeated the Tibetans, who had latterly gained possession of Kuché, Khoten, and Kashgar. Thus she re-established the imperial government in the west, and her generals proved themselves victorious over the Khitan in the north-east. On her death, in 705, Chung-tsung partially left the obscurity in which he had lived during his mother’s reign. But his wife, desiring to play a similar role to that enjoyed by her mother-in-law, poisonbd him and set his son, Juy-tsung (710), on the throne. This monarch, who was weak and vicious, reigned but three years, and was succeeded by Yuen-tsung (713), who was in some respects an enlightened and able prince. He busied himself with introducing reform into the administration of the empire, and encouraged literature and learning with wisdom and discretion. During his reign the king of Khokand applied to him for aid against the Tibetans and Arabs, who were advancing to attack him. Yuen-tsung promptly sent an army to his succour, and the aggressors were completely defeated. In a war with the Khitans in the north-east he was not so successful; and in the disorder which arose in consequence of the invasion of the northern provinces by these formidable neighbours, General Gan Luh-shan, an officer of Turkish descent, placed himself at the head of a revolt, and having secured Tung-kwan on the Yellow River, advanced on Chang-gan. In this emergency the emperor fled, and placed his son, Suh-tsung, on the throne (756). This sovereign summoned to his aid the forces of the kings of Khoten and Khokand, of the state of Bokhara, of the Ouigours, and of the Arabs, and with these allies he completely defeated Gan Luh-shan and suppressed the rebellion. The promise held out by this energetic beginning of his reign was not fulfilled by his later career. He fell under the influence of the women and eunuchs of his harem, and died unregretted in 762. During the following reigns the Tibetans made constant incursions into the western provinces of the empire, and Tai-tsung (763-780), was compelled to purchase the assistance of the Ouigours against those intruders by giving a Chinese princess as wife to the Khan. At this epoch the eunuchs of the palace succeeded in gaining an unwonted degree of power, and several of the subsequent emperors fell victims to their plots.

The history of this and the following century is for the most part a monotonous record of feeble Governments, low and vicious intrigues, oppressions, and rebellions. Almost the only relief in the constant rounds of these scenes towards the close of the Tang dynasty was the iconoclastic policy of Woo-tsung (841-847). Viewing the increase of monasteries and ecclesiastical establishments as an evil, he abolished all temples, closed the monasteries and nunneries, and sent the inmates back to their families. Foreign priests were subjected to the same repressive legislation, and Christians, Buddhists, and Magi were bidden to turn their faces westward in the direction of the places from whence they came. With his death terminated also this policy. Buddhism again revived during the reign of the Emperor E-tsung (860-874), who, having had the honour to discover a bone of Buddha, brought it to the capital in great state. By constant internal dissensions and outbreaks the empire became so weakened that the prince of Leang found no difficulty in gaining possession of the throne, and in 907 he assumed the imperial yellow with the title of Tai-tsoo, the first emperor of the later Leang dynasty. Thus ended the Tang dynasty, which is regarded as being the Golden Age of literature.

Five dynasties, viz., the Later Leang, the Later Tang, the Later Tsin, the Later Han, and the Later Chow followed each other in quick succession between the years 907 and 960. But though the monarchs of these lines nominally held sway over the empire, their real power was confined to very narrow limits. The disorders which were rife during the time when the Tang dynasty was tottering to its fall fostered the development of independent states, and so arose Leang in Ho-nan and Shan-tung, Ke in Shen-se, Hwai-nan in Keang-nan, Chow in Szechuen and parts of Shen-se and Hoo-kwang, Woo-yuĕ in Chδ-keang, Tsoo and King-nan in Hoo-kwang, Ling-nan in Kwang-tung, and the Ouigours in Tangout.

A partial end was made to this recognized disorganization when, in 960, General Chaou Kwang-yin was proclaimed by acclamation of the army emperor in succession to the youthful Kung-te, who was compelled to vacate the throne to make way for his quondam lieutenant. The circumstances of the time justified the exchange. It required a strong hand to weld together again the different parts into which the empire had been divided, and to resist the attacks of the Khitan Tatars, whose rule at this period extended over the whole of Manchuria and Leaou-tung. Against these aggressive neighbours Tai-tsoo né Chaou Kwang-yin directed his best efforts with varying success, and he died in 976, while the war was still being waged. His son Tai-tsung (976-997) entered on the campaign with energy, but in the end was compelled to conclude a peace with the Khitans. His successor, Chin∙tsung (997- 1022), descended a step lower in his dealings with them, and agreed to pay them a tribute to induce them to abstain from their incursions. Probably this tribute was not sent regularly; at all events, under Jin-tsung (1023-1064), the Khitans again threatened to invade the empire, and were only persuaded to forego their intention by the emperor promising to pay them an annual tribute of 200,000 taels of silver, besides a great quantity of silken piece goods. Neither was this arrangement long binding, and so formidable were the advances made by the Tatars in the next and following reign, that Hwuy-tsung (1101-1126) invited the Neu-che Tatars to expel the Khitans from Leaou-tung. The call was readily responded to; the service was effectually performed, but having once possessed themselves of the country they declined to yield it to the Chinese, and the result was that a still more aggressive neighbour was established on the north eastern frontier of China. Without delay the Neu-che or Kins, as they now styled themselves, overran the provinces of Chih-li, Shen-se, Shan-se, and Ho-nan, and during the reign of Kaou-tsung (1127-1163) they advanced their conquests to the line of the Yang-tsze Keang.

It was during this period that the Mongols began to acquire power in Eastern Asia, and about the beginning of the 12th century they invaded the north-western frontier of China and the principality of Hea, which at that time consisted of the modern provinces of Shen-se and Kansuh. To purchase the good-will of these subjects of Jenghiz Khan the king of Hea agreed to pay them a tribute, and gave a princess in marriage to their ruler. Hitherto the Mongols had been vassals of the Kin Tatars, but the rapid growth of their power indisposed them to remain tributaries of any monarch, and in consequence of a dispute with the Emperor Wei-chaou Wang, Jenghiz Khan determined to invade the Kin province of Leaou-tung. In this expedition he was aided by the followers of the Khitan leader Yay-lu Tsoo-tsai, and in alliance with this general he captured Leaou-yang the capital city. After an unsuc cessful invasion of China in 1212, Jenghiz Khan renewed the attack in the following year and completely defeated the Kins. In the confusion which followed the emperor was murdered by his generals, and Seuen-tsung ascended the throne. But the change of ruler brought no better fortune to the Kin cause. Jenghiz Khan divided his armies into four divisions, and made a general advance southwards. With resistless force his soldiers swept over the provinces of Ho-nan, Chih-li, and Shan-tung, destroying in their course upwards of ninety cities, and spreading desolation everywhere. It was their boast that a horseman might ride without stumbling over the sites where those cities had stood. Panic-stricken by the danger which threatened him, the emperor moved his court to Kai-fung Foo, much against the advice of his ministers, who foresaw the disastrous effect this retreat would have on the fortunes of Kin. And now, as foes advanced, friends fell off from the tottering house. The state of Sung, which up to this time had paid tribute, now declined to recognize Kin as its feudal chief, and a short time afterwards declared war against its quondam ally. Mean while, in 1215, Yay-lu Tsoo-tsai advanced into China by the Shan-hai Kwan, and made himself master of Peking, which until then was one of the few cities in Chih-li which remained to Kin. After this victory his nobles wished him to proclaim himself emperor, but he refused, being mindful of an oath which he had sworn to Jenghiz Khan. In 1216 Tung-kwan, a pass in the mountains between the frontier of Ho-nan and Shen-se, which in the history of China has been the scene of numerous dynastic battles, forming as it does the only gateway between Eastern and Western China, was taken by the invaders. Year after year the war dragged on, the resistance offered by the Kins growing weaker and weaker. In 1220 Tse-nan Foo the capital of Shan-tung was taken, and five years later Jenghiz Khan marched an army westward into Hea and completely conquered the forces of the king; but it was not until the year following the king’s death that he took possession of the principality. In the succeeding year Jenghiz Khan himself was gathered to his fathers, and Ogdai his son reigned in his stead.

Thus died at the age of 66 this great general, whose armies had triumphed victoriously over the whole of Central Asia, from the Caspian Sea and the Indus to Corea and the Yang-tsze Keang. With his dying breath he adjured his son to complete the conquest of China, and with a view to this, the crowning desire of his life, he declined to nominate either of the two eldest sons who had been born to his Chinese wives as his heir, but choose rather his third son Ogdai whose mother was a Tatar. On hearing of the death of Jenghiz Khan the Kins sent an embassy to his successor desiring peace, but Ogdai, remembering the last injunctions of his father, told them there would be no peace for them until their dynasty should be overthrown. Up to this time the Mongols had been without any code of laws. The old rule

“That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can,”

was the maxim on which they guided their mutual intercourse, and the punishments due for offences were left entirely to the discretion of the officials before whom the culprits were tried. The consistency, however, which had been given to the nation by the conquests of Jenghiz Khan made it necessary to establish a recognized code of laws, and one of the first acts of Ogdai was to form such a code. With the help also of Yay-lu Tsoo-tsai, he established custom houses in Chih-li, Shan-tung, Shan-se, and Leaou-tung; and for this purpose divided these provinces into ten departments. Meanwhile the war with the Kins was carried on with energy. In 1230 Se∙gan Foo was taken, and sixty important posts were captured. Two years later Too-le, brother of Ogdai, took Fung-tseang Foo and Handlung Foo, in the flight from which last-named place 100,000 persons are said to have perished. Following the course of the River Han in his victorious career this general destroyed 140 towns and fortresses, and defeated the army of Kin at Mount San-fung.

In the following year the Mongol cause suffered a great loss by the death of Too-le. This famous warrior left behind him twelve sons, two of whom, Mangu, the firstborn, and Kublai, the fourth son, were destined to sit in succession on the throne of their uncle Ogdai. But then-time was not yet. First of all they had to win their spurs, and well did they prove by their deeds their right to the name of Mongol or “daring.” In China, in Central Asia, and on the banks of the Caspian they led their victorious armies. But meanwhile, in 1232, the Mongols made an alliance with the state of Sung, by which, on condition of Sung helping to destroy Kin, Ho-nan was to be the property of Sung for ever. The effect of this coalition soon became apparent. Barely had the Kin emperor retreated from Kaifung Foo to Joo-ning Foo in Ξo-nan when the former place fell into the hands of the allies. Next fell Loyang, and the victorious generals then marched on to besiege Joo-ning Foo. The presence of the emperor gave energy to the defenders, and they held out until every animal in the city had been killed for food, until every old and useless person had suffered death to lessen the number of hungry mouths, until so many able-bodied men had fallen by the hand of the enemy that the women manned the ramparts, and then the allies stormed the walls. Once inside the town the inhabitants, enfeebled by starvation, fell ready victims to their swords. The emperor, like another Sardanapalus, despairing now of success, burned himself to death in his palace, that his body might not fall into the hands of his enemies. For a few days the shadow of the imperial crown rested on the head of his heir Changlin, but in a tumult which broke out amongst his followers he lost his life, and with him ended the “Golden” dynasty, which from that time disappeared from the country’s annals until the Manchoo family now reigning came, nearly four centuries later, to claim the throne as heirs of the defender of Joo-ning Foo.

Although China was still by no means conquered, yet the extinction of the Kin dynasty enabled Ogdai to send an army of 300,000 men to ravage the country bordering on the Caspian Sea. But so vast were the resources at his command, that he was able to despatch at the same time a force 600,000 strong into Sze-chuen to subdue the power of Sung in that province. For, notwithstanding the treaty which had been made between Ogdai and Sung, no sooner were the spoils of Kin to be divided than fierce war broke out again between them, in prosecuting which the Mongol armies swept over the provinces of Hoo-kwang, Keang-nan, and Ho-nan, and were checked only when they reached the walls of Loo-chow Foo in Gan-hwuy. Ogdai was not destined to live to see his sway acknowledged over the whole empire. In 1241, he died at the age of fifty-six, having reigned thirteen years, and was nominally succeeded by his grandson Cheliemen. But among the numerous ladies who called Ogdai lord, was one named Toliekona, who on the death of the emperor took possession of the throne, and after exercising rule for four years, established her son Kwei-yew, as Great Khan. But in 1248 his life was cut short, and the nobles, disregarding the claims of Cheliemen, proclaimed as emperor Mangu, the eldest son of Too-le. Under this monarch the war against Sung was carried on with energy, and Kublai, outstripping the bounds of Sung territory, made his way into the province of Yun-nan, which at that time was divided into a number of independent states, and having attached them to his brother’s crown he passed on into Tibet, Tonquin, and Cochin-China, and from thence striking northwards entered the province of Kwang-se. On the death of Mangu in 1259 Kublai ascended the throne, and never in the history of China was the nation more illustrious, nor its power more widely felt, than under his sovereignty. During the first twenty years of his reign Sung kept up a resistance, gradually growing weaker and weaker, against his authority; and it was not, therefore, until 1280 that he assumed complete jurisdiction as emperor of China. At this time his authority was acknowledged “from the Frozen Sea, almost to the Straits of Malacca. With the exception of Hindustan, Arabia, and the westernmost parts of Asia, all the Mongol princes as far as the Dnieper declared themselves his vassals, and brought regularly their tribute.” It was during this reign that Marco Polo visited China, and he describes in glowing colours the virtues and glories of the “Great Khan.” But though his rule was characterized by discretion and munificence, his Chinese subjects were uneasy under his yoke. He undertook public works, he patronized literature, and relieved the distress of the poor, but still they never forgot that he was an alien and a barbarian, and he died unregretted in 1294. His son had died during his lifetime, and after some contention his grandson Timur ascended the throne under the title of Yuen-ching. After an uneventful reign this prince was gathered to his fathers in 1307, and as he left no son, Woo-tsung, a Mongol prince, reigned in his stead. To him, succeeded Jin-tsung in 1311, who made himself conspicuous by the honour he showed to the memory of Confucius, and by distributing offices more equally between Mongols and Chinese than had hitherto been done. This act of justice gave great satisfaction to the Chinese, and his death ended a peaceful and prosperous reign in 1320. Three years later,—three years of disorder,— his successor, Ying-tsung, was murdered by a band of conspirators. From this time the star of the Yuen dynasty was in the descendant. Tai-ting-te, Ming-tsung, Wăn-te, and Shun-te followed one another on the throne in quick succession. Each reign was more troublous than the last, and in the person of Shun-te (1333-1368) were summed up all the vices and faults of his predecessors. Outbreaks, which up to his time had been local in their character, assumed large and threatening proportions; and finally this descendant of Jenghiz Khan was compelled to fly from his capital before Choo Yuen-chang, the son of a Chinese labouring man. Deserted by his followers he sought refuge in Ying-chang Foo, and there the last of the Yuen dynasty died. So disunited had the empire become by constant disturbances and rebellions, that Choo Yuen-chang met with little opposition to his forces, more especially as his first care on becoming possessed of a district was to suppress lawlessness and to establish a settled government. In 1355 he crossed the Yang-tsze Keang and captured Nan-king, in consequence of which success he proclaimed himself duke of Woo, but as yet he carefully avoided adopting any of the insignia of royalty. Even when he had taken the capital and was the master of the empire thirteen years later, he still professed to dislike the idea of assuming the imperial title. His scruples, however, on this point were overcome, and he solemnly declared himself emperor in 1368. Once seated upon the throne, he ingratiated himself with his subjects by his generous treatment of his enemies, and by the regard he showed for the welfare of his people. He carried his arms into Tatary, where he subdued the last semblance of Mongol power in that direction, and then bent his steps towards Leaou-tung. Here the Mongols defended themselves with the bravery of despair, but nothing could resist the onslaught of the victorious Chinese, and the conquest of this province left Hung-woo, as the founder of the new or Ming, “Bright,” dynasty styled himself, without a foe in the empire. Beyond the frontier of China he cultivated friendly relations with the rulers of the neighbouring states. The king of Corea sent an embassy to congratulate him on his accession, and the sovereign of the Lew-chew Islands sent his brothers and sons to his court to be educated. As a quondam Buddhist priest he naturally lent his countenance to that religion to the exclusion of Taouism, whose priests had for centuries earned the contempt of all but the most ignorant by their pretended magical arts and their search after the philosopher’s stone. In 1398, and in the thirtieth year of his reign, Hung-woo was gathered to his fathers, and Keen-wăn his grandson reigned in his stead. Aware that the appointment of this youth—his father was dead—would give offence to the young emperor’s uncles, Hung-woo dismissed them to their respective governments before death closed his eyes. This, however, only delayed the storm. The prince of Yen, his eldest surviving son, raised the banner of rebellion in his principality as soon as the news reached him of his nephew’s accession, and after gaining several victories over the armies of Keen-wăn he presented himself before the gates of Nanking, the capitah Treachery opened the gates to him, and the emperor having fled in the disguise of a monk, the victorious prince clothed himself in imperial yellow and took the title of Yung-lo (1403). At home Yung-lo devoted himself to the encouragement of literature and the fine arts, and, possibly from a knowledge that Keen-wăn was among the Buddhist priests, he renewed the law prohibiting Buddhism. Abroad he swept Cochin-China and Tonquin within the folds of his empire and carried his arms into Tatary, where he made new conquests of waste regions, and erected a monument of his victories. His death took place in 1425, and he was in that year succeeded by his son Hung-ke.

Hung-ke’s reign was short and uneventful. He did that which was right as far his knowledge went. He strove to promote only such mandarins as had proved themselves to be able and honest, and to further the welfare of the people. During the reign of his successor, Seuen-tïh (1426-1436), the empire suffered the first loss of territory since the commencement of the dynasty. Cochin-China rebelled and gained her independence. But this was but the beginning of troubles. The next emperor, Ching-tung (1436) was defeated and taken prisoner by a Tatar chieftain, a descendant of the Yuen family named Ye-seen, who had invaded the northern provinces. With unusual clemency the Tatar gave him his life, though he kept him a close prisoner until the fortunes of war turned against him. Having been completely defeated by a Chinese force from Leaou-tung, Ye-seen liberated his captive, who returned to his capital amidst the rejoicings of the people, again to occupy the throne which during his imprisonment (1450- 1457) had been held by his brother King-te. The two following reigns, those of Ching-hwa (1465-1488) and of Hung-che (1488-1506) were quiet and peaceful. But their successor Ching-tïh (1506-1522) was called upon to face a very formidable insurrection headed by the prince of Ning. He was, however, victorious over the rebel, who lost 30,000 men in the engagement which put an end to his hopes. The disorder into which the empire had been thrown by this civil war encouraged the foreign enemies of China. First of all from the dreaded north came a Tatar army under Yen-ta in 1542, during the reign of Kea-tsing, which laid waste the province of Shen-se, and even threatened the capital, and a little later a Japanese fleet appeared off the coast and carried fire and sword through the littoral provinces. Ill-blood had arisen between the two peoples before this, and a. Japanese colony had been driven out of Ningpo by force and not without bloodshed a few years previously. Kea-tsing was not equal to such emergencies, and his death, which took place in 1567, would have been an advantage to the empire, had his son been a more able prince. But the only weapon Lung-king (1567-1573) was able to wield against the Tatar Yen-ta was a bribe. He made him a prince of the empire, and gave him certain commercial privileges, which were further supplemented by the succeeding emperor Wan-leĭh (1573- 1620) by a grant of land in Shen-se. During the reign of this sovereign, in the year 1592, the Japanese successfully invaded Corea, and Taikosama, the emperor of Japan, was on the point of proclaiming himself king of the peninsula, when a large Chinese force answering to the invitation of the king, appeared on the field and completely routed the Japanese army, at the same time that the Chinese fleet cut off their retreat by sea. In this extremity the Japanese sued for peace, and sent an embassy to Peking to arrange terms. But the peace was of short duration. In 1597 the Japanese again invaded Corea and defeated the Chinese army which was sent against them, nor were they less successful at sea. They destroyed the Chinese fleet and ravaged the coast. Suddenly, however, when in the full tide of conquest, they evacuated Corea, which again fell under the direction of China. Four years later Ricci arrived at the Chinese court; and though at first the emperor was inclined to send him out of the country, his abilities gradually won for him the esteem of the sovereign and his ministers, and he remained the scientific adviser of the court until his death in 1610. About this time the power which was destined to overthrow the Ming dynasty began to grow restless. The Manchoo Tatars, goaded into war by the injustice they were constantly receiving at the hands of the Chinese, led an army into China in 1616 and completely defeated the force which was sent against them. Three years later they were again victorious over the Chinese, and they then gained possession of the province of Leaou-tung. This final series of disasters was more than the emperor could bear, and he died of a broken heart in 1620.

In the same year Teen-ning, the Manchoo sovereign, having declared himself independent, and possessed himself of Leaou-tung, moved the court to San-koo, to the east of Moukden, which, five years later, he made his capital Meanwhile Tai-chang, the son of Wan-leïh, ascended the Chinese throne, but barely had he assumed the reins of power when he fell ill. Acting on the advice of his doctors he drank of the liquor of immortality and died. The next emperor Teen-ke, after a brief and troublous reign, followed him to the grave in 1627, and to him succeeded Tsung-ching, the last emperor of the Ming dynasty. In his reign the storm-clouds, which had been collecting for some years, burst over the empire. In addition to the threatened danger on the north, rebel bands, enriched by plunder, and grown bold by success, began to assume the proportion of armies. They dominated over whole districts and provinces and paralyzed the imperial forces by their energy and daring. Out of this seething mass of insubordination two leaders showed themselves conspicuously. These were Le Tsze-ching and Shang Ko-he. In order that there should be no dispute as to which should be greatest, they decided to divide the empire between them, and to begin with it was agreed that Shang should take possession of Sze-chuen and Hoo-kwang, and that Le should make himself master of Ho-nan. Bent on this mission Le besieged Kaifung Foo, the capital of the province, and so long and closely did he beleaguer it that in the consequent famine human flesh was regularly sold in the market. At length an imperial force came to raise the siege, with consequences as fatal to the inhabitants as if the rebels had gained the city; for, fearful of meeting Le’s army in the field, they cut through the dykes of the Yellow River, “China’s Sorrow,” and flooded the whole country including the city. The rebels escaped to the mountains, but upwards of 200,000 inhabitants perished in the flood, and the city became a heap of ruins (1642). From Kaifung Foo Le marched against the other strongholds of Honan and Shen-se, and was so completely successful that he determined to attack Peking. A treacherous eunuch opened the gates to him, on being informed of which the emperor committed suicide. When the news of this disaster reached the general-commanding on the frontier of Manchoo Tatary, he, in an unguarded moment, concluded a peace with the Manchoos, and invited them tσ dispossess the rebel Le Tsze-ching. With ready acquiescence the Manchoos entered China, and after defeating a rebel army sent against them, they marched towards Peking. On hearing of the approach of the invaders, Le Tsze-ching, after having set fire to the imperial palace, evacuated the city, but was overtaken, and his force was completely routed. The object for which the Manchoos had been introduced into the empire having now been accomplished, the Chinese wished them to retire, but, like the Mongols, having once gained a footing in the empire, they declared themselves unwilling to leave it, and having taken possession of Peking they proclaimed the ninth son of Teen-ning emperor of China under the title of Shun-che, and adopted the name of Ta-tsing, or “Great pure,” for the dynasty (1644). Meanwhile the mandarins at Nanking had chosen an imperial prince to ascend the throne. But with all the prestige of victory the Tatars bo∣e down all opposition, and at this most inopportune moment “a claimant” to the throne, in the person of a pretended son of the last emperor, appeared at court. This additional complication still further reduced the Chinese power of acting. While this contention prevailed inside Nanking the Tatar army appeared at the walls. But there was no need for them to use force. The gates were thrown open, and they took possession of the city without shedding a drop of blood. Following the conciliatory policy they had everywhere pursued, they confirmed the mandarins in their offices and granted a general amnesty to all who would lay down their arms. As the Tatars entered the city the emperor left it, and after wandering about for some days in great misery, he threw himself into the Yang-tsze Keang and was drowned. Thus ended the Ming dynasty, and the empire passed again under a foreign yoke.

All accounts agree in stating that the Manchoo conquerors are descendants of a branch of the family which gave the Kin dynasty to the north of China; and in lieu of any authentic account of their early history, native writers have thrown a cloud of fable over their origin. These tell us that in remote ages three heaven-born virgins dwelt beneath the shadow of the Great White mountains, and that while they were bathing in a lake which reflected in its bosom the snow-clad peaks which towered above it, a magpie dropped a blood-red fruit on the clothes of the youngest. This the maiden instinctively devoured, and forthwith conceived and bore a son, whose name they called Ai-sin Ghioro, which being interpreted is the “Golden Family Stem,” and which is the family name of the present emperors of China. When his mother had entered the icy cave of the dead, her son embarked on a little boat and floated down the River Hurka until he reached a district occupied by three families who were at war with each other. The personal appearance of the supernatural youth so impressed these warlike chiefs that they forgot their enmities and hailed him as their ruler. The town of O-to-le (43 a 35' N. lat. and 128° E. long.) was chosen as his capital, and from that day his people waxed fat, and at length, as we have seen, kicked against their oppressors, the Chinese.

This legend confirms the general belief that the original seat of the Manchoos was in the valley of the Hurka, a river which flows into the Sungari in about 46° 20' N^. lat,, and 129° 50' E. long. Under a succession of able and hardy chiefs they added land to land and tribe to tribe, until, in the 16th century, we find them able to cope with, and in a position to demand favourable terms by treaty from, their Chinese neighbours. As they became more powerful their complaints became louder against acts of aggressive oppression which they laid at the door of the Mings. But who will say that the fault was all on one side? Doubtless the Mings tried to check their ambition by cruel reprisals— a mistaken policy common to oppressors who find themselves with waning powers in the presence of growing discontent. But if we are to square the account, against this must be put numerous Manchoo raids into Leaou-tung, entailing loss of life and property on the subjects of China. And the ready rapidity with which these Manchurian horsemen swept round the corner of the Great Wall into China proper on the fatal invitation of the Chinese general shows that they were neither unwilling nor unaccustomed to wander beyond their own frontiers.

But the accession to the throne of the Emperor Shun-che did not by any means at first restore peace to the country. In Keang-se, Fuh-keen, Kwang-tung, and Kwangse the adherents of the Ming dynasty defended themselves vigorously but unsuccessfully against the invaders, while the pirate Ching Che-tung, the father of the celebrated Koxinga, kept up a predatory warfare against them on the coast. On one occasion he was bought over to the Tatar camp and accepted a princess as a reward for his conversion, but he soon returned to his former allegiance, only, however, once again to prove himself a turn-coat. Finding him too formidable as a foe the Tatars determined again to gain his alliance. A general’s command proved too tempting a bait to the buccaneer to be refused. He accepted the offer and went on shore to visit the Tatar commander, who received him with all civility. But when the pirate wished to return to his ships he was politely urged to visit Peking. Once there he was thrown into prison, where he died shortly afterwards. His son Koxinga, warned by his father’s example, determined to leave the mainland and to seek an empire elsewhere. His choice fell on Formosa, and having driven the Dutch out of the island, he established himself as king and held possession of the island until the reign of Kang-he, when he resigned in favour of the Imperial Government. Meanwhile a prince of the house of Ming was proclaimed emperor in Kwang-se, under the title of Yung-leïh. But the Tatars having reduced the provinces of Fuh-keen and Keang-se, and having taken Canton after a siege of eight months, marched against and so completely routed his followers that he was compelled to fly to Pegu. There he remained for some years until, believing that his adherents in Yun-nan and Kwei-chow were sufficiently numerous to justify his raising his standard in those provinces, he crossed the frontier and. advanced to meet the imperial forces. On this as on the former occasion, fortune declared against him. His army was scattered to the four winds, and he was taken prisoner and strangled. Gradually opposition to the new regime became weaker and weaker, and the shaved head with the pig tail—the symbol of Tatar sovereignty—became more and more universally adopted. In 1651 died Ama Wang, the uncle of Shun-che, who had acted as regent during his nephew’s minority, and the emperor then assumed the government of the state. Little is known of this monarch.

He appears to have taken a great interest in science, and to have patronized Adam Schaal, a German Jesuit, who was at that time resident at Peking. It was during his reign (1656) that the first Russian embassy arrived at the capital, but as the envoy declined to kowtow before the emperor he was sent back without having been admitted to an audience. After an unquiet reign of seventeen years Shun-che was gathered to his fathers (1661), and Kang-he, his son, reigned in his stead. This emperor was as renowned as his father had been unknown. He was indefatigable in administering the affairs of the empire, and at the same time he devoted much of his time to literary and scientific studies under the guidance of the Jesuits. The dictionary of the Chinese language, published under his superintendence, proves him to have been as great a scholar as his conquests over Eleuths shows him to have been famous as a general. During one of his hunting expeditions to Mongolia he caught a fatal cold, and he died in 1721 after a glorious reign of sixty years. Under his rule Tibet was added to the empire, which extended from the Siberian frontier to Cochin-China, and from the China Sea to Turkestan. Almost the only national misfortune that visited China while he sat upon the throne was an earthquake at Peking, in which 400,000 people are said to have perished.

Kang-he was succeeded by Yung-ching, who, reaping the benefits of his father’s vigorous administration, enjoyed a peaceable reign, though a short one. He died in 1735, and Keen-lung his son reigned in his room. Ambitious and warlike, this monarch despised the conciliatory measures by which his father had maintained peace with his neighbours. On but a slight provocation, he marched an army into Hi, which he converted into a Chinese province, and he afterwards added eastern Turkestan to the far-reachjng territories of China Twice he invaded Burmah, and once he penetrated into Cochin-China, but in neither country were his arms successful. He is accused of great cruelty towards his subjects, which they repaid by rebelling against him. During his reign it was that the Mahometan standard was first raised in Kansuh. But the Mussulmans were unable to stand against the imperial troops; their armies were dispersed; ten thousand of them were exiled; and, effectually to prevent a renewal of the outbreak for some years, an order was issued that every Mahometan in Kansuh above the age of fifteen should be put to death (1784). Amidst all the political calls upon his time Keen-lung still found leisure for study. He wrote incessantly, both poetry and prose, and did much to promote the cause of literature by collecting libraries and republishing works of value. His campaigns furnished him with themes for his verses, and in the Summer Palace was found a handsome manuscript copy of a laudatory poem he composed on the occasion of his war against the Gorkhas. This was one of the most successful of his military undertakings. His generals marched 70,000 men into Nepaul to within sixty miles of the British frontiers, and having subjugated the Gorkhas they received the submission of the N^epaulese, and acquired an additional hold over Tibet (1792). In other directions his arms were not so successful. We find no poem commemorating the campaign against the rebellious Formosans, nor lament over the loss of 100,000 men in that island, and the last few years of his reign were disturbed by outbreaks among the Meaou-tsze or hill tribes, living in the mountains in the provinces of Kwei-chow and Kwangse. In 1795, after a reign of sixty years, Keen-lung abdicated in favour of his fifteenth son, who adopted the title of Kea-king as the style of his reign. He only lived three years in retirement, and died at the age of eighty-eight in 1798.

During the reign of Keen-lung the relations of the East India Company with his Government had been the reverse of satisfactory. All kinds of unjust exactions were demanded from the merchants, and many acts of gross injustice were committed on the persons of Englishmen. So notorious, at length, did these matters become that the British Government determined to send an embassy to the court of Peking, and Lord Macartney was chosen to represent George III. on the occasion. On arriving at Jehol, where the court then was, Lord Macartney was received most graciously by the emperor, and subsequently at Yuen-ming-yuen he was admitted into the imperial presence and was treated with every courtesy. But the concessions he sought for his countrymen were not accorded to him, and in this sense, but in this sense only, his mission was a failure.

Kea-king ’ s reign, which extended over a period of five-and-twenty years, was disturbed and disastrous. In the northern and western provinces, rebellion after rebellion broke out, due in a great measure to the carelessness and incompetency of the emperor, who was as obstinately self-opinionated as he was unfit to rule, and the coasts were infested with bands of pirates, whose number and organization enabled them for a long time to hold the imperial fleet in check. But, fortunately for the Government, dissensions broke out among the pirate chiefs, and, weakened by internal fighting, they finally made their peace with the mandarins and accepted posts under the emperor. Meanwhile the condition of the foreign merchants at Canton had in no wise improved. The mandarins were as exacting and as unjust as ever, and in order to set matters on a better footing the British Government despatched a second ambassador in the person of Lord Amherst to Peking in 1816. On arriving at the mouth of the Peiho he was received by imperial commissioners who conducted him to Yuen-ming yuen, taking every advantage on the way of pointing out to him the necessity of his performing the kowtow before the emperor if he wished to be allowed to enter the imperial presence. This he declined to do, and he was consequently dismissed from the palace on the same day on which he arrived, and thus a new impetus was given to mandarinic insolence.

Destitute of all royal qualities, a slave to his passions, and the servant of caprice, the emperor Kea-king died in the year 1820, after a reign of twenty-five years, leaving a disturbed country and a disaffected people as a legacy to his successor Taou-kwang.

Though possessed in his early years of considerable energy Taou-kwang no sooner ascended the throne than he turned his powers, which should have been directed to the pacification of the empire, to the pursuit of pleasure and amusement. The reforms which his subjects had been led by his first manifestoes to believe would be introduced never seriously occupied his attention, and the discontent which had been lulled by hope soon became intensified by despair. In Formosa, Kwang-se, Ho-nan, and other parts of the empire insurrections broke out, which the imperial generals were quite unequal to suppress by force, and the Triad Society, which had originated during the reign of Kang-he, again showed a formidable front under his degenerate successor. Meanwhile the hardships inflicted on the English merchants at Canton became so unbearable, that when, in 1834, the monopoly of the East India Company ceased, the English Government determined to send out a minister to superintend the foreign trade at that port. Lord Napier was selected for the office; but so vexatious was the conduct of the Chinese authorities, and so inadequately was he supported, that the anxieties of his position brought on an attack of fever, from which he died at Macao after but a few months’ residence in China. The chief cause of complaint adduced by the mandarins was the introduction of opium by the merchants, and for years they attempted by every means in their power, by stopping all foreign trade, by demands for the prohibition of the traffic in the drug, and by vigilant preventive measures, to put a stop to its importation. At length Captain Elliot, the superintendent of trade, in 1839 agreed that all the opium in the hands of Englishmen should be given up to the native authorities, and he exacted a pledge from the merchants that they would no longer deal in the drug. On the 3d April, 20,283 chests of opium were handed over to the mandarins and were by them destroyed—a sufficient proof that they were in earnest in their endeavours to suppress the traffic. This demand of commissioner Lin was considered by the English Government to amount to a casus belli, and in 1840 war was declared. In the same year the fleet captured Chusan, and in the following year the Bogue Forts fell, in consequence of which operations the Chinese agreed to cede Hong-Kong to the victors and to pay them an indemnity of 6,000,000 dollars. As soon as this news reached Peking, Ke Shen, who had succeeded commissioner Lin, was dismissed from his post and degraded, and Yih Shan, another Tatar, was appointed in his room. But before the new commissioner reached his post, Canton had fallen into the hands of Sir Hugh Gough, and shortly afterwards Amoy, Ningpo, Tinghai in Chusan, Chapoo, Shanghai, and Chin-keang Foo shared the same fate, and a like evil would have happened to Nanking had not the Imperial Government, dreading the loss of the “Southern Capital,” proposed terms of peace. After much discussion, Sir Henry Pöttinger, who had succeeded Captain Elliot, concluded, in 1842, a treaty with the imperial commissioners, by which the four additional ports of Amoy, Fuh-chow-Foo, Ningpo, and Shanghai were declared open to foreign trade, and an indemnity of 21,000,000 dollars was to be paid to the English. Nor was the remainder of the reign of Taou-kwang more fortunate than its beginning; the empire was completely disorganized, rebellious outbreaks were of frequent occurrence, and the imperial armies were powerless to oppose them. So complete was the demoralization of the troops, that on one occasion the Meaou-tsze or hill tribes of Kwang-se defeated an army of 30,000 men sent against them by the viceroy of the two Kwangs. In 1850, while these clouds were hanging gloomily over the land, Taou-kwang “ascended on high,” and Heen-fung, his son, reigned in his stead.

A cry was now raised for the reforms which had been hoped for under Taou-kwang, but Heen-fung possessed in an exaggerated form the selfish and tyrannical nature of his father, together with a voluptuary’s craving for every kind of sensual pleasure, and he lived to reap as he had sown. For some time Kwang-se had been in a very disturbed state, and when, on the accession of the new emperor, the people found that no relief from the oppression they endured was to be given them, they broke out into open revolt and proclaimed a youth, who was said to be the representative of the last emperor of the Ming dynasty, as emperor, under the title of Teen-tih or “Heavenly Virtue.” From Kwang-se the flames spread into Hoo-pih and Hoo-nan, and then languished from want of a leader and a definite political cry. Just at the moment, however, when there appeared to be a possibility that, by force of arms and the persuasive influence of money, the imperialists would re-establish their supremacy, a leader presented himself in Kwang-se, whose energy of character, combined with great political and religious enthusiasm, speedily gained for him the suffrages of the discontented. This was Hung Sew-tseuen. Seizing on the popular longing for the return of a Chinese dynasty he proclaimed himself as sent by heaven to drive out the Tatars, and to restore in his own person the succession to China. At the same time having been converted to Christianity, and professing to abhor the vices and sins of the age, he called on all the virtuous of the land to extirpate rulers who, both in their public laws and in their private acts, were standing examples of all that was base and vile in human nature. Crowds soon flocked to his standard. Teen-tih was deserted; and, putting himself at the head of his followers, Hung Sew-tseuen marched northwards into Hoo-nan and Hoo-pih, overthrowing every force which was sent to oppose him. The first city of importance which fell into his hands was Woo-chang Foo on the Yang-tsze-Keang, the capital of Hoo-pih. Situated at the junction of the Han River with the Yang-tsze Keang, this city was a point of great strategical importance. But Hung Sew-tseuen was not inclined to rest upon his laurels, knowing full well that he must be able to call Nanking his before there would be any chance that his dreams of empire could be realized. Having made Woo-chang secure, he therefore moved down the river, and after taking Gan-king on his way he proceeded to the attack of Nanking. So wide-spread was the disaffection at this time throughout the country that the city was ripe for falling, and without much difficulty Hung Sew-tseuen in 1852 established himself within its walls, and proclaimed the inauguration of the Tai-ping dynasty, of which he nominated himself the first emperor under the title of Teen Wang or “Heavenly king.” For the next few years it appeared as though he had nailed the flag of victory to his staff. His armies penetrated victoriously as far north as Tientsin and as far east as Chin-keang and Soochow, while bands of sympathizers with his cause appeared in the neighbourhood of Amoy. As if still further to aid and abet him in his schemes, England declared war against the Tatar dynasty in 1857, in consequence of an outrage known as the “Arrow” affair. In December of the same year Canton was taken by an English force under Sir Michael Seymour and General Straubenzee, and a still further blow was struck against the prestige of the ruling Government by the determination arrived at by Lord Elgin, who had been sent out as special ambassador, to go to Peking and communicate directly with the emperor. In May 1858 the Taku Forts were taken, and the way having thus been cleared of obstacles, Lord Elgin went up the Peiho to Tientsin en route for the capital. At Tientsin, however, he was met by the imperial commissioners, who persuaded him so far to alter his plans as to conclude a treaty with them on the spot, which treaty it was agreed should be ratified at Peking in the following year. When, however, Sir Frederick Bruce, who had been in the meanwhile appointed minister to the court of Peking, attempted to pass Taku to carry out this part of the arrangement, the vessels escorting him were fired on from the forts with such precision and persistency that he was compelled to return to Shanghai to await the arrival of a larger force than that which he then had at his command. As soon as news of this defeat reached England Lord Elgin was again sent out with full powers, and accompanied by a large force under the command of Sir Hope Grant. The French likewise took part in the campaign, and on 1st August 1860 the allies landed without meeting with any opposition at Peh-tang, a village twelve miles north of Taku. A few days later the forts at that place which had bid defiance to Sir Frederick Bruce twelve months previously were taken, and from thence the allies marched to Peking. Finding further resistance to be hopeless, the Chinese opened negotiations, and as a guarantee of their good faith surrendered the An-ting gate of the capital to the allies. On the 24th October the treaty of 1858 was ratified by Prince King and Lord Elgin, and a convention was signed under the terms of which the Chinese agreed to pay a war indemnity of 8,000,000 taels. The Emperor Heen-fung did not live long to see the results of his new relations with the hated foreigner, but died in the summer of the following year, leaving the throne to his son Tung-che a child of five years old.

The conclusion of peace with the allies was the signal for a renewal of the campaign against the Tai-pings, and benefiting by the friendly feelings of the English authorities engendered by the return of amicable relations, the Chinese Government succeeded in enlisting Major Gordon of the Royal Engineers in their service. In a surprisingly short space of time this officer formed the troops, which had formerly been under the command of an American named Ward, into a formidable army, and without delay took the field against the rebels. From that day the fortunes of the Tai pings declined. They lost city after city, and, finally in July 1864, the imperialists, after an interval of twelve years, once more gained possession of Nanking. Teen Wang did not survive the capture of his capital, and with him fell his cause. Those of his followers who escaped the sword of the victors dispersed throughout the country, and the Tai-pings ceased to be.

With the measure of peace which was then restored to the country trade rapidly revived, and, with the exception of the province of Yun-nan, where the Mahometan rebels under Suleiman still kept the imperial forces at bay, prosperity was everywhere re-awakened. Against these foes the Government was careless to take any active measures, until in 1872 Prince Hassan, the adopted son of Suleiman, was sent on a mission to England with the object of gaining the recognition of the Queen for his father’s government. This step at once aroused the susceptibilities of the Imperial Government, and a large force was instantly organized and despatched to the scene of the rebellion. The war was now pushed on with vigour, and before the year was out the Mahometan capital Ta-le Foo fell into the hands of the imperialists, and the followers of Suleiman at that place and throughout the province were mercilessly exterminated. In the succeeding February the Regents— i.e. i the dowager-empresses, who had governed the country since the death of Heen-fung—resigned their powers into the hands of the emperor. This long-expected time was seized upon by the foreign ministers to urge their right of audience with the emperor, and on the 29th June 1873 the privilege of gazing on the “sacred countenance” was accorded to them. From that time until his death from smallpox on the 12th of January 1875, Tung-che’s name fails to appear in connection with any public act of importance.

The Emperor Tung-che having died without issue, the succession to the throne, for the first time in the annals of the Tsing dynasty, passed out of the direct line, and a cousin of the deceased emperor, a princeling, said to be not quite four years old, was chosen to reign in his room, under the title of Kwang-seu or “Succession of Glory.” Thus is the country again doomed to suffer all the inconveniences of a long imperial minority, at a time, too, when events seem to show that the civilization of China has grown old, and is like to vanish away; when the introduction of new ideas and western modes of thought is about to stretch the old bottle of Confucian tradition to its fullest extent; and when, therefore, the empire will sorely need wisdom and strength at the head of affairs to guide it safely through the critical times which lie before it in the future.

The Imperial Family. —The present imperial family, on gaining possession of the throne on the fall of the TaMing, or “Great Bright” dynasty, assumed the dynastic title of Ta-Tsing, or “Great Pure,” and the first emperor, who was styled She-tsu-chang Hwang-te, adopted the title of Shun-che for his reign, which began in the year 1644. The legendary progenitor of these Manchoo rulers was Aisin Gioro, whose name is said to point to the fact of his having been related to the race of Neu-chih, or Kin, i.e., Golden Tatars, who reigned in Northern China during the 12th and 13th centuries. The present emperor, whose reign is styled Kwang-seu or “Succession of Glory,” is the eighth from the founder of the dynasty, and is the only ruler since the establishment of the line who has not succeeded as a direct descendant. Kang-he (1661-1722), for instance, was the third son of Shun-che; Yung-ching (1722-1735) was the fourth son of Kang-he; Keen-lung (1736-1795) was the fourth son of Yung-ching; Kea-king (1796-1820) was the fifteenth son of Keen-lung; Taou-Kwang (1821-1850) was the second son of Kea-king; Heen-fung (1851-1861) was the fourth of the nine sons who were born to the emperor Taou-kwang; and Tung-che (1862-1875) was the only son of Heen-fung. As by Chinese law the heir must be younger than the individual from whom he inherits, it became necessary when the Emperor Tung-che “became a guest in Heaven,” without issue, in 1875, to select as his successor one of the sons of one of his father’s younger brothers, and the choice, which was recorded in his will, fell upon the infant son of the Prince of Chun, the seventh son of the Emperor Taou-kwang.

In order to prevent the confusion which would arise among the princes of the imperial house were they each to adopt an arbitrary name, the Emperor Kang-he decreed that each of his twenty-four sons should have a personal name consisting of two characters, the first of which should be Yung, and the second should be compounded with the determinative she, “to manifest,” an arrangement which would, as has been remarked, find an exact parallel in a system by which the sons in an English family might be called Louis Edward, Louis Edwin, Louis Edwy, Louis Edgar, and so on. This device obtained also in the next generation, all the princes of which had Hung for their first names, and the Emperor Keen-lung (1736-1795) extended it into a system, and directed that the succeeding generations should take the four characters Yung, Meen, Yih,, and Tsae respectively, as the first parts of their names. Eight other characters, namely, P , u, Yu, Heng, K , e, Taou, K , ai, Tseng, Ke, were subsequently added, thus providing generic names for twelve generations. With the present generation the first four characters are exhausted, and the sons of the present emperor, should he have any, will therefore be P ’ u ’ s. By the ceremonial law of the ‘Great Pure” dynasty, twelve degrees of rank are distributed among the princes of the imperial house, and are as follows :—1. Ho-shih Tsin Wang, prince of the first order; 2. To-lo Keun Wang, prince of the second order; 3. To-lo B 3 il eh, prince of the third order. 4. Koo-shan Beitsze, prince of the fourth order; 5 to 8. Kung, or duke (with distinctive designations); 9 to 12. Tseang-keun, general (with distinctive designations). The sons of emperors usually receive patents of the first or second order on their reaching manhood, and on their sons is bestowed the title of Beileh. A Beileh's sons become Beitsze ; a Beitsze’s sons become Kung, and so on.

Language and Literature.

The Chinese language is the chief among that small class of languages which includes the Tibetan Cochin-Chinese, Burmese, Corean, and Chinese, and which is usually described as monosyllabic. It is language in its most archaic form. Every word is a root, and every root is a word. It is without inflexion or even agglutination; its substantives are indeclinable, and its verbs are not to be conjugated; it is destitute of an alphabet, and finds its expression on paper in thousands of distinct symbols.

It is then a language of monosyllabic roots, which, as regards the written character, has been checked in its growth and crystallized in its most ancient form by the early occurrence of a period of great literary activity, of which the nation is proud, and to the productions of which, every Chinaman even of the present day looks back as containing the true standards of literary excellence.

But in treating of the two branches into which Chinese naturally divides itself, namely, the written medium or characters and the spoken medium or sounds, we propose to begin with the former. And in following this course we shall be doing no violence to the language, for it would be quite possible to separate the characters from the sounds, and to treat them as two languages, as indeed has already been partly done in Japan, where the Chinese characters were at one time in general use as representing the phonetic value of their Japanese equivalents. Beginning at the other end, but with a similar ultimate result, various members of the missionary body have published text-books and dictionaries in Romanized Chinese, that is to say, they have avoided the use of the characters by transcribing the sounds of the language in Roman letters. But since, though the characters are rich and copious to a degree, the sounds are out of all proportion poor, this last dismemberment presents the language in a very denuded form, and is at the same time attended with difficulties which only the most sanguine can hope to see overcome. The necessity of distinguishing between words having the same sound can only be met by the adoption of distinct diacritical marks for each word; and as one sound often represents as many as a hundred words, such a system cannot but be attended with confusion.

The characters of the language form the medium which speaks to the eye, and may be described as the equivalents of the written words of other languages; but unlike these, instead of being composed of letters of an alphabet, they are either symbols intended to represent images, or are formed by a combination of lines, or of two or more such symbols. AU characters, say the Chinese lexicographer», had their origin in single strokes, or in hieroglyphics, and this, no doubt, is a correct view of the case. Legends differ as to who was the first inventor of writing in China. One attributes the invention to Fuh-he (3200 b.c. ), who is also said to have instituted marriage, and to have introduced the use of clothing, and who caused the knotted cords, which had been up to that time in use, to be superseded by characters founded on the shapes of his celebrated diagrams. Another record states that Tsang Ke who lived 2700 b.c., was the Cadmus of China. According to received native accounts, Tsang Ke was a man of extraordinary abUity, and was acquainted with the art of writing from his birth. While wandering in the neighbourhood of his house at Yang-woo, he one day met with a tortoise, and observing its shell distinctly and beautifuUy spotted, he took it home, and thus formed the idea of representing the objects around him. Looking upwards he carefuUy observed the figures presented by the stars and the heavenly bodies; he then attentively considered the forms of birds, and of mountains and rivers, <fcc,, and from them at length originated the written character.

But however great the uncertainty may be as to who invented the first characters, we may take it for granted that they were simply pictures of the various objects of sense which were present to the eye of the writer. Thus, when he wished to express a mountain, he wrote, as did also the ancient Egyptians, ∕√∖Λ a symbol which is written at the present day ∣i[; Q now written g, served him to signify “the eye,” and so on. But such a written medium was naturally extremely limited, and by degrees, in some instances by the addition of strokes, and in others by a combination of one or more of these primary characters, the written language has been formed as it is at the present day. In tracing the growth of the later characters we are assisted by the native philologists, who have divided them into six classes.

The first they call Slang hing, lit. characters representing the forms of the objects meant, or, as we should say, hieroglyphics, such as those just mentioned, and about 600 more, as, for example, Θ jih, “ the sun,” T⅛ ma, “ a horse,” &c.; and of these are composed, with a few exceptions, the 214 determinative or radical characters, one of which enters into the composition of every character in the language.

The second class is called Chi sze, lit. characters indicating things, that is to say, characters intended to represent ideas to the mind by the position of their parts. Thus the character Θ tan, “dawn,” in which the sun is represented as appearing above the horizon, belongs to it, and also such characters as [^, shang, “ above,” and ψ hea, “beneath,” which are formed in the one case by placing a man above the medium level, and in the other below it.

The third class is made up of Hwuy i, lit. characters combining ideas, or ideographies. This class is formed by uniting two or more significant characters to give the idea of a third. Of the time when these characters were invented we know nothing; but it is plain that their introduction must have given a very extended scope to the language, and they offer an interesting study, as, in many instances, giving us an insight into the moral and social conditions of those who framed them. For instance, if we analyze the character fg sin, “sincere,” we find that it is formed by the combination of the characters A jin, ,t a man,” and ⅛ ’ yen, “words,” a collocation of ideas which speaks well for the honourable truthfulness of the ancient Chinese, and which, when the unfortunate failing in this respect of their descendants is borne in mind, is decidedly opposed to the Darwinian theory as applied to language. The character ⅜ Hwang, “Emperor,” is another belonging to this class, which gives anything but a contemptible notion of the moral standard of the people. This symbol was originally written thus ⅜, and was composed of the characters meaning “oneself” and “ruler;” the emperor was therefore to be ruler of himself, or autocrat in the true sense of the term; for how can a man, said the ancient sages, rule others unless he first learn to be master of himself 1

Curiously enough, by the omission of a stroke, this character has assumed its present corrupted form, which consists of parts signifying “white” and “ruler,” and this, as was mentioned in a recent letter from the St Petersburg correspondent of the Times, has been literally translated by the Mongols into Tchagau Khan, and then by the Russians into Biely Tsar, or White Tsar, the name by which the emperor of Russia is now known throughout all Asia.

Another character in this class is ∏∏ ming, “ brightness,” which is composed of a combination of the sun and moon to indicate brilliancy. Altogether, of these ideographies there are said to be about 700 in the language, although some writers have held that this class is a very much larger one, and have justified their belief by analyses which, to say the least, are far-fetched. Callery quotes a Jesuit work, in which it is stated that the character dιuen, “ a ship,” contains to the eye of faith—and we should imagine to that eye alone—a reference to the Flood, since it consists of chow,“a ship,” ∕∖ pa,, “eight,” and ∏ kow, “a mouth,” plainly pointing, adds the writer, to Noah’s ark with its eight inhabitants; and that lan, “to covet and desire,” bears traces of Eve's guilt in its component parts, which are fζ neu, “a woman,” and ∕fc muh, “a tree,” twice repeated, illustrating the longing desire which overcame our first parent when between the trees of life and of good and evil.

The fourth class is the Chuen choo, or characters which, being inverted, either in form or sound, assume different meanings. These number about 372, and are formed in two ways,—either by some slight alteration of the character, as the turning of a stroke or of strokes to the left instead of the right, as, for instance, the character for the hand pointing to the left in this way means “left,” and when turned thus J£- means “right;” or by changing the sound of the character, and with the sound the meaning. Of this kind are such characters as ∣ξ⅛, which when pronounced yδ means “music,” and when lδ, i delight,” and %j j , which as i means “easy,” and as yih means to “change.”

The fifth class is the Chia chieh, lit. characters having borrowed meanings, and consists of about 600 characters, which are applied, as is indicated by the name of the division, in a double sense, and hence have been called metaphorical. As an illustration of this class, Chinese writers adduce the character shi, “an arrow,” which, from the straight course of an arrow, has come to signify “direct,” “right,” “a word spoken to the point.”

The sixth class, which is known as the Chieh shing, or phonetic, embraces over 20,000 characters. The adoption of these phonetics was the turning-point in the progress of Chinese writing. As was the case with the Egyptians, the Chinese found that, having exhausted their power of invention in forming hieroglyphics and ideographies, a further development of the characters was necessary; and, like the subjects of the Pharaohs, they adopted certain characters to represent certain sounds. As to when, or by whom, this system was inaugurated, whether it was introduced from abroad, or whether it was the product of native intelligence, history is silent; but when it was once decided on, the language rapidly increased and multiplied. “A character,” writes a well-known Chinese author, “is not sterile; once bound to another, it gives birth to a son; and if this be joined to another, a grandson is born, and so on.” The characters, then, which belong to the class called phonetic are composed of two parts, namely, the primitive or phonetic element, that is to say, one of the characters which have been chosen to represent certain sounds, and which gives the sound to the whole character, and one of the 214 determinatives or radical characters of the language.

One or more of these determinatives enter into the composition of every character in Chinese, and as a very large proportion of them are plainly hieroglyphics, they may be said to be the foundation of the written language. As might be expected from their nature as hieroglyphics, they include the most remarkable objects of nature, such as the sun, moon, a river, a mountain, fire, water, earth, wood, stone, &c.; the chief parts of the human body, as the head, the heart, the hand, the foot, the eye, the ear &c.; the principal parts of a house, as the roof, the door, &c.; domestic animals, such as the sheep, the cow, the horse, the dog, &c.; the primary relations of society, as father, mother, son, daughter, àc.; qualities, such as great, small, straight, crooked, high, low, long, &c.; and actions, such as to see, to speak, to walk, to run, to stop, to enter, to follow, &c. They are thus admirably adapted to form generic terms, and this is the part they play in composition with the primitives. For instance, into the composition of every character signifying anything made of wood such as a table, a chair, a club, &c., the determinative character meaning “wood” is introduced, and it then serves much the same purpose as do the words “mat” and “steam” in the compounds “matshed” and “steamboat.” The number of the primitives has been variously estimated. Dr Marshman gives them at 3867, Callery at about 1000, and later writers have reckoned them to be from 1100 to 1200. Taking them even at the lowest of these figures, it will readily be imagined how, by combination with the 214 determinatives, they may be made to form the thirty and odd thousand distinct characters of the language, since, of course, it would be possible by combining each of the 1000 primitives with every one of the 214 determinatives, to form more than seven times that number of characters.

To illustrate this system of formation, we will take the primitive ngo, “I,” which by combination with 27 determinatives, produces as many derivatives having the same phonetic value, in this way—combined with the determinative ∣I∣ “a mountain,” it becomes jf(⅛ ngo, “a high mountain;” with ⅛ neu, “ a woman,” J[fξ ngo, “fair,” “beautiful;” with tsao, “grass,” ngo, “a certain herb;” with J⅜ neaou, lt a bird,” ngo, “a goose,” and so on. From these examples it will be observed that the determinatives play the part in some instances of adjectives; and in combination with their primitives they form an exact parallel with many Egyptian and Assyrian ideophonetics. The following example in Egyptian shows precisely the same formation in the composition of the characters, and in the respective value of their parts, as is seen in the Chinese instance just referred to. Un means in Egyptian “a hare combined with this deter-

∣lllll∏Γ

minative ^ 1 ,it becomes ^π≡r Un, tt to open;” and with this 2ø, 2,0 ^ n > “an tour.” Speaking of Assyrian hieroglyphics, Sir Henry Rawlinson says, “Certain classes of words have a sign prefixed or suffixed to them, more commonly the former, by which their general character is indicated. The names of gods, of men, of cities, of tribes, of wild animals, of domestic animals, of metals, of months, of the points of the compass, and of dignities are thus accompanied. The sign prefixed or suffixed may have originally represented a word; but when used in the way here spoken of, it is believed that it was not sounded, but served simply to indicate to the reader the sort of word which was placed before it.”

These words of Sir Henry Rawlinson may be illustrated by the following examples, i=∣ means in Assyrian “wood,” and is used as the determinative for things made of wood. Thus in combination with the primitive £Ïr it becomes a sceptre;” and when combined with the primitive we bave “a bow.” Again, ^J>~T

is used in the same way as the determinative for all carnivorous animals. Thus, for instance, Ud≡ is “a dog,” and is “a lion.” It will be seen that both the Egyptian and Assyrian characters here quoted are constructed on exactly the same principle as that to be observed in the formation of the majority of Chinese characters, but it is noticeable that in Assyrian the primitives do not retain in composition their phonetic values, as they generally do in Chinese, and as they often do in Egyptian.

Marking, then, the forces of the two parts of the characters, it is easy to imagine the way in which new characters have from time to time been formed. Supposing, for instance, that a tree for which a Chinaman wishes to give a name on paper is known to him colloquially as ma. The coiner of the new character would then in the first place choose a common phonetic or primitive possessing the sound ma ; very possibly he would take the hieroglyphic ma “a horse” and would combine with it the determinative muh, meaning “wood.” The new character would then stand thus f EÉJ, and might be understood to signify “the ma tree;” but, unless previously informed, the reader would be left in complete ignorance as to the sort*of tree meant, as the parts of the character would only supply the information that it was either a tree or something made of wood, and that it was to be pronounced ma. This is equally the case, speaking generally, with all the characters. By a careful study of the phonetics it is possible to arrive at the sounds or approximate sounds— for certain variations constantly occur—of the characters of the language; but the only hint at their meanings is to be derived from the determinatives, which point only to the general nature of the objects or actions signified.

As has already been said, the determinatives are 214 in number, and these have been considered by many of the native dictionary-makers to furnish convenient headings under which to arrange the characters of the language. Again, others have chosen to classify the characters according to their final sounds. Both systems have their advantages. By adopting the first, the headings are comparatively few, and the characters are, roughly speaking, classified according to the generic meanings they have in common; and the second gives constant practice to students in remembering the tones and correct rhyming pronunciation of the characters. But in both the phonetic relationship between the primitives is entirely lost sight of. And this is much to be regretted, since, as Callery and others have pointed out, the scientific way ot arranging the characters would be by placing them under their primitives, by which means the respective values of both the primitives and determinatives would be brought out in prominent relief. Only in two Chinese dictionaries that we have met with have any attempts been made thus to arrange the characters, and the older of these, on which the later work was probably framed, owes the system on which it is composed to the experience imported from Japan by the co-compiler, who was a native of that country.

In the course of the above remarks a few instances have been given of the original and modern forms of the same characters, as, for example, J≡⅜ and But, as may readily be supposed, the change from one to the other was not made all at once, and Chinese books afford instances of six distinct styles of writing, varying in clearness from the square character used in the books at the present day to the Seal and Grass or cursive characters, which are noted for their obscurity. These styles are described as the Chuen shoo or “seal character,” the Le shoo or “official character,” the Keae shoo or “model character,” the Hing shoo or “running character,” the Tsaou shoo or “grass character,” and the Sung shoo or “Sung-dynasty character,” and may be illustrated by the following example, in which the character tsaou tt herbs” is shown written in all the six styles just specified :—seal character <f ∖; official character ff'; model character J∣L; running character āf?; grass character * s ⅛; and Sung character J≠L. But above and beyond these six styles of writing, Chinese penmen not unfrequently allow their imaginations to run riot when engaged in fanciful or ornamental pieces of caligraphy. An extraordinary specimen of this quaint taste is to be seen in the Chinese Library of the British Museum, where there is a copy of the Emperor Keen-lung’s poeπr on Moukden, printed both in Chinese and Manchoo in 32 kinds of strangely fanciful characters.

We will now pass on to the sounds of the language; and the first thing concerning them which strikes the student on becoming acquainted with his dictionary is their extreme poverty as compared with the characters. There are over 30,000 characters in the language, and these aro represented, to the ear by only 500 syllabic sounds. No doubt the adoption of primitives as phonetics, as has been already described, has contributed to this result, since it provided for the due expression of the syllables then existing, but for no more. And thus, though it vastly enriched the written language—one primitive producing as many as 74 derivatives—it at once put a stop to all increase in the number of the sounds. The difficulty then arose as to the way in which 500 syllables were to be made to represent in conversation the thousands of characters in common use. And three methods have been adopted to prevent the confusion which at first sight would appear to be inevitable. These are—

1. By combining with the word which it is desired should be understood another, bearing a similar or supplementary meaning, to distinguish it by pointing to its meaning from other words bearing the same sound; thus, for “to hear,” it is usual to say in conversation J[ i ∣ t ^ n 9 i ceen y — li n 9 meaning “to hear,” and keen “to see or perceive.”

2. As regards noun substantives, by placing certain classifying words between them and the numerals which precede them. These classifiers bear some resemblance to our expressions herd, head, fleet, troop, <fcc., and have a certain reference to the nature of the substantives to which they are attached. For example, the word pα, “to grasp with the hand,” is used as a classifier to precede anything which is held in the hand, such as a knife, a spoon, a hatchet, <fcc. Instead of expressing, therefore, a knife by yih taou, which might either mean a knife, a small boot, or a fringe, the classifier is introduced to show which taou is meant, and a speaker would say yih pa taou, literally “a grasped knife.” In like manner [h] keen “ a space,” is used as a classifier for houses and enclosures; kăn “a root,” for trees, poles, clubs, <fcc., and so on.

And thirdly, by dividing the words of the language among eight tones. These tones partake of the nature of musical intonations, and are divided by the Chinese into two series, the upper and the lower, and are called by them the upper even, the upper rising, the upper departing, the upper entering, the lower even, the lower rising, the lower departing, and the lower entering. To each character is allotted its appropriate tone, which if wrongly rendered is liable to give an entirely different meaning to the word from that intended by the speaker. This possibility will be understood when it is remembered that the thirty and odd thousand characters find expression in about 500 sounds, thus giving an average of one sound to 60 characters, and these figures show that at best the system of tones is but an incomplete solution of the difficulty, since, were this average of 60 characters equally distributed among the full eight tones, there would remain nearly eight characters of each sound identical both in sound and tone.

But as a matter of fact, only the four tones of the upper series are in general use, to which sometimes the first or even tone of the lower series is added. The even tone is, as its name signifies, simply the ordinary tone of voice; the rising tone gives to the voice somewhat of the effect of an interrogation; the departing tone, of doubtful surprise; and the entering tone, of peremptory command. These may easily be illustrated by repeating our negative “No,” first in the ordinary tone of conversation, secondly as an interrogation, thirdly as expressing doubtful surprise, and fourthly as a peremptory refusal:—thus 1 No —, 2 No.z, 3No∖,4No-. The difficulty of acquiring a knowledge of the tones proper even to the characters in common use is, as may be supposed, very great, and the only way to master them is to learn them, as the children learn them, from the lips of the natives themselves. No study of books will give the required knowledge. The Chinese learn them by ear alone, and if an educated man be asked to give the tone of an isolated character, he generally has to repeat a phrase in which the character occurs in order that his lips may tell his ear the intonation proper to it.

It will be easily understood that the mistakes and difficulties into which this intricate system drives Chinesespeaking foreigners are often inconvenient and sometimes dangerous. Some years ago a petition on behalf of a Chinese criminal was presented by a wealthy Chinese merchant in person to the governor and council of Hong Kong. A well-known Chinese scholar undertook to interpret on the occasion, and the Chinaman began his speech with a reference to our Kwai ×. Kwok or “Honourable kingdom,” as he designated England. Now the syllable kwai pronounced kwai∕ means “devil,” and used in combination with kwok is an abusive term not uncommonly applied to any foreign country. Unfortunately the interpreter confused the two tones, and turning indignantly to the governor, he reported that at the very outset the petitioner had begun by speaking of England as “the devil kingdom.” The just anger of the council knew no bounds, and it was only after some minutes of wild confusion that an explanation followed, which saved the Chinaman from sharing the cell of the man for whom he was pleading. To a Chinaman such a mistake would be well-nigh impossible, for the tones form integral parts of the words, and to the ear of a native the difference between kwai in the ascending tone, and kwai in the descending tone, would be as great as between kwai and kwan.

There is only one other point in connection with the sounds of the language to which reference need now be made, and that is the system which has been adopted for spelling, as it were, the various sounds. For this purpose 36 characters which begin with the initial consonants of the language have been chosen, and 38 which end with the final sounds. In order, then, to indicate a desired sound, the writer takes a character of the first series which begins with the required initial, and a character of the second series which ends with the required final. These are placed together, and the initial of the first and the final of the second give the required sound. For instance, supposing a Chinaman were desirous of expressing that the sound of a certain character was ting, he would write the two characters '∣∙j , tang and king, the first of which would give the initial t, and the second the final ing. This syllabic spelling, the initials of which are identical with the initial Sanskrit consonants, was introduced by the Buddhist missionaries in the 5th and 6th centuries, and from the time of the appearance of the dictionary Y uh pien, which was published in the year 543, it has been employed in every native dictionary of the language which has since seen the light.

With a language of roots, which is devoid of inflexion or even of agglutination, in which a large number of words each play the part, under varying circumstances, of substantives, adjectives, verbs, and adverbs, it may at first sight appear that grammar must be an impossibility. But inasmuch as there are in Chinese, as there must be in every language, certain words which, to quote Dr Marshman, “denote things, and others which signify qualities, there must be words to express actions done, and these as done by one or many, already done, now doing, or intended to be done; they must also be described as done absolutely or conditionally, as proper to be done, or peremptorily commanded. Further, the various circumstances of the doer, and of the subject of the action, must also be either plainly expressed or tacitly understood ; hence the need of prepositions. Connecting words, too, necessarily exist in every language, as well as those which express the emotions of the mind. Thus the principles of grammar must substantially exist in every language.” And though the absence of all inflexion in Chinese places the grammar of the language on a different footing from that of the polysyllabic languages, it is yet distinctly defined by the position and connection of the words of the sentence.

Since, when a language is spoken and understood only in the country of its birth or adoption, the study of the grammar affecting it is, as far as the natives are concerned, comparatively unimportant, we find that little attention has been paid by the Chinese to the grammar of their language. But practically the grammar, which, as has just been stated, consists of rules for the construction of the sentence, has for many centuries been enforced by example, and by the censorship of the examiners at the competitive examinations. If then we observe the connection of words which these authorities have preserved, we find that in every Chinese sentence the subject comes first, then the verb, which is followed by the complement direct and the complement indirect, and further that, as is the case in most of the Turanian languages, every word which defines or modifies another invariably precedes it. For instance, the adjective precedes the substantive, the adverb the verb, the genitive the word which governs it, and the preposition the word governed by it.

The importance of exactly following these rules becomes at once apparent when we remember that often one and the same word is capable of being used as a substantive, an adjective, a verb, or an adverb. This is the case also with some words in English. We use the word present, for example, as a substantive when we talk of giving a present ; as an adjective when we say the present time; and as a verb when we say, “I present you.” Cut is another word which we make use of in the same way. We say, “the cut of a sword,” “cut grass,” and “to cut a man down.”

A number of other instances of the same kind might be adduced, but taking a Chinese word, we may show how, by varying its position in a sentence, it changes its grammatical value. The character jtf∙ hao has for its meanings “tolove,” “good,” “excellent,” “well,” &c., and possibly with the intention of illustrating, as it were, these meanings by representing the highest and purest form of natural affection, that which exists between a mother and her child, the inventor of the character has formed it of two parts signifying respectively “a woman” and “a son.” If, then, we meet with it in such a connection as this, which is taken from the lips of Confucius, J2, ⅛ ½½, Kwei keen chih chia ehe hao, we recognize it at once as a substantive, since, were it an adjective, it would be followed by a substantive ; were it a verb, it would be followed by its complement, and also because it follows a substantive to which is added ⅛, the sign of the possessive case. The sentence should then be translated — Kwei keen, “to peep and see,” hao, “the excellence or the goodness,” ehe, i 'oi, n chih chia, “the apartments.” In the sentence, also from Confucius, ½∏ ⅛f -g l J o o haο haο sih, we see by the position of the two Λαos that the first must be a verb, and that the second must be an adjective, since it is followed by a substantive with which it forms the direct complement to the verb. The meaning of the sentence then is Jοο, “as [when],” Λαo∖, “we love,” haο ×'sìh,” excellent beauty.” Again, in the modern colloquial expression ⅜JξJt we have an example of the use of haο as an adverb preceding a verb, and the phrase is then incapable of being translated otherwise than as “well said,” hao, “ well,” shwo, “ said.”

The number of characters which might be treated as we have dealt with is legion. Little has been said on the subject of this peculiarity of the language by native grammarians, who have not done much more for the science of grammar than to divide the characters into tjí Sze tsze or “dead words,” as they call nouns; ∣¾⅛ Hwδ tsze, “living words,” or verbs; and Hsü tsze r “empty words,” or particles. It is worthy of remark that in a great many instances the transition of a character from one part of speech to another is marked by a change of tone. This is the case with the character haο, of which we have been speaking. When it stands for the adjective “good,” it should be pronounced in the ascending tone haο×' ; and when it becomes the verb “to love,” it is transferred to the departing tone Λαox. And in some few cases the character suffers a change of sound as well.

shih, the verb “to eat,” is pronounced in the entering or abrupt tone; but it becomes szexinthe departing tone, when it plays the part of a substantive meaning “food.” In a lecture administered to the king of Leang, Mencius, rebuking him, says, J∏Jf⅛ A í£ T™ ehe shih jin sze ∖ , “Your dogs and swine eat men’s food.” Hera it will be observed the first must by the rules of position be the verb shih “to eat,” and by the same necessity this same character at the end of the sentence must be a substantive; and the dictionaries tell us that, when, this is the case, it is pronounced sze. But though it is true that a vast number of characters can be made to serve a writer in a variety of capacities, yet each belongs more particularly to some one part of speech, and many are identified with that one alone. For instance, we find that certain substantives which express things, such as cho “ a table,” or e “a chair,” remain fixed as substantives, and that others, if they denote actions, are primarily verbs, and if conditions, such as “honour” or “riches,” are in the first instance adjectives.

As might be expected from the nature of the language of which this interchangeability forms a part, Chinese admits no variations of gender, and in this particular it agrees with the Manchoo, Mongolian, Turkish, and Finnish families of tongues, in which, as Dr Caldwell points out, not only are all things which are destitute of reason and life denoted by neuter nouns, but no nouns whatever, not even nouns which denote human beings, are regarded in themselves as being masculine or feminine. All nouns as such are neuter, or rather are destitute of gender. “The unimaginative Scythian reduced all things,” adds the doctor, “whether rational or irrational, animate or inanimate, to the same dead level, and regarded them all as impersonal.” But in every language there are certain words the gender of which must necessarily be distinguished, and in common also with the peoples just referred to, to these the Chinese prefix words denoting sex. Thus a son is spoken of as ∙J ’ nan tsze or “man-child,” and a daughter as ⅜ ∙ z p neu tsze or “woman-child.” In the case of animals other characters are used. ⅛ kung, u noble,” “superior,” is employed to denote the male and ½⅛ mοo y u mother,” to indicate the female. Thus ⅛ Rj kung ma is “a horse,” and ½J J⅞ mοο ma is “a mare.” With birds other characters are considered more appropriate. Thus, the male is described as kung, “ martial” or “brave,” and the female as tsze, “weak,” or “inferior.”

As regards number, Chinese is left in an equally indefinite condition. As a rule it is the connection of the words of the sentence which determines whether a noun is in the singular or plural. Often, however, the plural is indicated by repeating the noun, as A A jin jin, “ the men,” or by the presence of a numeral, as in the following expression, taken from the Confucian Analects, “The three disciples went out.” Here the character san, " three,” indicates that tsze is in the plural, although it has no inherent mark of number. Another way of pluralizing a noun is by adding to it one of certain words signifying “all” or “many.” The most common of these are chung, j⅞ choo, ⅞ keae, ⅛fan, and tâng. The first four have for their meaning “all/’ and the last, tăng, means “a class.” Its use, like its meaning, is distinct from the others; they precede the noun, tdng always follows it, and forms with it a compound such as “animal-class” for animals, “man-class” for men. In colloquial Chinese the character fpj mun has been adopted as a sign of the plural, but its use is almost entirely confined to the personal pronouns. Thus wo means “I,” and fξfl n J wο mun “we.”

The rules of position which serve to fix the parts of speech of the words of a sentence are allowed also in great measure to regulate the cases of nouns and the moods and tenses of verbs. But this is by no means always the case. For example, the possessive case is marked by certain particles of which mention will be made presently; and although European writers on Chinese grammar have been in the habit of considering that when two substantives come together, the first is to be taken as being in the possessive case, thus in the sentence Teen tsze haο heδ, which we should translate as “the Son of Heaven loves learning,” teen, they would say, is in the possessive case,—it may be questioned whether such expressions may not be more appropriately considered as compound terms, in the same way, that we treat their equivalents in English. For instance, we should never consider such an expression as “the Chelsea-water-works” to consist of a nominative and two possessive cases, as it would be parsed by these grammarians, were it turned word for word, as it might be, into Chinese. And this treatment becomes still more difficult of adoption when we find, as is often the case in Chinese, a number of substantives strung together, all of which, with the exception of the last, would then have to be considered as a succession of possessive cases. If we take, for example, one of the ordinary marks on porcelain made in China, such as m i n 9 Wan leíh san neen ehe, we should be told to consider Ta ming, Wan leïh, and neen, as possessive cases, and that the phrase should be translated, “The manufacture of the third year of (the reign) Wan-leïh of the Ta ming dynasty,” instead of treating it as a compound expression on the “Chelsea-waterworks” principle, thus “The Ta-ming-dynasty-Wan-leïh-third-year-manufacture.”

Besides, Chinese is .by no means destitute of case-particles. In the literary and colloquial languages the possessive is expressed by suffixing respectively ⅛, ehe and ∏'j teïh to the substantive. Thus these particles answer exactly to the ’s commonly used in English. 5ζ ⅛ F een c ^ ιe 9^ n i≡ “The favour of heaven,” or, as we should as often say, “heaven’s favour.” flā ⅜ A ÔÛ $3 ⅛ 0 neu jin Mh ⅛ οw i≡ “The dog of that woman,” or “That woman’s dog.” If we trace back the case-particle J⅛ ehe to its earliest use, we find that it was originally a verb, and meant “to proceed to,” and thus, as a sign of the possessive case, it implies the sense of partition which is inherent in our “of” and the French de. In some instances, by its addition to certain substantives, compound nouns of possession are formed which are capable of being used as adjectives. For example, 2 ⅛ kin is “gold,” and ⅛ is “of gold,” or “golden.” It is used also to express relation, but not as frequently as its colloquial equivalent (Kj teïh, which is very commonly thus employed. Such expressions as ^∙ J⅞ ¢Í-J kwan ping teïh, — tăh, “ he who,” kwan, “ rules over,” ping, “soldiers ”—are in constant use.

With verbs of giving to and speaking to the dative case is marked by position The person to whom a thing is given immediately follows the verb, and the thing given comes next. The sentence “The prince gave the officer some money,” is in accordance with the Chinese idiom, which would not admit the more usual English form, “The prince gave some money to the officer.” The dative case, with the sense of “for,” is marked by the use of the characters f½j tae, “ to succeed,” ∣⅜ te, “ to put another instead of,” and wei, “to be”; thus tae wο seay shοο, “to write a letter for me,” ⅛⅜¾ ∏fj fζ te wo teïh neu urh, “ for my daughter,” &c.

The accusative case is as a rule marked by position. But occasionally, as has been shown by Μ. Julien, the particles jy e, ⅞⅛ yu, ∙ r ½* yu, and 5 J 2 ∙ hoo, are disassociated from their usual signification, and are employed simply as signs of this case.

The instrumental case is indicated by the character e, “by,” in the language of the books, and by ∫∏ yvng, “to use,” in the colloquial. As an instance of the use of the first, we may quote the following passage from Mencius :— ItíïlW ^ aη wang e fei ke taou, “(A superior man) cannot be entrapped by that which is contrary to right principles.”

The ablative case, having the sense of “from,” is marked by the signs Q tsze, and ⅛ yew, and in the colloquial by ⅛ (sung, as in the following examples:—§ J¾

Tsze săng min e lae, a From the birth of mankind until now;”

Y gw T an g c be yu Woo-ting, “From Tang until you arrive at Woo-ting;” 7X3fc ΙΓ tsung Fïh king lae leaou, “He has come from Peking.”

The remarks which have been made on the gender, number, and case of the substantives apply in like manner to the adjectives, and we need only now refer therefore to the manner in which degrees of comparison are formed. The comparative is denoted either by certain particles meaning “more than,” or “beyond,” or in the colloquial by forms of expression such as “This man compared with that man is good,” or again, “This man has not that man’s goodness.” As signs of the superlative, words such as frj tsuy, “excelling,” ⅛ keïh, “the highest point,” or ⅜½ shin, “exceeding” are employed.

In all Oriental languages the personal pronouns play a prominent part from their number and the variety of equivalent terms, whether of self-depreciation or of complimentary adulation, used to express them; and in Chinese they derive additional importance from the fact that in the absence of all verbal inflexion, they serve to indicate the person, and in the spoken language the number of the verb. ⅞ woo, ¶/J urh, and ⅛t ke, are the terms most commonly used in classical writings to signify the first, second, and third persons of the personal pronoun, of which wo, f⅞^(ne, and j⅛, ta, are the common colloquial equivalents. These latter have for their plural wo rnun, ne mun, ta mun. Quite separate and apart from these and all their equivalents is the character chin, which is reserved especially for the emperor, and has been the traditional imperial “We” since the time of the three mythical emperors to whose wisdom, energy, and foresight the greatness of China is attributed by the native historians.

But not always does the emperor feel himself entitled to use this inherited character. In times of national misfortune he chooses to believe that his own remissness is the cause of the evils which have overtaken the country, and then it is the custom for him to designate himself Kwa jin, or “Deficient man.” With his subjects the assumption of a similar humble position is habitual, and among acquaintances the place of “I” is nearly always taken by terms by which the speaker seeks to give a complimentary importance to the person addressed at the expense of his own intellectual or social position. “The dullard,” “the little one,” and “the man of low degree,” are terms most frequently used in this sense, while nu tsai, or “slave,” is the self-assumed epithet adopted by ministers when addressing the emperor. In like manner the speaker’s relations and personal belongings are spoken of as “the little,” “the mean,” and “the cheap.” The respect due to age guides on the other hand the choice of expressions employed towards the person addressed, who, instead of being called by the second person of the pronoun, hears himself addressed as “Master,” “Old Gentleman,” or “Senior.” The holders of the lower offices, such as the Heen or district magistrates, are addressed by law as Lao ye or “Old Fathers as they rise, they become Ta lao ye “Great Old Fathers;” and when they reach the higher ranks, such as the governors of the provinces, they are called Ta jin “Great Men.” In the same spirit it is customary to speak of the belongings of another as being “worshipful,” “honourable,” or, “august.”

History is vague as to the date when the Chinese adopted the numerals they at present employ; but as we find reference to them in the Book of History, it is fair to infer that they were in existence before the 6th century b.c. They are 17 in number, and are these: — ∙ yih, “one,” JS urh, “two,” 2Ξ san, “ three,” P3 sze, “four,” 7τ. woo, “five,” z¼ luh, “six,” 4S lseïli, “ seven,” j ∖ , pa, “eight,” j↑ j kew, tt nine,” -½∙ slιilι, “ten,” U pili, “a hundred,” r f∙ tseen, “a thousand,” j⅛ξ wan, u ten thousand,” yilι, “ one hundred thousand,” clιaou, it a million,” /X keng, “ ten millions,” and kai, “ a hundred millions.” The last four are now very seldom used, the rest are hourly employed. It will be seen that there is no single numeral between ten and one hundred, and the intervening numbers are therefore formed by slιilι ti ten” in combination with the lower numerals. For example, the numbers between ten and twenty are expressed by slιilι “ten” with the addition of the number required. Thus “thirteen” would be -f* ~ r t Shih san. The figures between twenty and a hundred are denoted by -p shilι, “ten” preceded by the other numeral, and in this way Ξ+ San shih would be “thirty.”

After the explanation given of the manner in which the number, gender, and case of nouns are clearly expressed in composition, it need not be a matter of surprise that by position and the use of particles it is possible to give expression to all the moods and tenses of the verb. Such a fact should not astonish us when it is recollected that, as stated by Marshman, in the case of certain English verbs, such as “to cut,” position is found equal to the task of forming 211 out of the 215 verbal variations which such verbs undergo, and four only are formed by the addition of terminations to the original monosyllable, namely “cuttest,” “cuts,” “cutteth,” and “cutting.” As no change, not even the lengthening of a line, or the addition of a dot, can possibly be effected in a Chinese character without entirely altering its meaning, position has to do everything for the Chinese verb, and it accomplishes its mission in two ways, either by stating the time at which the action has taken place, or is about to take place, or by prefixing or suffixing certain words which by their several meanings supply like information. For instance, in the colloquial sentence ½[1 (⅛ 3j¼ joo kin ta lai, joo kin,

“now,” indicates that the action is present, and the three characters are to be translated “he is coming.” But if we were to exchange the joo kin for ∏∫J 4p ming neen, “ next year,” the verb lai will be in the future tense, “next year he will come;” and if yet once again we say, shang yuĕ ta lai, shang yuè meaning “last month,” the verb will then be in the past tense, and the sentence will run, “last month he came.” But more frequently the present tense of the verb is not accompanied with any word to denote the time of the action, and indeed the only tense-particles employed are those which serve to explain the past and future tenses. The characters ^J* leaou, “to complete,” and kwo, “ to pass over,” are the commonest of those which are suffixed to denote the first, and 'få tseang, “ to take,” and yaou, “ to want,” are the most frequently used as prefixes to mark the second. Thus, ta keu leaou, or ta keu kwo, would mean “he went,” while ta tseang keu or ta yaou keu would be “he will go.”

In every language, as Marshman has pointed out, “it will sometimes be found necessary to indicate or declare a thing, to command an action to be performed, to express it as desirable, obligatory, or possible, to represent it as conditional, and to describe it in a general way,” and Chinese is no exception to this rule. In the case of the active and infinitive moods, position, which, as we have already seen, has done so much for Chinese grammar, is again equal to the occasion, but the imperative, the optative, and the potential moods all, although not always, have their distinctive signs.

The third person of the imperative mood, for instance, is formed in modern Chinese by prefixing a verb meaning either “to give” or “to permit,” and answers exactly to our “let.” ∣⅝'f⅛⅛ heu ta keu is “let him go,” heu meaning “to allow,” “to permit.” The optative mood is formed by the addition of words meaning “to wish” or “to desire,” and the potential by the addition of words implying “power,” “duty,” or “doubt.”

The above sketch, although necessarily brief, serves to show that by carefully following the laws of Chinese syntax, it is possible to express in Chinese, as exactly as in other languages, all the parts of speech in all their variety of number, gender, case, mood, tense, and person, and therefore every shade of meaning which it is possible to convey by word of mouth. The difficulties of acquiring a knowledge of Chinese have hitherto shared that exaggeration which surrounds the unknown. It is time that the language was better understood, and at this period of the world’s history we cannot afford to leave unnoticed a language so ancient as to dwarf into insignificance the antiquity of western tongues, and one which is the solitary medium of communication between 400,000,000 of our fellow-men.

Having thus attempted to trace the growth of the written Chinese character from its first creation as a hieroglyphic to its final development in the more modem ideophonetic form, and also the rules which govern the position of these characters in a sentence, our object will now be to show the use which Chinese authors have made of the characters and of the grammar to which they are subservient. It was obviously necessary to begin with the language, before dealing with the literature, since some of the leading characteristics of the literature are, as is the case in every tongue, plainly traceable to the structure of the language. The words of a sentence are as a piece of clay in the hands of a potter. If they be soft and pliable, that is to say, if they be capable of inflections and of syntactical motion, they may be moulded to express with varying vigour and force the highest fancies and noblest thoughts of an able writer in all the changing beauty of poetic diction or of rhetorical eloquence. But if on the other hand they be destitute of inflexion, and be cramped by inexorable laws of position, which cannot for a moment be departed from, without a sacrifice of sense, the result must be that the literature of which they are the component parts will partake to some extent of their hard unyielding nature.

If we turn for a moment to the poetry of ancient Greece and Rome, we find that some of the finest effects have been produced by the power which the inflexional nature of those languages gave of transposing the position of words in a sentence, so as to give vigour and grace to the rhythm. To prove the truth of this we have only to take some striking passage, and compare it in the original with a plain straightforward translation in prose. The idea is the same in both, but how differently it appeals to the imagination of the reader. The gem is there, but it has lost the advantage of its setting. It must now be judged by the prosaic rule of its intrinsic value, with no softening surroundings to add grace and brilliancy to its natural beauty.

But the effective weapon which was thus placed in the hands of the poets and authors of ancient Greece and Rome has been completely denied to Chinese writers. As has been explained, the language is absolutely without inflexion, and the grammar consists so entirely of syntax, that no word can be moved out of its determined position in a sentence, without either changing its value or rendering it meaningless. Thus the literature has lost much of the variety and elegance which belongs by nature to that of the polysyllabic languages. And we might go beyond this and say that the lack of that power of expression which is given by syntactical motion has been accompanied by a blighting influence on the imaginations of Chinese authors. Other causes, to which reference will presently be made, are also to some extent responsible for this result; but in our review of the various branches of Chinese literature, we shall find that those which are most dependent for their successful development on the powers of imagination are those which least repay attention, and that the more excellent are those which contain simple narrations of facts, or consist of the arguments of the philosopher or of the man of science.

But notwithstanding this the Chinese are eminently a literary, in the sense of a reading, people. The system of making competitive examinations the only royal road to posts of honour and emolument, and the law which throws these open to everybody who chooses to compete, have caused a wider diffusion of book learning among the Chinese than is probably to be found among any other people. As to the date when the literature first took its rise, it is impossible to speak with any certainty. The vicissitudes which attended the early manuscripts and books which were collected by private individuals and in the imperial libraries have been such as to render the preservation of any ancient record a matter of wonder. Constant references are found in books to works which are said to have existed at early dates, but of many of these the titles are all that remain to us now.

One of the earliest published works on which we can lay our hands is the Book of Changes, the first, and the most revered, because the least understood, of the nine classics. This work first saw the light within a prison’s walls. In the year 1150 b.c. its author Wăn Wang was, we are told, imprisoned for a political offence, and sought to while away the tedium of his confinement by tracing out a system of general philosophy from the eight diagrams and their 64 combinations invented by the Emperor Fu-he. These diagrams have been likened to the mystical numbers of Pythagoras, and the leading idea of Wăn Wang’s system seems to have been founded upon the Chinese notions of the creation of the world, according to which all material things proceed from two great male and female vivifying elements, the Yin and the Yang, which in their turn owe their existence to the Tai keih, or the first great cause. As Sir John Davis says, this “might, with no great impropriety, be styled a sexual system of the universe. They, that is to say the Chinese, maintain that when from the union of the Yang and the Yin all existences, both animate and inanimate, had been produced, the sexual principle was conveyed to and became inherent in all of them. Thus heaven, the sun, day, &c., are considered of the male gender; earth, the moon, night, <fcc., of the female. This notion pervades every department of knowledge in China. It exists in their theories of anatomy and medicine, and is constantly referred to on every subject. The chief divinities worshipped by the emperor as high priest of the state religion are heaven and earth, which in this sense appear to answer in some degree to the ουρανός and γη in the cosmogony of the Greeks.”

The style and matter of Wăn Wang’s writings were, however, so cramped and vague that Confucius among others attempted the task of elucidating their dark places. Many years the sage spent in endeavours to make straight that which was so crooked; and the only result attained has been to add some inexplicable chapters to an incomprehensible book. But the fact that it gave rise to a system of divination saved it from sharing the fate which, in the year 221 b,c., befell all books except those on medicine, divination, and husbandry, at the hand of the Emperor Che Hwang-ti of the Tsin dynasty. This monarch ordered, for political reasons, the destruction of all the books to be found within the empire, except those on the subjects just mentioned. Fortunately, no monarch, however powerful, is able to carry out to the letter an order of so inquisitorial a nature; and the roofs of houses, the walls of dwellings, and even the beds of rivers, became the receptacles of the literary treasures of the nation until the tyranny was overpast. The works of Confucius, the Book of History, the Book of Odes, the Spring and Autumn Annals, together with the Book of Rites, and the Four Books by the disciples of the sage and of Mencius, were all alike condemned to the flames. How all these were preserved we know not, but history tells us that, when in after years efforts were made to restore the Book of History, 28 sections out of the 100 composing the entire work were taken down from the lips of a blind man who had treasured them in his memory. One other was recovered from a young girl in the province of Honan. And these are all which would probably have come down to us, had not a complete copy been found secreted in the wall of Confucius’s house, when it was pulled down in the year 140 B.c.

This Book of History takes us back to about the time of Noah. It consists of a number of records of the Yu, Hea 1 Shang, and Chow dynasties, embracing the period from the middle of the 24th century b.c. to 721 b.c. These, and a number of other MSS., attracted the attention of Confucius when he was at the court of Chow, and selecting those which he deemed of value, he compiled them in a work which he called the Shoo king or Book of History.

This work, as Mr Wells Williams says, “contains the seeds of all things that are valuable in the estimation of the Chinese; it is at once the foundation of their political system, their history, and their religious rites, the basis of their tactics, music, and astronomy.” For the most part it consists of conversations between the kings and their ministers, in which are traced out the same patriarchal principles of government as guide the rulers of the empire at the present day. “Virtue,” said the minister Yih, addressing the emperor, “is the basis of good government; and this consists first in procuring for the people the things necessary for their sustenance, such as water, fire, metals, wood, and grain. The ruler must also think of rendering them virtuous, and of preserving them from whatever can injure life and health. When you would caution them, use gentle words, when you would correct, employ authority.” “Do not be ashamed of mistakes, and thus make them crimes,” was another piece of wholesome advice offered to the emperor by his advisers, the effect of which is still observable in the outspoken confessions of official incompetence which are daily to be met with in the columns of the Peking Gazette.

As we shall have occasion at a subsequent stage to treat at some length of the compilation which stands next on the list of the classics,—the Book of Odes, — we pass on to mention a work whose dicta have entered into the very marrow of Chinese life—namely the Le ke, or Book of Rites. This work is said to have been compiled by the duke of Chow in the 12th century b.c., since which time it has ever been the guide and rule by which Chinamen have regulated all the actions and relations of their lives. No every-day ceremony is too insignificant to escape notice, and no social and domestic duty is considered to be beyond its scope. From the nature of its contents, therefore, it is the work of all the classics which has left the most palpable impression on the manners and customs of the people. Its rules are minutely observed at the present day, and one of the six governing boards at Peking—the Board of Rites—is entirely concerned with seeing that its precepts are carried out throughout the empire.

Speaking of this work, Callery says with justice, “In ceremonial is summed up the whole soul of the Chinese, and to my mind the Book of Rites is the most exact and complete monograph that this nation can give of itself to the rest of the world. Its affections, if it has any, are satisfied by ceremonial; its duties are fulfilled by means of ceremonial. Its virtues and vices are recognized by ceremonial; the natural relations of created beings are essentially connected with ceremonial; in a word, for it ceremonial is man, the man moral, the man politic, and the man religious, in their numberless relations with the family, society, the state, morality, and religion.”

But though each and all of the classics bear to some extent the impress of Confucius, only one, the Chun Tsew, or Spring and Autumn Annals, was written by him. At first sight, therefore, a more than usual interest attaches to this book, which is not lessened by the statements made by the sage himself, and by contemporary scholars concerning it. “The world,” says Mencius, “was fallen into decay, and right principles had dwindled away. Perverse discourses and oppressive deeds were again waxen rife. Cases were occurring of ministers who murdered their rulers, and of sons who murdered their fathers. Confucius was afraid, and made the Chun tsew.” As soon as it appeared, we are told that rebellious ministers quaked with fear and undutiful sons were overcome with terror. “Its righteous decisions,” said Confucius himself, “I ventured to make.”

The title also of the book, we are told, was given it, because its commendations were life-giving like spring, and its censures life-withering like autumn. The expectant student might therefore be excused for anticipating in its pages an intellectual treat. He would look to have the history of the period dealt with treated as a sustained narrative, interspersed with sage reflections and deep analyses of the characters and circumstances of the time. He would expect to find praise and blame distributed with a discriminating pen, and the foul crimes of regicide and murder denounced in impassioned outbursts of indignation. But how different is the book when we take it up! In the words of Dr Legge—“Instead of a history of events woven artistically together, we find a congeries of the briefest possible intimations of matters in which the court and state of Loo were more or less concerned, extending over 242 years, without the slightest tincture of literary ability in the composition, or the slightest indication of judicial opinion on the part of the writer. The paragraphs are always brief. Each one is designed to commemorate a fact; but whether that fact be a display of virtue calculated to command our admiration, or a deed of atrocity fitted to awaken our disgust, it can hardly be said that there is anything in the language to convey to us the shadow of an idea of the author’s feeling about it. The notices, for we cannot call them narratives, are absolutely unimpassioned. A base murder and a shining act of heroism are chronicled just as the eclipses of the sun are chronicled. So and so took place: that is all. No details are given; no judgment is expressed.”

The following extract from the annals of a year taken at random will be sufficient to show that Dr Legge’s remarks are well founded. “1. In the 15th year in spring the duke went to Tse. 2. A body of men from Tsoo invaded Seu. 3. In the third month the duke had a meeting with the marquis of Tse and others, when they made a covenant in Mow-Kew, and then went on to Kwang. 4. Kung-sun Gaou led a force and, with the great officers of the other princes, endeavoured to relieve Seu. 5. In summer in the 5th month the sun was eclipsed. 6. In autumn in the 7th month an army of Tse and an army of Tsoo invaded Le. 7. In the 8th month there were locusts. 8. The duke’s daughter went to her home in Tsang. 9. On Ke-mao, the last day of the moon, the temple of E-pih was struck by lightning. 10. In winter a body of men from Sung invaded Tsaou.” And so on page after page.

Having thus reviewed the Five Classics, we will now briefly consider the Four Books which, together with those just mentioned, make up the full complement of the Nine Classics. The first three of them—the Ta-heδ or Great Learning, the Chung-yung or the Doctrine of the Mean, and Lun-yu or Confucian Analects — are all by the pupils and followers of the sage; while the fourth, the Mdng-tsze, or the Works of Mencius, is by a disciple of that philosopher. All these, therefore, represent the views of Confucius, and if we ask what those views point to, we find that they may be summed up in the admonition: “Walk in the trodden paths.” For as Confucius said of himself, he came not to originate but to fulfil, and the primary object of his teaching was to revive in a dissolute age the purity, or supposed purity, of former generations; to quote against the roues of his day the examples of the ancients, whom he believed to have been scrupulous in fulfilling the universal obligations existing between sovereign and minister, between father and son, between husband and wife, and between friend and friend. He taught that man was a microcosm, and that by striving to improve himself by acquiring knowledge, by purifying his thoughts, by rectifying his heart, and by cultivating his person, he would then be able to regulate his family. When he could regulate his family, he might then be able to govern a state; and when he could govern a state, he might then be trusted to rule an empire. The empire was as one family; and as it was the part of the emperor to cherish and guard his people as a father does a child, so it was the duty of the people to render willing and submissive obedience to their sovereign.

It is due to these political opinions that Confucius has become such an object of respect to both rulers and the ruled. The former see in his teaching a ready argument for the maintenance of their authority, and the people, believing that heaven has constituted for them rulers and teachers, whose duty it is to extend favour and maintain tranquillity throughout the empire, have at the same time learnt to hold that when the ruler ceases to be a minister of God for good, he forfeits the title by which he holds the throne. Confucius was ambitious, and was a courtier as well as philosopher, and beyond this point he avoided in any shape or way indicating the manner in which an oppressive ruler should be induced to abdicate. No such consideration influenced his disciple Mencius, who, being superior to the ordinary ambitions of man, was superior also to their common timidities, and who with much boldness of utterance freely taught that the people were the most important element in a nation, and the sovereign was the lightest; and he did not scruple to admit the conclusion that an iniquitous ruler should be dethroned, and, if circumstances required it, that he should be put to death.

The Confucian Analects and the Works of Mencius differ in their construction from the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean, both of which are continuous treatises by individual authors; whereas the two first named are records of the sayings and doings of the two sages, compiled from memory by their faithful disciples, and somewhat resemble in construction, but at a vast interval, the plan of the Gospel narrative.

We have dwelt at some length on the classics, because, since they are the sacred books of China, it is natural to suppose that in them we may find the mainspring of the national literature. Unfortunately, to some extent this is the case, and Confucius has much to answer for, both as regards his teaching and the literary model he bequeathed to his countrymen. Instead of encouraging his disciples to think for themselves, to look into their own hearts, and to acquire that personal knowledge that enables a man to stand alone, he led them out both by precept and example into the dreary waste of cold forma!ism, in which all individuality is lost, and all force and originality of thinking is crushed out. It may be said that, as far as his teachings were concerned, he strove to suit his system to the capacity of his audience; and that he was successful in so doing is proved by the fact that for twenty-two centuries his name has been revered and his precepts have been followed by his countrymen of whatever rank and station in life.

As has been well observed by Wells Williams, “If Confucius had transmitted to posterity such works as the Iliad, the De Officiis, or the Dialogues of Plato, he would no doubt have taken a higher rank among the commanding intellects of the world; but it may be reasonably doubted whether his influence among his own countrymen would have been as good or as lasting. The variety and minuteness of his instructions for the nurture and education of children, the stress he lays upon filial duty, the detail of etiquette and conduct he gives for the intercourse of all classes and ranks in society, characterize his writings from those of all philosophers in other countries, who, comparatively speaking, gave small thought to the education of the young. The Four Books and the Five Classics would not, as far as regards their intrinsic character in comparison with other productions, be considered anything more than curiosities in literature, for their antiquity and language, w ere it not for the incomparable influence they have exerted over so many millions of minds.”

But no such apology can be offered for the example he set them in the substance and style of his writings. And we are forced to the conclusion that, though a man of great force of character, he was yet strangely devoid of imagination, and that, in his blind admiration for the ancients, he constrained himself to walk humbly and passively in the paths that had been traced by others. At all events he has done his countrymen an irreparable injury. The inflexible sterility of the earliest specimens of literature might possibly have been the characteristic of a particular phase in the national mind, but Confucius helped to perpetuate it throughout all generations. As might be expected, in no class of the literature is the effect thus produced more apparent than in the commentaries on the classics. These works are to be numbered by thousands, and, with some few exceptions, they are, as has been said of the writings of the scribes at the time of our Lord, cold in manner, second-hand and iterative in their very essence; with no freshness in them, no force, no fire; servile to all authority, opposed to all independence; never passing a hair’s-breadth beyond the carefully-watched boundary line of precedent; full of balanced inference and orthodox hesitancy, and impossible literalism; elevating mere memory above genius, and repetition above originality.

But whatever may be the shortcoming of Confucius as a writer, the respect he felt and inculcated for letters gave an impetus to literature. Following the example he set, men began to compile the histories of the various states; and authors with a turn for more original composition, busied themselves with the production of works on such, arts and sciences, including medicine, mathematics, law, and husbandry, as were known to them. It was just as this new industry was beginning to flourish that the Emperor Che Hwang-ti, to whom reference has already been made, an able and ambitious prince, ascended the throne. By a judicious mixture of force and diplomacy, he abolished the feudal states, into which the empire had up to his time been divided, and drew all power and authority into his own hands.

Estimating the traditions of the past to be almost as potent as Confucius had supposed, and for that very reason deeming them as dangerous to the existence of his rule as Confucius had considered them to be beneficial to the empire, he determined to break with them once and for ever. He therefore issued an order that all books should be burned, except those containing records of his own reign; that all who dared to speak together about the Book of Odes or the Book of History (harmless subjects enough, one would think) should be put to death, and their bodies exposed in the market-place; that those who should make mention of the past, so as to blame the present, should be put to death along with their relatives; and that any one possessing a book after the lapse of thirty days from the issuing of the ordinance should be branded and sent to labour on the Great Wall for four years. The publication of this edict was followed shortly afterwards by an order for the execution of upwards of 460 scholars who had failed to obey the mandate of the emperor.

Curiously enough it was during the reign of this uncompromising enemy to literature that the brush-pencil as at present used in China for writing purposes, was invented,—an invention which implies that about this time a substitute was found for the bamboo tablets which had up to that period served the purposes of paper. At first this new material was a kind of closely woven silk. But this was soon found to be as unsuitable for general purposes from its expense as the tablets had been from their cumbrousness; and shortly after the establishment of the Han dynasty, when the decrees of Che Hwang-ti were reversed and every encouragement was given by the state to men of letters, the Marquis Tsae “invented the manufacture of paper from the inner bark of trees, ends of hemp, old rags, and fishing-nets.” The increased facility thus afforded for the multiplication of books was eagerly taken advantage of; and from the Annals of the Han dynasty, 206 b.c. to 25 a.d., we learn that the imperial library of that reigning house consisted of 3123 sections on the classics, 2705 on philosophy, 1318 of poetry, 790 on military affairs, 2528 on mathematics, and 868 on medicine. But at the end of the second century an insurrection, which brought the Han dynasty to a close, gave another check to the growing literary taste. And though the then reigning emperor, in his flight from his capita] at Lo-yang, attempted to carry off the contents of the imperial library, only half the books reached their destination at Chang-gan, and the remnant was shortly after given to the flames by the successful revolutionists.

Such as had been the course of literature up to this time, so it continued until the close of the 6th century, when the art of printing, which became known in Europe nearly 900 years later, was invented in China. A well-known Chinese Encyclopaedia tells us that on the 8th day of the 12th month of the thirteenth year of the reign of Wăn-ti (593 a.d.), it was ordained by a decree that the various texts in circulation should be collected, and should be engraved on wood, to be printed and published. Thus within a few years of the time when St Augustine brought the enlightening influences of Christianity to these Isles, the art of printing —a civilizing agency second only to Christianity—was made known in China. But at first comparatively little use seems to have been made of the invention, for we are told that though it made some way during the Tang (618- 907) and the five following dynasties (907-960), it only arrived at its full development under the Sang dynasty (960-1127). It was during this last epoch that a further improvement was made in the art by the introduction of movable types, by a blacksmith named Pe Ching. This inventor, writes Μ. Julien, used to take a paste of fine and glutinous clay, and make of it regular plates of the thickness of a piece of money, on which he engraved the characters. For each character he made a type, which he hardened at the fire. He then placed an iron plate on the table, and covered it with a cement composed of resin, wax, and lime. When he wanted to print, he took an iron frame divided by perpendicular threads of the same metal, and placing it on the iron plate, ranged his types in it. The plate was then held near the fire, and when the cement was sufficiently melted, a wooden board was pressed tightly upon it, so as to render the surface of the type perfectly even. This method was neither convenient nor expeditious, so says a Chinese writer, when only a few copies of a book were to be printed; but when a large number were required, it printed them off at a prodigious speed.

At this and at later periods the art of printing has been turned to no better purpose in China than to the publication of the histories of the various dynasties. Debarred both by the nature of the material at their command and by a lack of original genius from indulging in the higher branches of imaginative writing, Chinese authors have devoted themselves with untiring energy and with very considerable ability to the compilation of information concerning the physical and political features of their own and the neighbouring countries. Each dynasty has its official chronicle of these subjects, and the celebrated collection of twenty-one histories, which forms a well-nigh unbroken record of the nation’s annals, by contemporary authors, from the 3d century b.c. down to the middle of the 17th century, forms a notable monument of the indefatigable industry of their authors. The edition of this huge work which stands on the shelves of the Chinese library at the British Museum is contained in sixty-six European-bound volumes of folio size. In order to facilitate the process of reference the different histories of which it is composed, though they vary considerably in extent, are all formed on the same model. First in order come the Imperial Records, which consist of the purely political events which occurred in each reign; then follow the Memoirs, including articles on mathematical chronology, rites, music, jurisprudence, political economy, state sacrifices, astronomy, elemental influences, geography, literature, biographies, and records of the neighbouring countries.

On all these subjects they contain a vast amount of valuable and varied information, much of which possesses considerable interest for European readers. The position which China, as a nation, has occupied and maintained through so many centuries has been such as to render her the natural depository of the annals of the kingdoms of Central and Eastern Asia. With Burmah, Cochin-China, Tibet, Japan, and Corea as her vassels, with a never-ceasing relationship with the tribes of Central Asia, kept up as times and circumstances changed, now as subjects, now as allies, and now as enemies, alone unchanging in her political constitution amidst the recurring wrecks of neighbouring states, she has had the means at her command of collecting masses of ethnological information which are beyond the reach of any other people. The movements of the tribes in Central Asia, to which her policy has largely contributed, are all clearly traced in the dynastic annals; and it was with the view of placing the record of these within the reach of European readers that a proposal was recently made to translate, as a beginning, the history of the Han dynasty.

Allied to these annals are the topographical works of China, which for breadth of scope and for minuteness of detail are scarcely to be equalled in the literature of any other country. The most generally comprehensive of these is the Ta Tsing yih tu,ng chi, which forms a geography of the empire, together with the Chinese districts of Mongolia and Manchuria as existing since the accession of the present dynasty. This work, which consists of 356 books, was published at Peking in the year 1744. In it each province, each prefecture, each department, and each district is separately dealt with; and all are severally treated of under the following twenty-four headings :—1. A table of the changes which the district to be described has undergone during the successive dynasties from the Han downwards; 2. Maps; 3. A list of the distances from the various places to the chief towns of the department; 4. Its astronomical bearings; 5. Its ancient geography; 6. Its geographical position and its notable localities; 7. The manners and customs of the inhabitants; 8. Its fortified places; 9. Its colleges and schools; 10. The census of the population; 11. The taxes on land; 12. Its mountains and rivers; 13. Its antiquities; 14. Its means of defence; 15. Its bridges; 16. Its dykes; 17. Its tombs and monuments; 18. Its temples and ancestral halls; 19. Its Buddhist and Taouist temples; 20. Patriotic native officials from the time of the Han dynasty downwards; 21. Celebrated men and things; 22. Illustrious women; 23. Saints and immortals; 24. The products of the soil

On this model distinct topographies have also been compiled, under official superintendence, of every province, every prefecture, every department, and almost every district. And not only this, but the water-ways of China, as well as the rivers of Manchuria, Mongolia, and Tibet, have all been accurately surveyed and minutely described. The narrow train of thought, however, into which the system of Chinese education has compressed the mind of the people tends to develop in them a faculty for the observation of minute details rather than to foster the power of taking a correct comprehensive view of any wide subject. This peculiarity is observable in the class of works just spoken of; for while they are wonderfully accurate as to details, their maps and general descriptions are often vague and untrustworthy. But when we remember how only recently the very important duty of causing surveys to be made of the British Islands has been undertaken by the Government, it becomes us rather to speak with respect of the energy and wisdom shown by the Chinese topographers, than to criticise too closely their shortcomings.

It would not be dealing fairly by Chinese literature were we to leave this part of our subject without referring to the historical and literary encyclopaedias which form so very notable a feature in every library throughout the country. The best known of these compilations, and the one which may be taken as a specimen of the class, is the Wăn been tung kaou, by Ma Twan-lin. This work has been more largely drawn upon by European authors than has any other Chinese book of reference, and those who are best acquainted with it are those who speak most highly in its praise. “One cannot cease to admire,” says Remusat, “the depth of research which the author was compelled to make in order to collect his materials, the sagacity he has shown in the arrangement of them, and the clearness and precision with which he has presented this multitude of objects in every light. It may fairly be said that this excellent work is a library in itself, and that if Chinese literature contained nothing else, it would be worth while to learn the language in order to read it. One has only to choose the subject one wishes to study, and one finds all the facts recorded and classified, all the sources of information indicated, and all the authorities cited and discussed.” “It elevates our opinion,” says Wells Williams, “of a nation whose literature can boast of a work like this exhibiting such patient investigation and candid comparison of authorities, such varied research and just discrimination of what is truly important, and so extensive a mass of facts and opinions upon every subject of historical interest”

In point of size and importance, however, this encyclopaedia yields place to one other, entitled Koo kin too shoo tseih chiηg, or A Complete Collection of Ancient and Modern Books. During the reign of the Emperor Kang-he (1661— 1721) it occurred to that monarch that, in view of the gradual alterations which were being introduced into the texts of works of interest and value, it would be advisable to reprint such from the old editions. He therefore appointed a commission, and directed them to reprint in one huge collection all such works as they might deem worthy of preservation. A complete set of copper type was cast for the undertaking, and when the commisioners brought their labours to a close, they were able to lay before the emperor a very palpable proof of their diligence in the shape of a compilation consisting of 6109 volumes. The contents they divided under thirty-two heads, embracing works on every subject contained in the national literature. Only a small edition was printed off in the first instance, and before long the Government, yielding to the necessities of a severe monetary crisis, ordered the copper type employed to print it to be melted down for cash. Thus only a few copies of the first edition are in existence, and it is but rarely that one finds its way into the market. It so happens, however, that one is now (1876) for sale at Peking, and it is much to be hoped that this copy of a work which is the largest in the world, unique of its kind, and incapable of reproduction, may, though at present fate is adverse, find its way to the shelves of some one of the great libraries of the West.

Space would fail were we even to refer to the immense number of biographies and of works on the sciences, on education, and on jurisprudence, which have from time to time issued, and are still issuing, from the presses in China. Nor need the literature of the religious sects of China—the Confucianists, the Buddhists, and the Taouists—detain us long, since the works of Confucius have already been noticed, and since the great bulk of Chinese Buddhist literature is of Indian origin. It remains, therefore, for us to refer only to the Taouist literature, which has its foundation in The Sûtra of Reason and of Virtue by Laou-tsze, the founder of the sect. Like Confucius, of whom he was a contemporary, he held office at the court of Chow; but being less ambitious than the sage, he retired early from his post, and we are told that as he passed the frontier on his way westward, whither we know not, he placed in the hands of the officer in charge of the frontier guard a small volume, which embodied the results of his meditations. According to the interpretation put upon his system thus expounded by the famous commentator Choo He, it would appear to bear a strong analogy to those of the Quietists and Manicheists. “Laou-tsze’s scheme of philosophy,” he tells us, “consists in modesty, self-emptiness, in being void of desires, quiet and free from exertion, in being self-empty, retiring, and self-controlling in actual life.” But beyond this his great object seems to have been to elucidate and develop his idea of the relations between something which he calls Taou and the universe. To this Taou, Laou-tsze refers all things as the ultimate ideal unity of the universe. All things originate from Taou, conform to Taou, and to Taou they at last return Formless, it is the cause of form. It is an eternal road; along it all beings and all things walk; but no being made it, for it is being itself, and yet nothing. It is the path, and also the path-goers, and everything and nothing, and the cause and effect of all.

This is a sufficiently mystical foundation to allow of any superstructures, however wildly superstitious, to be based, upon it. And just as the religion of ancient Rome became incrusted and overlaid by superstitious vanities gathered from Egypt, and from wherever the Roman arms penetrated, so the teachings of Laou-tszβ have been debased and disfigured in the hands of later writers, who, casting aside his profound speculations, busy themselves with the pursuit of immortality, the search after the philosopher’s stone, the use of amulets, with the observance of fasts and sacrifices, rituals and charms, and the indefinite multiplication of objects of worship

In China, as elsewhere, the first development of literary talent is found in poetry. The songs and ballads which form the Book of Odes, already spoken of, date back to a time long antecedent to the production of any works of which we have knowledge. In those early days, before China was China, the then empire was divided into a number of feudal states, all of which, however, acknowledged fealty to the ruling sovereign, at whose court were a number of music-masters and historiographers, whose duty it was to collect and set to music the songs of the people, and to preserve the historical records of the empire. In strict imitation of the surroundings of their liege lord the feudatory princes numbered among their retinuea officers of like position and professing similar functions. At stated intervals these princes, accompanied by their followings, were in the habit of meeting the king at certain recognized places to take orders for the future and to receive credit or blame as the case might be for their past conduct. On such occasions the music masters would carry with them the ballads and songs collected in their principalities, and present them to their superior at the royal court. These he would collect and classify, reminding one of Queen Elizabeth’s minister, who, according to the Spectator, “had all manner of books and ballads brought to him, of what kind soever, and took great notice how much they took with the people; upon which he would, and certainly might very well judge of their present dispositions, and of the most proper way of applying them according to his own purposes.” Thus it happened, that at the time of Confucius there existed an official collection of some 3000 songs. On these the sage set to work, and, in the words of the historian Sze-ma Tseen, “he rejected those which were only repetitions of others, and selected those which would be serviceable for the inculcation of propriety and righteousness.” Such he arranged to the number of 311 under four heads, namely, “National Airs,” the “Lesser” and the “Greater Eulogies,” and the “Song of Homage,” and gave the title of She king, or Book of Odes, to the collection.

If we can imagine ourselves seated in the study of the royal minister, searching with him into the ballads thus laid before us for an indication of the temper and mind of the people among whom they had had their birth, we should be inclined to congratulate him on the easy task entrusted to him of governing such a population. Through most of them there breathes a quiet calm and patriarchal simplicity of thought and life. There are few sounds of war, little tumult of the camp, but, on the contrary, a spirit of peaceful repose, of family love, and of religious feeling. We have brought before the minds eye the lowly cottage, where dwell a family united by the bonds of affection and of duty. Their food is the produce of the soil and the spoils of the chase. The highest ambition of the men is to excel as archers and charioteers, and their religious worship is the same as that which, untainted by Buddhism or any other form of philosophical teaching, is now practised at the imperial temples of heaven and earth, by the emperor only as high priest. Their wives are objects of affection and respect, and though in one song we find the belief expressed that “a wise woman will ruin a city,” yet there seems to have been abundance of regard for honest housewives who did their duty, who shared the toil of their husbands, and enjoyed with them the simple pleasures within their reach.

It is true that now and again we meet with traces of scenes of revelry bordering on licentiousness; but their idyllic surroundings, and the absence of all violence, deprive the most dissolute descriptions of all vulgarity and coarseness. More serious by far are the wailing complaints of misrule and tyranny under which the subjects of certain princes groan. But even here there are no signs of insubordination or tumult; the remedy which suggests itself to a people patient and long-suffering to a degree is to emigrate beyond the reach of the tyrant, not to rise in rebellion against him. In the following lines, for instance, the writer begs his friends to fly with him from the oppression and misery prevailing in his native state, which he likens to the north wind and thickly falling snow :—

“Cold blows the North wind; Thickly falls the snow.

Oh come all ye that love me, Let’s join hands and go.

Can we any longer stay, Victims to this dire dismay! ’’

Foxes and crows were looked upon as creatures of evil omen, and so, giving play to his imagination, he tells us that the only variations noticeable in the monotony of the present distress were these prognostics of future evil, in these words :—

“Nought red is seen but foxes, Nor aught else black but crows, Oh come all ye that love me, Let ’s fly before our foes.

Can we any longer stay, Victims to this dire dismay?

Though the style and diction of these songs are of the simplest description, yet through some of them there runs a rich vein of sentiment, and in forming a judgment on them it is necessary to remember that they are not studied poems, but simply what they profess to be, songs of the people. Like all political ballads also, many of them refer to contemporary events about which we know next to nothing. We are therefore much in the hands of the commentators, and they tell us that the following song is intended to depict a rural scene, in which an industrious wife impresses on her husband the necessity of early rising, and encourages him to make virtuous and respectable acquaintances :—

“ ‘ Get up, husband, here ’s the day!

‘ Not yet, wife, the dawn ’s still grey.

Get up, sir, and on the right See the morning star shines bright. Shake off slumber, and prepare Ducks and geese to shoot and snare.

“ ‘All your darts and line may kill I will dress for you with skill. Thus, a blithesome hour we ’ll pass, Brightened by a cheerful glass; While your lute its aid imparts To gratify and soothe our hearts.

“ ‘ On all whom you may wish to know I ’ll girdle ornaments bestow;

And girdle ornaments I ’ll send To any one who calls you friend; With him whose love for you’s abiding My girdle ornaments dividing.’ ’’

(7‰ Book of Odes, pt. i. bk. vii. Ode 8.)

One other we will quote, taken from the songs of homage, or hymns which were sung either by or before the emperor when he sacrificed as high priest to God. We are told that this one was sung by King Seuen on the occasion of a great drought in the 8th century b.c. In it he expostulates with God for bringing this misery upon him, and expresses his belief that he had a right to expect succour instead of disaster from the Most High.

“Brightly resplendent in the sky revolved The milky way.

The monarch cried, Alas!

What crime is ours, that Heaven thus sends on us Death and Disorder, that with blow on blow Famine attacks us?

Surely I have grudged

To God no victims; all our store is spent Of tokens. Why is it I am not heard?

Rages the drought. The hills are parched, and dry The streams. The demon of the drought Destroys like one who scatters fiery flames.

Terrified by the burning heat my heart, My mourning heart, seems all consumed with fire. The many dukes and ministers of the past Pay me no heed.

0 God! from Thy great Heaven Send me permission to withdraw myself Into seclusion.

Fearful is the drought.

I hesitate, I dread to go away.

Why has the drought been sent upon my land ĭ No cause for it know I. Full early rose My prayers for a good year; not late was I In off ring sacrifice unto the Lords Of the four quarters and the land.

Afar

In the high Heaven God listens not. And yet Surely a reverent man as I have been To all intelligent Spirits should not be The victim of their overwhelming wrath.”

(7 ’ lιe Book of Odes, pt. iii. bk. iii. Ode 4.)

Such is the poetry of the Book of Ode», and such we should have expected to find it, since the earliest specimens of poetry in every land partake of a simple and religious nature, are crude in their measure, and are wanting in that harmony which is begotten of study and cultivation. The Chinese say of poetry that the Book of Odes may be likened to its roots, that during the Han and Wei dynasties it burst into foliage, and that during the Tang dynasty (620-907) it came into full bloom. Certainly the change that came over it after the time of Confucius is very marked. Instead of the peaceful odes of his day, we find pieces reflecting the unsettled condition of political and social affairs. Songs breathing fire and sword, mingled with wild fancies, the offspring of Taouist teaching, have taken the place of the domestic ballads of the Book of Odes. The simple monotheistic belief of the early Chinese is exchanged for a superstitious faith in a host of gods and goddesses, who haunt every hill, and dance in every glade. As a specimen of the poetry of this period, we may quote the following “Lament of a Soldier on a Campaign,” by Sun Tsze-king, of the Wei dynasty :—

“On the hilly way blows the morning breeze; the Autumn shrubs are veiled in mist and rain.

The whole city escorts us far on our way, providing us with rations for a thousand li.

Their very worst have the three Fates done. Ah me! how can I be saved? There is nought more bitter than an early death. Do not the Gods desiro to gain perpetual youth?

As Sorrow and Happiness, so are Fortune and Misfortune intermingled. Heaven and Earth are the moulds in which we are formed, and in them is there nothing which does not bear significance.

Far into the future looks the sage, early striving to avert calamity. But who can examine his own heart, scrutinize it by the light of heaven, regulate it for his present life, and preserve it for the old age which is to come?

Longer grows the distance from what I have left behind me: my trouble i s greater than I can bear. ’

With other poets this new phase of belief encouraged a contempt for life, and an uncertainty of all beyond it; and these during the first two centuries gave vent to their indifference in odes advocating the Epicurean philosophy, “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.” Eight short dynasties, times of confusion and disorder, followed after the Han dynasties (206 b.c. to 221 a.d.) and then came the Tang dynasty (620-907), a period which is looked back upon as being the golden age of literature, as, indeed, it was in every field which marks a nation’s greatness. It was during this epoch that imperial armies occupied Bokhara and Samarcand, that the Buddhist traveller Heuen-tsang made his way to India, and to every spot rendered sacred by the presence of Buddha, and that the softening influences of Christianity were introduced by the Nestorians into the very heart of the empire. It was a time of prosperity and peace. Literature flourished, and skill and art were employed to soften and add harmony to the national poetry. The four syllables, of which nearly all the lines in the Book of Odes were composed, were exchanged for five and seven. The subjects also partook of the change. Le Tai-pih, the greatest poet of his time, tuned his lyre to notes on the pleasures of wine and of beauty, which would have done honour to Anacreon. Evening feasts amid the parterres of gardens rich with the bloom of a thousand flowers furnished themes upon which he and his imitators were never tired of dilating. Such sonnets are sometimes pretty, and occasionally the ideas they contain are striking; but the disadvantages of the language and of education weigh heavily upon their authors, and they seldom rise beyond the level of the merest mediocrity. The following is taken from the writings of the poet just mentioned, and is translated lineatim et verbatim :— A Solitary Carouse on a Day in Spring

“The east wind fans a gentle breeze,

The streams and trees glory in the brightness of the Spring, The bright sun illuminates the green shrubs, And the falling flowers are scattered and fly away.

The solitary cloud retreats to the hollow hill, Γhe birds return to their leafy haunts.

Every being has a refuge whither he may turn, I alone have nothing to which to cling.

So, seated opposite the moon shining o’er the cliff, I drink and sing to the fragrant blossoms.”

Of epic poetry the Chinese know nothing, and this need not surprise us when we remember how entirely that style of writing was an importation from Greece into Western Europe; and Voltaire tells us that, when he was thinking of publishing the Henriade, he consulted a friend on the subject, who recommended him to give up the undertaking, “for,” said he, “the French have not epic heads.” Neither have the Chinese. A sustained effort of imagination is difficult to them, and the strict laws of rhyme and metre which hamper the poet would make a lengthened poem in Chinese the work of a lifetime. It is probably due to this cause that the literature shows no instance of real dramatic poetry. Their dramas abound with short lyrical pieces, which are introduced to break the monotony of the dialogue; but dramas in verse are unknown, except in the case of low plays written in vulgar rhythm. As, however, love for the drama is one of the most noticeable features of the Chinese character, every encouragement has been given to playwrights, and this branch of literature is therefore well supplied both as regards matter and bulk. The most celebrated plays are contained in a collection entitled The, Hundred Plays of the Yuen Dynasty, many of which have been translated into European languages, and one of which, the Orphan of Chaou, served as the groundwork of Voltaire’s tragedy, L , Orphelin de la Chine. Their dramas are divided in the playbooks into acts, generally four or five, but as there is an absence of all scenery, and as the dresses are never changed during the piece, the acting is as a rule continuous throughout without break or interval. The stage directions are given in their books as in ours, but not with the same minuteness. “Enter” and “exit” are expressed by “ascend” and “descend,” and “aside,” by “turn the back and say.” By the rules of the Chinese, as was the case also in the Greek drama, only two players are allowed to have possession of the stage at any one time. This, and the absence of all scenery, obliges the dramatists to put in the mouths of the actors long pieces of spoken narrative, much after the manner of the prologues in the plays of Euripides, which appear tame and heavy to a European spectator accustomed to have the plot and locality explained by dialogue and scenery. The plots are for the most part simple and well sustained. The unities, though sometimes observed, are more often disregarded, especially that of place, the characters being frequently sent to different parts of the country in the same act, and made to inform the audience of their whereabouts by the simple expedient of walking up and down the stage, and exclaiming, “Now I am at such and such a place,” or “at such and such a house.” The acting, generally speaking, is good. The Chinese are actors by nature, and are no doubt a good deal improved by their inherent cunning and want of sincerity, which make them quick of observation and fertile in resource, and in every-day life enable them easily to catch the tone of those with whom they associate, and on the stage to assume the characters they wish to represent.

The theatre is in China, as it was in Greece, national and religious. It is under the direct control of the law, and is closed by imperial edict during all periods of public mourning, while at the same time it plays a prominent part at all the yearly religious festivals. In order to give some idea of the substance and plot of a Chinese drama, we will quote from Sir John Davis’s China an abstract of a play, which he has translated and published at full length, entitled The Heir in Old Age. This piece serves, as is observed by the translator, to illustrate the consequences which the Chinese attach to the due performance of the oblations at the tombs of departed ancestors, and also the true relation of the handmaid to the legitimate wife. The dramatis personae are, he says, “made up entirely of the members of a family in the middle class of life, consisting of a rich old man, his wife, a handmaid, his nephew, his son-in-law, and his daughter.” The old man, having no son to console him in his age, and to perform the obsequies at his tomb, had, like the Jewish patriarch, taken a handmaid, whose pregnancy is announced at the opening of the play, in which the old man commences with saying, “I am a man of Tung-ping Foo,” &c. In order to obtain from Heaven a son, instead of a daughter, he makes a sacrifice of sundry debts due to him, by burning the bonds, and this propitiatory holocaust serves at the same time to quiet some scruples of conscience as to the mode in which part of his money had been acquired. He then delivers over his affairs to his wife and his married daughter, dismissing his nephew (a deceased brother’s son) with a hundred pieces of silver to seek his fortune, as he had been subjected at home to the persecution of the wife. This done, the old man sets out for his estate in the country, recommending the mother of his expected son to the humane treatment of the family, and with the hope of receiving from them speedy congratulations on the birth of a son.

The son-in-law now betrays to the daughter his disappointment at the expected birth, since, if it prove a girl, they shall lose half the family property, and if a son, the whole. His wife quiets him by a hint how easily the handmaid may be got rid of, and the old man persuaded that she had suddenly disappeared; and shortly afterwards both the son-in-law and the audience are left to infer that she had actually contrived to make away with her. In the mean time the old man waits the result in great anxiety; his family appear in succession to console him for the loss of his hopes. In the bitterness of his disappointment, he bursts into tears and expresses his suspicions of foul play. He then attributes his misfortunes to his former thirst for gain, resolves to fast for seven days, and to bestow alms publicly at a neighbouring temple, in the hope that the object of his charity may treat him as a father. Among the beggars at the temple his nephew appears in the most hopeless state of poverty, being reduced to take up his lodgings under the furnace of a pottery; he is insulted by the son-in-law, and reproached by the old wife, but his uncle, moved with compassion, contrives to give him a little money, and earnestly advises him to be punctual in visiting the tombs of his family at the approaching spring, assuring him that a due attention to those sacred rites must ultimately lead to prosperity. It is on the importance attached to the sepulchral ceremonies that the whole drama is made to turn.

The nephew accordingly appears at the tombs, performs his oblations as well as his poverty will admit, and invokes the shades of his ancestors to grant him their protection. He no sooner departs than the old man appears with his wife, expressing their indignation that their own daughter and son-in-law had neglected to come with the customary offerings. They observe, from the appearances at the sepulchre, that their nephew must have been there. The scene at the tombs, and the reflections of the old man thereon, have considerable interest; he reasons with his wife, and convinces her that the nephew is nearer in blood and more worthy than the son-in-law; she relents, and expresses a wish to make him reparation; he appears, and a reconciliation takes place, and he is received back into the family. The son-in-law and daughter now enter with a great bustle and a procession, to perform the ceremonies, but are received with bitter reproaches for their tardy piety and ingratitude, and forbidden to enter the doors again.

On the old man’s birthday, however, they claim permission to pay their respects, when, to the boundless surprise and joy of the father, his daughter presents him with the long-lost handmaid and child, both of whom, it appears, had been secreted by the daughter, unknown to her jealous husband, who supposed they were otherwise disposed of. The daughter is taken back, and the old man divides his money in three equal shares, between her, his nephew, and his newly-found son,—the play concluding with expressions of joy and gratitude that the venerable hero of the piece had obtained an “heir in his old age.”

This play furnishes us with a very good type of Chinese plays in general. The incidents are true to life, but they have no psychological interest about them. There is no delineation of character in it, and there is nothing in the plot to make it more appropriate for the groundwork of a play than for that of a novel. In the works of fiction we are treated only to the same crude narration of facts, without any just representation of nature. Exaggerated sentiments, which always precede correct reasoning and refined simplicity, fill the pages of their works of fiction, rendering them favourites only with those who are taught to judge of them according to their own standard of taste. Of the characters portrayed, we have to judge only from actions attributed to them, which are strung together with no connecting links, except those supplied by the iteration of details, which are wearisome to a degree. Several novels have been translated into English by Sir John Davis and others; but, from the causes I have described, few have attracted any public interest. Some of their shorter tales, being to a great extent purged of the cumbrous repetitions common to larger works, are better fitted for translation, and the novelty of many of the situations and incidents serves to keep alive the attention of the reader. Unfortunately the tone of most Chinese novels is not such as to afford any palliation for the dreariness of their contents. If Chinese novelists are to believed, virtue in women and honour in men are to be found only in a few rarely-gifted individuals, and this has been so constantly insisted on, that it appears to have become one of those beliefs which have been the means of their own justification.

If then, having considered the past and present literature of China, we cast a glance into the future, the prospect is not encouraging. Already every subject within the scope of Chinese authors has been largely treated of and infinitely elaborated. Every grain of wheat has long ago been beaten out of it, and any further labour expended upon it can but be as thrashing out of straw. The only hope for the future of the literature is that afforded by the importation of foreign knowledge and experience into the country. For many years these can only be introduced in the shape of translations of books. But the time will come when Chinese authors will think for themselves; and when that period arrives, they wiIl learn to estimate their present loudly-vaunted literature at its true value.

Government.

The government may be described as a patriarchal despotism. The emperor is the father of his people, and as a father is responsible for the training and behaviour of his children, receiving blame when they prove unworthy, and reward when they show themselves to be virtuous; so is the people’s welfare the emperor’s first care, and their preservation from all harm, both moral and physical, his first duty. When the people become unruly the emperor views their conduct as the result of his own negligence or want of wisdom, and when peace prevails he accepts it as the consequence of his fatherly solicitude and care. Like a father, also, he holds autocratic sway over his household,— the empire. In his hand lies the power of b'fe and death. Whom he will he slays, and whom he will he keeps alive. But there is a limit to his absolutism. The duties attaching to the relations existing between emperor and people are reciprocal; and, while it is the duty of the subject to render willing and submissive obedience to the sovereign so long as his rule is just and beneficent, it is also incumbent on him to resist his authority so soon as he ceases to be a minister of God for good. This sacred right of rebellion was distinctly taught by Confucius, and was emphasized by Mencius, who went the length of asserting that a ruler who, by the practice of injustice and oppression, had forfeited his right to rule, should not only be dethroned, but might, if circumstances required it, be put to death.

All this carries us back to a very primitive state of society—to one which probably existed among the Chinese immigrants who first settled on the plains of China, and which has been perpetuated down to the present day unaltered and without interruption. That among the changing fates of empires this system should have been so accurately maintained in China through so many centuries is a fact into the causes of which it is worth while to inquire. We find it pictured in the records which make up the Book of History, the earliest of which carry us back to the time of Noah, and we find it enforced in the writings of the great apostle of patriarchal institutions, Confucius, and in all the other works which go to make up the nine classics. The reverence with which these Scriptures are viewed has been the principal means of perpetuating the primitive form of Chinese imperialism. The contents of their pages form the study of every schoolboy, and supply the only themes at the competitive examinations through which every one must pass who seeks an official career. Thus the mind of the nation is constantly and almost exclusively turned towards them, and their dogmas have become part and parcel of the national training. The isolation in which China, owing to her geographical and political position, has been wrapt for so many centuries has prevented the introduction of foreign opinions and literature, and the national mind has been so emasculated by the constant contemplation of these ready-made models of excellence, that neither from without nor from within has there been any temptation to Chinamen, by the creation of new ideas, on this or any other subject, to dissent from the dicta of Confucius and his predecessors, and the result has been that such as the government was in their time so it is at the present day.

The whole theory of government is the embodiment of parental and filial piety. As the people are the children of the emperor, so is he the Teen-tsze or the Son of Heaven; and standing in this intermediary position, it pertains to him, and to him alone, to mediate between his father, Heaven, and his children, his subjects. His sacrifices and prayers to Heaven are conducted with great parade and ceremony. The chief of these state observances is the sacrifice at the winter solstice, which is performed before sunrise on the morning of the 21st of December at the altar of Heaven. The form of this altar is peculiar. “It consists of a triple circular terrace, 210 feet wide at the base, 150 in the middle, and 90 at the top The emperor, with his immediate suite, kneels in front of the tablet of Shang-tis (The Supreme Being, or Heaven), and faces the north. The platform is laid with marble stones, forming nine concentric circles; the inner circle consists of nine stones, cut so as to fit with close edges round the central stone, which is a perfect circle. Here the emperor kneels, and is surrounded first by the circles of the terraces and their enclosing walls, and then by the circle of the horizon. He then seems to himself and to his court to be in the centre of the universe, and turning to the north, assuming the attitude of a subject, he acknowledges in prayer and by his position that he is inferior to Heaven, and to Heaven alone. Round him on the pavement are the nine circles of as many Heavens, consisting of nine stones, then eighteen, then twenty-seven, and so on in successive multiples of nine till the square of nine, the favourite number of Chinese philosophy, is reached in the outermost circle of eighty-one stones.” On this occasion, also, a bullock of two years old, and without blemish, is offered as a whole-burntoffering in a green porcelain furnace which stands close beside the altar.

But though occupying the lofty position described, the power wielded by the emperor of China is circumscribed by ceremonial laws and hampered by precedents. His whole life is one continual round of ceremonial observances. From the day on which he ascends the throne to the time when he is carried to his tomb in the Eastern Hills, his hours and almost minutes have special duties appointed to them by the Board of Rites. He never leaves his palace except on state occasions, and every relaxation from the cares of sovereignty must therefore be found within its walls. It is thus that the temptations of harem life have been the ruin of so many emperors, and it is rarely the case that such sovereigns are to be met with as Kang-he and Keen-lung, who reigned in the last two centuries, and each of whom devoted the sixty years of his reign to the high duties of his position and to the charms of literary pursuits.

In all affairs of state the emperor is assisted in his deliberations by the Nuy ko, or privy council, which, according to the regulations of the present dynasty, consists of nine Manchoos and seven Chinamen; and the administrative departments are presided over by six boards, namely, the Board of War, the Board of Punishments, the Board of Office, the Board of Ceremonies, the Board of Revenue, and the Board of Works. Besides these there are the Board o( Music and that of the Censors; and this last, though an inferior office, exercises considerable influence, since its officers, both in the capital and in the provinces, are encouraged to criticise freely the actions of the mandarins and even of the emperor himself. Like many of the other branches of Government, this one has fallen a victim to a great extent to the corruption which prevails throughout all the departments, but it is still at times instrumental in bringing to light official misdeeds; and only lately a general in command of an army, acting against the Mahometan rebels in North-Western China, was degraded and dismissed from his post for crimes with which he was first charged by a censor.

The provincial governments are mainly self-governed. Each province (in a few cases, two conjointly) is presided over by a viceroy, who is supreme within his jurisdiction, and who has, in cases of emergency, the power of life and death in his hands. Next to him comes the governor, whose authority in all matters relating to the province is second only to that of the viceroy. After these two officials the treasurer holds the highest rank. He controls the finances of the whole province, receiving the taxes and paying the salaries of the mandarins. The judge, the salt commissioner, and the grain collector are the only other mandarins whose authority extends over the whole province, the remaining officials being charged with the government of the various divisions into which the provinces are divided. The chief of them is the Taou-tai, or intendant of circuit, who has a direct general superintendence over all the affairs of the circuit intrusted to his charge. Each circuit is divided into a number of prefectures and sub-prefectures which are administered by prefects and sub-prefects, and these, again, are subdivided into districts over each of which is placed a magistrate. Subordinate to this last-named officer are a host of petty officials, among whom the coroner is one of the most important. Each province collects its own taxes, pays its own expenses, and supports its own army and navy. Its officials are held responsible for the preservation of peace within its borders, and are compelled to contribute a fixed sum annually to the expenses of the Peking Government. Mandarins of all classes are divided into nine ranks, each distinguished by the button worn on the top of the cap. These buttons follow thus in order of superiority—first and highest, a plain red button; second, a flowered red button; third, a transparent blue button; fourth, an opaque blue button; fifth, an uncoloured glass button; sixth, a white glass button; seventh, a plain gilt button; eighth, a gilt button, with flowers in relief; ninth, a gilt button, with engraved flowers. These buttons are no indication of the office held by their wearers, but simply of their rank. The peacock’s feather, again, which is worn in the hats, has nothing to do with either the office or the rank of the wearer, but is like the European orders, and is specially granted to individuals as a reward for merit.

Theoretically the system of government in the provinces is excellent, but as a matter of fact it is corrupt to the core. Several causes have tended to bring about this disastrous state of things. In the first place, the mandarins, even when they receive their salaries, which is by no means always the case, are so wretchedly underpaid that the money they receive from this source is barely sufficient to support the staff which it is necessary for them to maintain. A district magistrate, for instance, is supposed to receive about £275 per annum, a prefect about £685, and an intendant of circuit about £1035. The pay of the higher officers varies in different parts of the empire. The salary of the viceroy of the two provinces, Kwang-tung and Kwang-se, is said to be about £9000 a year. The consequence is that, as few mandarins have private means, they are obliged to supplement their official incomes by illegal exactions and bribes. And this evil is further heightened by the regulation which forbids that a mandarin should hold any office for more than three years. It becomes the selfish interest, therefore, of every office-holder to get as much out of the people within his jurisdiction as he possibly can in that time. The instant he arrives at his post it is customary for all the subordinate officials to pay their respects to him, on which occasion they are expected to display their loyalty by offering presents of more or less value according to the means at their command. No subaltern dare absent himself, being perfectly aware that such an omission of duty would deprive him of all hope of promotion, and would subject him on the slightest pretence, or even without any pretence whatever, to official persecution and ruin. Then, again, when a suitor comes with a legal cause to the Yamun, or mandarin’s office, he is obliged to fee the mandarin, and all the subordinate officials, the secretary, the police, and the doorkeeper, in proportion to his wealth, or otherwise his chance of gaining a hearing would be very small indeed. In a great many cases also the bribery goes beyond the preliminary fee. In an officialdom, where illegal exactions are recognized, it would be impossible to suppose that the stream of justice should be pure, and a limited acquaintance with the practices of Chinese Yamuns is enough to verify the common belief that justice is bought and sold, and that a suitor’s chance of success is in proportion to his wealth.

As may readily be imagined, this corruption in high places has a most demoralizing effect on the people generally. Dishonesty prevails to a frightful extent, and with it, of course, untruthfulness. The Chinese set little or no value upon truth, and thus some slight excuse is afforded for the use of torture in their courts of justice; for it is argued that where the value of an oath is not understood, some other means must be resorted to to extract evidence, and the readiest means to hand is doubtless torture. The kind most commonly inflicted is flogging. The obdurate witness is laid flat on his face, and the executioner delivers his blows on the upper part of the thighs with the concave side of a split bamboo, the sharp edges of which mutilate the sufferer terribly. The punishment is continued until the man either supplies the evidence required or becomes insensible. Numberless other forms of torture are occasionally resorted to, such as tying the witness up to a beam by his thumbs and big toes, squeezing his fingers between pieces of bamboo, &c.; and these, of course, vary both in kind and severity, according to the disposition of the presiding mandarin. Theoretically every safeguard is adopted to secure for the public service only officers of enlightened and refined dispositions. The law ordains that every man who wishes to obtain Government employment must qualify himself for office by passing the prescribed competitive examinations; and as there is, speaking generally, no hereditary nobility nor any class equivalent to English country gentlemen, office supplies the only distinguishing rank in the empire.

The consequence is that it is sought after by all except those who engage in trade. Thus the Government has the cream of the national talent at its disposal, and if posts were only given to the foremost men at the examinations as the law provides, no system could be better, and when it has been carried out China has reaped the benefits of it. Unfortunately, however, it has constantly happened that when the Government has been embarrassed by want of money, offices have been put up for sale, and thus the man who has the longest purse steps into the post of honour; and if, as must often happen, he should chance to be cruel as well as uncultured, unjust as well as ignorant, woe betide the people under him. One great defect in the competitive system in China is that there is no limit to the number of candidates, nor to the age when they may go up for examination, and the result is that, what with the surplus victors and the unsuccessful aspirants who go on trying year after year until they become grey-haired old men, there exists a large non-producing class in the community which acts as a dead weight on the national prosperity.

It is only natural to expect that in a country where the torture of witnesses is permitted, the punishments inflicted on the guilty should exceed in cruelty, and this is eminently the case in China. The Mongolian race is confessedly obtuse-nerved and insensible to suffering, and no doubt Chinese culprits do not suffer nearly as much as members of more sensitive races would under similar treatment. But even granting this, the refined cruelties perpetrated by Chinamen on Chinamen admit of no apology. Not long since, for instance, at one of the Treaty Ports, an offender was placed in a cage, through the top of which his head protruded, and which was just long enough to allow the tips of his toes to touch the ground. In this position, hanging as it were by his neck, with just enough support from his feet to prevent his neck dislocating, the wretched man remained for days, the object of the jeers and laughter of the passers by, until starvation and exhaustion put an end to his sufferings. As punishments for heinous offences such cruelties would be sufficiently shocking, but the fact that this and kindred tortures are not unfrequently inflicted for very insignificant crimes, and sometimes even to gratify the malice or the greed of the officiating mandarin, is significant of a strangely callous indifference in the Chinese nature to the sufferings of others. For capital offences the usual modes of inflicting the extreme penalty of the law are —in bad cases, such as parricides, “cutting to pieces,” and for less aggravated crimes either strangulation or decapitation. The culprit who is condemned to be “cut to pieces” is fastened to a cross, and while thus suspended cuts are made by the executioner on the fleshy parts of the body, and he is then beheaded. Strangulation is reserved for offenders of high rank, it being considered a privilege to pass out of life with a whole body. When it has been granted to a criminal thus to meet his end, a silken cord is sent to him in prison. No explanatory message is considered necessary, and he is left to consummate his own doom. Sometimes, of course, the prisoner’s nerve forsakes him at the supreme moment, as was the case with a prince of the blood, who in 1861 was presented with a silken cord, for treason. This imperial personage could not make up his mind to be his own executioner, and it became necessary to call in the jailers to carry out the sentence of the law. Decapitation in China is a very speedy death, and were it not that popular sentiment regards it as a peculiarly disgraceful end, it would be a very merciful one. Constant practice makes the executioners wonderfully expert in the performance of their deadly office. No block or resting-place for the head is used. The neck is simply outstretched to its full length by the aid of an assistant, and one blow invariably leaves the body headless.

Social and Domestic Life.

But side by side with all these horrors there is a vast deal of quiet, happy, domestic life in China. It is not every one who gets into the clutches of the mandarins and their satellites, and as long as a man is loyal to the powers that be, and is not over rich, he may expect to be left alone in undisturbed enjoyment of the pleasures within his reach. And in the ordering of a Chinese household there is much that might be imitated with advantage by European families. The duty of filial piety, which is the final object of Chinese religious teaching, represents much more than the ceremonial observances which outwardly mark its performance. The reverence with which children are taught to regard their parents fosters the affection of which this reverence is the outward and visible sign, and the peace of each household is assured by the presence of a supreme authority, against whose dicta there is no appeal. Although sons very generally remain under their fathers’ roofs after they are married and have themselves become fathers, yet so impossible would it be for a young Chinaman to rebel against, or even to dispute with, his parent that difficulties seldom arise from this close association of several generations. The patriarchal system of family life is dear to the heart of every Chinaman, and when his time comes to die, death loses to him half its terrors if he is assured that his sons will be present at his tomb to perform the customary rites and to offer the prescribed sacrifices. It is his belief that the peace of his soul depends on the due celebration of these posthumous observances, and if he has no son present to officiate, to whom can he look for the performance of them î

It is mainly due to this cause that early marriages are almost universal in China. Like the Jews of old, the Chinese look upon the possession of children, especially of sons, as the chief blessing of life, and consequently as soon as a young man comes of age his parents cast about to find a helpmate for him. The would-be bridegroom has very little to say in the matter. Marriage is not the result of acquaintanceship ripening into affection, as amongst Western nations. The bridegroom rarely sees his betrothed until she has become his wife. The preliminaries are entirely arranged by a professional “go-between” or “match-maker,” who makes it her duty to acquaint herself with all the marriageable young people of both sexes in the neighbourhood. When employed by the bridegroom’s friends she calls on the parents of some young lady who she considers would make a suitable wife for the future bridegroom, armed with a card on which are inscribed the ancestral name, and the eight symbols which denote the year, month, day, and hour of the birth of the suitor. Should the lady’s parents be inclined to accept the proposal they consult a fortune-teller as to the future prospects of such a union. If the answer be favourable a return card is given to the go-between, and this in turn is submitted to the scrutiny of a fortune-teller employed by the man’s parents. Should the oracles prophesy good concerning the match the bridegroom prepares two large cards on which are written the particulars of the engagement; and on the outer side of the one which he keeps is pasted a paper dragon, and on the one which is sent to the lady, a phoenix, — emblems of conjugal fidelity. Each card is further sewn together with two pieces of red silk. Legend traces the original of these silken cords to the time of the Tang dynasty (618-907). During that period, it is said that a man named Hwuy Ko, while staying at the town of Sung, saw one evening an old man reading a book by the light of the moon, who addressed him thus: “This book is the register of the engagements of marriage for all places under heaven, and in my pockets I have red cords with which I tie together the feet of those who are destined to become man and wife. When this cord has been tied, though the parties are of unfriendly families, or of different nations, their fates are fixed. Your future wife,” said he, “is the child of the old woman who sells vegetables in yonder shop on the north.” Upon hearing this Hwuy Ko started off in search of the old woman, and found her possessed of such a hideous little infant of about twelve months old, that in despair he hired a man to kill the child. Years afterwards the prefect of a neighbouring district gave Hwuy Ko in marriage a beautiful young lady whom he affirmed to be his own daughter. Seeing that his bride always wore an artificial flower over her eyebrow, Hwuy Ko asked her the reason of her doing so. “I am the daughter,” she replied, “of the prefect’s brother who died at Sung when I was an infant, leaving me to the care of an old woman who sold vegetables. One day, when I was out with her in the street a ruffian struck me on my eyebrow, and made such a scar that I am obliged to wear this flower to conceal it.” On hearing this Hwuy Ko recognized the immutability of fate, and from that time forward red silken cords have been entwined in the marriage cards, of every pair in China. Following the exchange of cards, presents of more or less value according to the wealth of the contracting parties pass between the two households, and at last when the happy day has arrived, the bride, surrounded by her friends, starts from her father’s house in a sedan chair for her future home. Half-way between the two houses she is met by a party of the bridegroom’s followers, who escort her the rest of the way. In this custom it is impossible not to see a survival of the primitive custom of marriage by capture. At the present day, in some parts of Central Asia, the bride rides off on horseback at full gallop from the door of her father’s house or tent, followed by the bridegroom, who, after an exciting chase, is allowed to come up with her, and she straightway becomes his property. Among some of the Siberian tribes, again, the bridegroom is obliged to hunt his bride through the compartments of her father’s tent, while old women go through the farce of tripping him up and otherwise hindering him in his pursuit. In more civilized China there are fewer traces of the ancient capture, and the contest has there become but a formal act of taking over the bride on her way to the bridegroom’s house. On alighting from her sedan chair she is led with her head covered into the room where her future husband awaits her. Without exchanging a word they sit down side by side, and each tries to sit on a part of the dress of the other, it being considered that the one who succeeds in so doing will rule in the household. After this silent trial of skill they adjourn to the reception hall, where stands the family altar, and there they worship Heaven, and Earth, and their ancestors. This done, they drink a glass of wine together, when for the first time the bridegroom is allowed to see the face of his bride. Here the marriage ceremony ends, and the guests give themselves up to feasting and rejoicing.

Like many other apparent paradoxes, the co-existence of infanticide with an universal desire for children among the Chinese admits of a ready explanation. The chief object of desire is the possession of sons, and in the parts of the country where infanticide exists—and this is the case only in poverty-stricken households in certain districts of certain provinces—female infants are the only victims. In some parts of the province of Fuh-keen the people make no attempt to concöal the existence of the practice, and even go the length of defending it. What is the good of rearing daughters, they say; when they are young they are only an expense, and when they reach an age when they might be able to work for their own living, they marry and leave us. But even the poorest people nourish and cherish their sons. Their labour soon becomes remunerative, they support their parents in their old age, and when these are gathered to their fathers they perform the prescribed observances at their tombs,—offering sacrifices at fixed periods to the souls of the departed, and keeping the tombs in repair. Should anything interfere with the repose of the dead, the living may expect to be visited with misfortune; and to allow the soul of a parent to pass between its tomb and the households of the descendants, the entrance to the grave must be kept unimpeded. Curiously enough, the tombs, especially in the south of China, are all made in the shape of an Ω. This is probably an importation from the West.

The principal religions of China are Buddhism, Taouism, and Confucianism, to which must be added Mahometanism in the northern and western provinces of the empire. Buddhism was introduced from India during the 1st century of the Christian era; and thus coming at a time when the national mind had been prepared by the teachings of Confucius and the mysticisms of Laou-tsze for the reception of a religious system which should satisfy the requirements of its higher nature, the new faith spread rapidly through the country, and at the present day numbers more adherents than either of the other two leading religions. Laou-tsze, who was the founder of the Taouist sect, was a contemporary of Confucius. Like that sage also, he held office at the court of Chow, but being disheartened at the want of success attending his efforts to reform the manners of the age, he retired into private life and devoted himself to the composition of The Sŭtra of Reason and Virtue. In this work he enunciated a scheme of philosophy which bears a strong analogy to the doctrines of the Quietists and Manichaeists, the leading point being the relation between something which he calls Taou and the universe. The philosophical bearing of his system was, however, soon lost sight of and his profound speculations were exchanged for the pursuit of immortality and the search after the philosopher’s stone by his followers. But while Buddhism and Taouism find their adherents among the common people, Confucianism is par excellence the religion of the learned. The opinions and teachings of the sage are their constant study; and at stated periods they assemble in temples devoted to his honour to worship at the shrine of the “Throneless King.” But the process of decay,which has been going on for so many centuries in the distinctive features of these creeds, has served so to obliterate the fines of demarcation which originally separated them, that at the present day the dogmas of Buddha and Laou-tsze and the teachings of Confucius may, as far as the masses are concerned, be treated as the foundations of a common faith.

Education is probably more widely spread among the male population in China than in any other country. Being the only high road to honour and emolument it is eagerly sought after by all who are desirous of following an official career, while the universal respect for letters which has become a national tradition encourages all of every degree to gain at least a smattering of learning—except the women. Very little trouble is taken with the education of girls. If they are taught to be good needle-women and expert cooks, if they learn to act modestly and to show due deference to their superiors, little more is as a rule required of them. But it is very different with the men. No one can hold any Government office unless he has passed at least the first of the three great literary competitive examinations, and the whole education of boys is arranged with the object of enabling them to pass successfully through these ordeals. Unfortunately for the real education of the aspirants to office, the only subject required of them is a knowledge of the Nine Classics, and the result is that from childhood upwards these works are the only text-books which are put into the hands of Chinese schoolboys. These they are taught to regard as the supreme models of excellence, and any deviation either from the opinions they contain or from the style in which they are written, is looked upon as heretical. The result is that there have grown up in China generation after generation of men who have learned to elevate mere memory above genius, and whose mental powers have been dwarfed by servile imitation and by the paltry literalism of the schools.

Turning to the every-day customs and manners of the Chinese, it is passing strange to find how diametrically opposed they are to what we are familiar with. In a country “where,” as has been said by Wingrove Cook, “the roses have no fragrance, and the women no petticoats; where the labourer has no Sabbath, and the magistrate no sense of honour; where the needle points to the south, and the sign of being puzzled is to scratch the antipodes of the head; where the place of honour is on the left hand, and the seat of intellect is in the stomach; where to take off your hat is an insolent gesture, and to wear white garments is to put yourself into mourning,” it would at first sight seem useless to seek for any point of similarity with ourselves. But it is extremely probable, for instance, that the choice of the left as the seat of honour is in principle entirely at one with our custom of considering the right hand as the place due to the most highly-honoured guest, and that both are survivals of the ancient and almost universal adoration of the sun. The needle of the Chinese compass points towards the south, and every house in China of any pretensions faces the same way, as well as the state seats in all reception rooms. The place on the left of the host, therefore, is that nearest to the light-bringing, life-producing East, and hence its title to honour; and in the same way the opposite custom among ourselves is susceptible of a like interpretation. In daily life the Chinese are frugal, sober, and industrious. Their wants are few, and they are easily satisfied. The poorer classes live almost entirely on rice and vegetables, to which they sometimes add small pieces of fish or meat. Their clothes are of the cheapest kind, and they are so accustomed to crowded apartments that house rent forms an insignificant item in a Chinaman’s expenditure. Thus a Chinaman can live where a European would starve, and it is on account of the advantages which he thus possesses, combined with sobriety and frugality, that he is able to underbid the American workmen in California, and the English colonist in Australia, in almost every branch of industry. The over-populated condition in which China has been for so many centuries has had a powerful influence in thus moulding the national character. Vast as China is, it cannot contain all those who call themselves her sons and daughters, and in many cities a large section of the inhabitants are driven to live in boats on the neighbouring rivers and lakes. It would be very difficult to say how the boat population provide food for themselves and their families; indeed, were it not for the extreme cheapness of their ordinary daily food, and for their sober habits, they could not do so. Spirits—they have no wine—appear to have no great attraction to Chinamen. They drink them occasionally, and sometimes to excess, but a reeling Chinaman is rarely to be seen in the streets. Drunkenness is not a national vice, but, unfortunately, their abstinence does not extend to opium, a drug which seems to have a greater attraction for them than for any other people nn the face of the earth. They take to it greedily, and when once the habit of smoking it 'becomes confirmed, the difficulty of relinquishing it is exceedingly great. There has, no doubt, been much exaggeration in what has been talked and written on this subject But on the testimony of Chinamen themselves the effects of opium smoking must be regarded as injurious to health and destructive to all the better parts of man’s nature. From the time of its introduction into the country, the Chinese Government has opposed the traffic; and on the occasion of the last revision of the Treaty by Sir Rutherford A1cock, Prince Kung and his colleagues made a vigorous stand against the clause which legalizes its importation. In this as in other attempts they were unsuccessful, and it remains to be seen whether the policy they appear now to be adopting of encouraging the growth of native opium will extinguish the import trade.

Since the condusion of the treaty in 1860 numerous attempts have been made to induce the Chinese Government to permit the introduction of railways and telegraphs into China, but to all such counsel the emperor’s advisers have turned a deaf ear. Not that they are ignorant of the advantages to be derived from these weapons of progress, but they consider that these advantages would be dearly bought if the price to be paid is to be the admittance of foreigners into the interior of the country, coupled with the hold on the soil which these would acquire were they allowed to construct lines of railway and telegraphs through the provinces. It is difficult, however, even for so autocratic a Government as that of China, to carry out such a curbing policy, and in one or two instances lately, events have forced an advance beyond the hard and fast line laid down by the Peking mandarins. The first step in this direction was taken during the war in Formosa, when the viceroy of the province of Fuh-keen ordered the construction of a line of telegraph from Pagoda Island to his Yamun at Fuh-chow Foo. His action was disapproved by the Government, and several attempts were made to frustrate the undertaking, but, mainly through the influence of the foreign ministers, who insisted on the fulfilment of the contract with the telegraph company, the line was finished. The introduction of railways is, however, considered to be a more serious matter, and though at several of the arsenals tramways have for some time been employed, no mandarin has, until quite lately, been bold enough to sanction the use of a locomotive. Quite recently the idea was originated of quietly buying up a strip of land between Shanghai and Woo-sung, and of using it for the construction of a railway. The local mandarins and the Peking Government met the projected line with decided opposition; but here again the arguments brought to bear by the resident foreign ministers were sufficiently cogent to induce it to withdraw all actively obstructive measures, and the first railway in China was opened to traffic under the negative approval of the rulers of the soil. Much importance has been attached to this introduction of railways into China, and the crowded trains which daily travel between the two termini are considered to point to the probable speedy extension of railways throughout the country. But the approval given to the Shanghai railway is merely that of the people; and its completion has at present only intensified the determination of the Government to withstand the adoption of the iron road.

See China, by Sir John F. Davis, 2 vols. 1857, 8vo; The Middle Kingdom, by S. Wells Williams, 2 vols. 8vo; History of China, by Carl Guetzlaff, 2 vols. 8vo; The. Social Life of the Chinese, by Justus Doolittle, 2 vols. 8vo; Leiters to the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce, by Baron von Bichthofen; Travels in North China, by A. Williamson, 2 vols.; Geological Researches in China·, by Raphael Pumpelly; The Treaty Ports of China, by W. F. Mayers, &c.; Ths Chinese Classics, by James Legge, D.D.; The Elements of Chinese Grammar, by J. Marshman. (R. K. D. )

Index. (For Natural Productions, such as Tea, Silk, Minerals, <kc., see wider the different Provinces, pp. 633-641.) [table]