ll
be a glorious repayment of the ideal that will ever illuminate my soul."

The Empress was speechless. She had borne the Emperor in her womb, but
the philosopher outsoared her comprehension. She retired, leaving his
Majesty in a reverie, endeavoring herself to grasp the moral of which
he had spoken, for the guidance of herself and the ladies concerned. But
whether it inculcated reserve or the reverse in the Dragon Chamber, and
what the Imperial ladies should follow as an example she was, to the
end of her life, totally unable to say. Philosophy indeed walks on the
heights. We cannot all expect to follow it.

That night the Incomparable Lady drank the Draught of Crushed Pearls.

The Princess of Feminine Propriety and the White Jade Concubine,
learning these circumstances, redoubled their charms, their coquetries
and their efforts to occupy what may be described as the inner sanctuary
of the Emperor's esteem. Both lived to a green old age, wealthy and
honored, alike firm in the conviction that if the Incomparable Lady had
not shown herself so superior to temptation the Emperor might have been
on the whole better pleased, whatever the sufferings of the philosopher.
Both lived to be the tyrants of many generations of beauties at the
Celestial Court. Both were assiduous in their devotions before the
spirit tablet of the departed lady, and in recommending her example of
reserve and humility to every damsel whom it might concern.

It will probably occur to the reader of this unique but veracious story
that there is more in it than meets the eye, and more than the one
moral alluded to by the Emperor according to the point of view of the
different actors.

To the discernment of the reader it must accordingly be left.

THE HATRED OF THE QUEEN

A Story of Burma

Most wonderful is the Irawadi, the mighty river of Burma. In all the
world elsewhere is no such river, bearing the melted snows from its
mysterious sources in the high places of the mountains. The dawn rises
upon its league-wide flood; the moon walks upon it with silver feet. It
is the pulsing heart of the land, living still though so many rules and
rulers have risen and fallen beside it, their pomps and glories drifting
like flotsam dawn the river to the eternal ocean that is the end of
all--and the beginning. Dead civilizations strew its banks, dreaming in
the torrid sunshine of glories that were--of blood-stained gold, jewels
wept from woeful crowns, ni