s would only give
them a place in which to hide their threads and needles. It is also said
of him that he was always against the coming of the foreigners. They
could obtain no mine, no railway, no concession in a province where
he was representing his Empress. China was closed, so far as lay
within his power, to even men of religion from other lands. It was he
who first said, "The missionary, the merchant, and then the gunboat."

My father will not talk with men about the present trials of China; he
says, most justly, that he who is out of office should not meddle in
the government. When asked if he will give the results of his long life
and great experience to the Republic, he answers that he owes his
love and loyalty to the old regime under which he gained his wealth
and honours; and then he shakes his head and says he is an old
man, nothing but wet ashes. But they do not see the laughter in his
eyes; for my father "is like the pine-tree, ever green, the symbol of
unflinching purpose and vigorous old age."

So many old-time friends have been to see him. Father, now that the
heavy load of officialdom is laid aside, delights to sit within the
courtyards with these friends and play at verse-making. No man of his
time is found lacking in that one great attribute of a Chinese
gentleman. He has treasures of poetry that are from the hands of
friends long since passed within the Vale of Longevity. These poems
are from the pens of men who wrote of the longing for the spiritual life,
or the beauties of the world without their doors, or the pleasure of
association with old and trusted friends. I read some scrolls the other
day, and it was as though "aeolian harps had caught some strayed
wind from an unknown world and brought its messages to me." It is
only by the men of other days that poetry is appreciated, who take
the time to look around them, to whom the quiet life, the life of thought
and meditation is as vital as the air they breathe. To love the beautiful
in life one must have time to sit apart from the worry and the rush of
the present day. He must have time to look deep within his hidden
self and weigh the things that count for happiness; and he must use
most justly all his hours of leisure, a thing which modern life has
taught us to hold lightly.

But with our race verse-making has always been a second nature. In
the very beginning of our history, the Chinese people sang their songs
of kings and princes, of the joys