n this instance, the
highest mandarins escorted the wife of the literary athlete to
the top of the wall, where she scattered a few handfuls of rice
to avert the impending famine.

My house was attached to a new church which was surmounted by a
bell-tower. In a place where nothing of the sort had previously
existed, that accessory attracted many visitors even before the bell
was in position to invite them. One day a weeping mother, attended
by an anxious retinue, presented herself and asked permission to
climb the tower, which request of course was not refused.

Uncovering a bundle, she said: "This is my boy's clothing. Yesterday
he was up in the tower and, taking fright at the height of the
building, his little soul forsook his body and he had to go home
without it. He is now delirious with fever. We think the soul is
hovering about in this huge edifice and that it will recognise
these clothes and, taking possession of them, will return home with
us."

When a bird escapes from its cage the Chinese sometimes hang the
cage on the branch of a tree and the bird returns to its house
again. They believe they can capture a fugitive soul in the same
way. Sometimes, too, a man may be seen standing on a housetop at
night waving a lantern and chanting in dismal tones an invitation
to some wandering spirit to return to its abode. Whether in the
case just mentioned the poor
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woman's hopes were fulfilled and whether the _animula vagula
blandula_ returned from its wanderings I never learned, but I
mention the incident as exhibiting another picturesque superstition.

Chinese psychology recognises three souls, viz., the animal, the
spiritual, and the intellectual. The absence of one of the three
does not, therefore, involve immediate death, as does the departure
of the soul in our dual system.

But I tarry too long at my old home. We have practically an empire
still before us, and will, therefore, steer west for Hangchow.

In the thirteenth century this was the residence of an imperial
court; and the provincial capital still retains many signs of imperial
magnificence. The West Lake with its pavilions and its lilies,
a pleasance fit for an emperor; the vast circuit of the city's
walls enclosing hill and vale; and its commanding site on the bank
of a great river at the head of a broad bay--all combine to invest
it with dignity. Well do I recall the day in 1855 when white men
first trod its streets. They were the Rev. H