modern philosophy.Perhaps the memory work of the Chinese education was wrong; but itserved its purpose once, if tales are true.It is said that many hundreds of years ago, the founder of the Chinesedynasty, the man of pride who styled himself Emperor the First,conceived the idea of destroying all literature which was before hisreign, so that he might be regarded by posterity as the founder of theChinese Empire. It is believed by many Chinese scholars that thiswicked thing was done, and that not a single perfect copy of any bookescaped destruction. He even went so far as to bury alive above fivehundred of the best scholars of the land, that none might remain towrite of his cruel deed. But the classics had been too well learned bythe scholars, and were reproduced from memory to help form theminds of China for many tens of years. This could be done to-day if asimilar tragedy were enacted. Thousands of boys have committed thegreat books to heart, and this storing in the mind of enormous bookshas developed in our race a marvellous memory, if, as others say, ithas taken away their power of thinking for themselves.Which is the best? Only time will tell. But we are told that the literatiof China, the aristocracy of our land, must go. Yet, as of old, it is theeducated men who will move China. Without them, nothing can bedone, for the masses will respect education and the myriads willblindly follow a leader whom they feel to be a true scholar; and it willbe hard to change the habits of a people who have been taught forcenturies that education is another word for officialdom.This new education, in my mind, must not be made so general; itmust be made more personal. Three things should be taken intoaccount: who the boy is, where he is, and where he is going. It is notmeet to educate the son of my gate-keeper the same as my son. Heshould be made a good workman, the best of his kind, better to fill theplace to which the Gods have called him. Give our boys the moderneducation, if we must, but remember and respect the life work eachmay have to follow. Another thing we should remember: the progressin the boy's worldly knowledge should not make him hard in his revoltagainst his Gods, nor should his intelligence be freed without teachinghim self-control. That is fatal for our Eastern race. Let him learn, in hisbooks and in his laboratories, that he moulds his destiny by his actsin later life, and thus gain true education, the education of the soul aswell as of the mind.I have written thee a sermon, but it is a subject on which we mothersare thinking much. It is before us daily, brought to our courtyards byour sons and daughters, and we see the good and the evil of trying toreach at a single bound the place at which other nations have at lastarrived after centuries of weary climbing.I must go to the women's quarters and stop their chattering. Oh,Mother mine, why didst thou send to me that priest of thine?Why didst thou send to me that priest of thine?Kwei-li.18Dear Mother,I must introduce thee to thy new daughter-in-law. Yes, I can see theestart. I will tell thee quickly. Thy son hath not taken to himself anotherwife, but it is I, Kwei-li, who should be made known to thee anew.Kwei-li, the wife of the Governor of Kiang-si, who has become soforeignised that the mother of her husband would never know her. Ifthings keep on the path they have gone for these last few moons, Ifully expect thou wilt see me with that band of women who are makingsuch a great outcry for their rights and freedom. I cannot even explainthem to thee, as thou wouldst not understand.My last adventure in the ways or the modern woman is in relation tothe courtship of my son. Tang-si, my second son, is in love; and I, hismother, am aiding and abetting him, and allowing him to see hissweet-heart in the foreign way. I know thou wilt blush when thoureadest this; but I have been in the hands of the Gods and allowed notto speak of "custom," or propriety, and when I have tried to reasonwith my son and talk to him in regard to what is seemly, he laughs atme and calls me pet names, and rubs my hair the wrong way andsays I am his little mother. I knew that astounding fact long yearsago, and still I say that is no reason why I should go against allcustoms and traditions of my race.I told him I was taught that men and women should not sit together inthe same room, nor keep their wearing apparel in the same place, noreven cleanse them in the same utensils. They should not look uponeach other, or hand a thing directly from man to woman hand. I wastaught that it was seemly and showed a maidenly reserve to observea certain distance in my relations even with my husband or mybrothers, but I have found that the influence of reason upon love is likethat of a raindrop upon the ocean, "one little mark upon the water'sface and then it disappears."Now I will tell thee all about it. Tang-si came to me one day, and afterspeaking of many things of no importance, he finally said, "Mother,wilt thou ask Kah-li, Wu Tai-tai's daughter, here to tea?" I said, "Why,is she a friend of thy sister's?" He said, while looking down upon thefloor, "I do not know, but-- but-- she is a special friend of mine." Ilooked at him in amazement. "Thou hast seen her?" "Yes, manytimes. I want thee to ask her to the house, where we may have achance to talk." I sat back in my chair and looked at him, and saidwithin myself, "Was ever mother blessed with such children; whatmay Inextexpect?" He gave me a quick look, and came over andtook my hand in his, and said, "Now, Mother, do not get excited, anddon't look as if the Heavens were going to fall. I-- well-- thou makest ithard to tell thee, but I want to marry Kah-li, and I would like a chanceof seeing her as the foreign men see their wives before they marrythem." I said, quite calmly for me, "Thou meanest thou art choosingthy wife instead of allowing thy father and mother to choose her?" Hesaid, "Why, yes; I have to live with her and I ought to choose her." Isaid nothing-- what is the use? I have learned that my men-folk havestrong minds, which they certainly must have inherited from thinehonourable family. I said that first I would speak to her mother, and ifshe approved of her daughter's seeing my son in this mostunbecoming manner, I would do whatsoever he wished in the matter. Icould not wait, but went at once to the house of Wu Tai-tai. Wediscussed the matter over many cups of tea, and we saw that we arebut clouds driven by the winds and we must obey.She has been here for tea, and I am charmed with her. She is aspretty as a jewel of pure jade; I do not blame my son. She haslaughter in her dancing eyes and seems as if she would sing her lifeaway from year to year and see life always through the golden gleamof happy days. She is respectful and modest, and now I feel she isone of the family and I ask her to join us in all our feastings. Shecame to the feast when we burned the Kitchen God, and joined withus in prayers as he ascended to the great Spirit to tell him of ouractions in the past year. I am afraid our young people do not believeo'ermuch in this small God of the Household, who sits so quietly uponhis shelf above the kitchen stove for twelve long months, watching allthat goes on within the home, then gives his message for good or ill toHim above; but they are too respectful to say ought against it-- in myhearing. They must respect the old Gods until they find somethingbetter to take their place.I do not know but that my son is right in this question of his courtship.It is pretty to see them as they wander through the gardens, while wemothers sit upon the balconies and gossip. Their love seems to be aspure as spotless rice and "so long as colour is colour and life is lifewill the youth with his sublime folly wait for the meeting of his lovedone." What matter if the winter days will come to them or if "the snowis always sure to blot out the garden--" to-day is spring, and love islove and youth is happy.Thy shameless daughter,Kwei-li.19My Dear Mother,Thy gifts which came by the hand of Tuang-fang are most welcome.We have already drunk of the sun-dried tea, and it brings to thoughtthe sight of the long, laden trays of the fragrant leaves as they lie inthe sun on the mountain-side. The rose wine we will use on occasionsof special rejoicing; and I thank thee again for the garments which willbring comfort to so many in the coming days of cold. I was glad tosee Tuang-fang, and sorry to hear that he, with his brother, are goingso far away from home in search of labour. Is there not work enoughfor our men in the province without going to that land of heat andsickness?Our people go far in their passion for labour; in search of it they crossland and sea. They are the workers of the world, who sell their labourfor a price; and it is only strong men with great self-dependence whoare capable of taking a road that is likely never to join again thosewho speak their language and worship their Gods. What is it that hasgiven these men this marvellous adaptability to all conditions, howeverhard they may seem? They can live and work in any climate, they areat home in the sandy wastes of our great deserts or in the swamps ofthe southern countries. They bear the biting cold of northern lands asreadily as they labour under the burning sun of Singapore and Java.The more I come out from the courtyard and see our people, the moreI admire them; I see the things that are so often lost sight of by thoseof other lands who seek to study them. They are a philosophical raceand bear the most dreadful losses and calamities with wonderfulbravery. Nothing daunts them. Behold the family of Tuang-fang: theysaw their home ruined at time of flood and began again on the morrowto build on the remaining foundations. They saw their fields burned upby drouth, and took their winter clothing to the pawn-shop to getmoney to buy seed for the coming spring. They did not complain solong as they could get sufficient food to feed their bodies and thecoarse blue cloth with which to clothe them, and when these failedthey sent their three strong sons, the best of the family, to the rubberplantations of the South.They are the workers of the world.We hear so much in the papers here of the "Yellow Peril." If there is aYellow Peril, it lies in the fact that our men are ready to labourunceasingly for a wage on which most Europeans would starve, andon that pittance they manage to save and become rich andprosperous. They have gone into other lands wherever they have foundan opening, and some of the southern countries, like Singapore andthe Philippines, owe much of their commercial progress to our people.They are honest and industrious, and until the foreigner began to feelthe pinch of competition, until he found that he must work all day andnot sleep the hours away if he would be in the race with the man fromthe Eastern land, he had nothing to say about the character of theman from China. But so soon as he felt the pressure of want becauseof his sloth, he began to find that the "yellow man" was vicious, andsoon his depravity became a by-word. The Chinese were abusedbecause of their virtues rather than their vices, for things for which allother nations are applauded-- love of work and economy. It is theindustry of our people that offends, because it competes with thehalf-done work of the white man, who dissipates his time and money.The men from this land have learned their ways of work at home,where the struggle for existence is hard. Sunrise sees the carpenterand the smith, the shoemaker and the beater of cotton at their labour,and the mid-night cry of the watchman often finds them patientlyearning the rice for the morrow's meal. And they have not learned todisobey when told to go to work. There are no strikes as in the foreigncountries. Our workmen are obedient, although it is said that theylack in leadership, that nothing is originated within themselves; butthey can be taught, and all who employ Chinese labour testify to theirability to follow a good master.I think, from hearing the gossip from thy son's courtyard, that whenChina is again peaceful, there will be more chance for the men withinher borders, who can then stay beside their fires and earn their food.Our land is a land of fertile soil, of rich minerals, and great rivers. It issaid that there are millions and millions of acres on which food orother products can be grown, and that a great part of China may bemade one vast garden. The German scientist who is trying to get acoal mine concession from the government told my husband thatthere were tens of millions of tons of coal of the best quality in China,and that the single province of Shansi could supply the entire world fora thousand years. No wonder the Germans are looking with longingeyes on China! But we want these riches and this labour for ourpeople. If it is worth the time of men of other countries to come to thisfar-off land in search of what lies beneath our soil, it is worth our whileto guard it and keep it for our own.We hear news of battles and of secret plottings, and I am worriedabout my son, who is in Canton, the province that seems to be thecentre of rebellion and the breeding-place of plots and treachery. Iwonder what will be the outcome of it all; if after all this turmoil andbloodshed China will really become a different nation? It is hard tochange the habits of a nation, and I think that China will not bechanged by this convulsion. The real Chinese will be the samepassive, quiet, slow-thinking and slow-moving toiler, not knowing orcaring whether his country is a republic or whether he is ruled by theSon of Heaven. He will be a stable, peaceable, law-abiding citizen orsubject, with respect for his officials so long as they are not toooppressive; not asking whether the man who rules him is called agovernor or afutai, so long as work is plentiful and rice is cheap.These patient, plodding men of China have held together for countlessthousands of years, and I am sure that their strength is derived fromqualities capable of bearing great strain; and our government, even thegovernment which we are trying so hard to overturn and mould onWestern lines, must have suited the country and the people, becausenothing ever persists generation after generation, century aftercentury, without being suited to its environment and more or lessadapted to the changes which time always brings.Confucius said, "When I was on a mission to Ch'u State, I saw a litterof young pigs nestling close to their dead mother. After a while theylooked at her, then all left the dead body and went off. For theirmother did not look at them any more, nor did she seem any more tobe of their kind. What they loved was their mother: not the body whichcontained her, but that which made the body what it was."That is the way with our country. She may leave the dead forms of herold government, perhaps it will be her misfortune to leave her religion,but the spirit of her government and the spirit of her religion she willalways love.But I must not gossip more with thee over my dearly loved countryand her people. I know I talk to thee o'ermuch of politics and thegreedy eyes of foreigners which are fixed upon our land, but onecannot live in Shanghai, even behind the women's archway, withouthearing, night and day, the things that move this, our world, sostrongly. Even my small children play at war, shoot their rebels, buildtheir fortresses and drive the foreigners from off their piles of sand.I cry to thee, my Mother, because a heart must speak its bitterness,and here our lips are sealed to all. I dare not even tell thy son, myhusband, all that passes in my mind as I look from out my window atthis fighting, struggling, maddened world that surges round me. Weare more than troubled about our son.Thy daughter,Kwei-li.20My Dear Mother,I send to thee some silken wadding for the lining of thy coat, also apiece of sable to make a scarf for Su-su, and a box of clothing for hernew-born son. The children each have written her a letter, and thecandles have been lighted before Kwan-yin, to show our joy.We have a guest, old General Wang, who is on his way to visit withmy father. He is of the old, old China, and wags his head mostdolefully over the troubles of his country, and says a republic neverwill succeed. My husband was bewailing the fact of the emptystrong-box, and Wang said, "Why don't you do what I did when I wasin command of the troops? When money was scarce, I simplystopped a dollar a month from each man's pay, and, lo, there was themoney." He was quite shameless in regard to the old-time "squeeze"and said it was necessary. When he was general he received thesalary of an ill-paid servant and was expected to keep up the state ofa small king. But there were many ways to fill the empty pockets.When a high official was sent to inspect his troops, men werecompelled to come from the fields, the coolies to lay down theirburdens, the beggar to leave his begging-bowl, and all to standstraight as soldiers with guns within their hands. But when the officerwas gone each went his way with a small present in his hand and didnot appear again until the frightened official was compelled to sweepthe highways and byways to find men enough to agree with lists paidby the government.But those times are past, and these old-time officials find it safer toretire to homes within their provinces.He told us of Chung-tai, who wasTaotaiof our city at one time. Dostthou remember him? He made many millions in the exportation of riceat time of famine. He was asked to go to Peking, and promised a highposition. He sent as answer the story of Chung Tzu the philosopher,who was fishing in the Piu when the Prince of Ch'u sent high officialsto ask him to take charge of the State. Chung went on fishing andwithout turning his head said: "I have heard that in Ch'u there is asacred tortoise which has been dead now some three thousandyears, and that the Prince keeps this tortoise carefully enclosed in achest on the altar of the sacred temple. Now would this tortoise ratherbe dead and have its remains venerated, or be alive and wagging itstail in the mud?" "It would rather be alive and wagging its tail in themud," said the officials. "Begone" said Chung. "The tortoise is asymbol of longevity and great wisdom. It would not befit me to aspireto greater wisdom than the tortoise. I, too, prefer the mud."Chung spoke bravely in sending this reply to Peking; but no soonerwas it sent than he gathered his family and hissyceeand departedfor Shanghai, where he feels more sure of the protection of the foreignsettlements than he does of the kindly intentions of His ExcellencyYuan toward his dollars.The children have come home and are clamouring for their supper.They are growing rougher and noisier each day, and, I fear, arespending far too many hours in the servants' courtyard, where theyhear of things not seemly for young ears. Canst thou send meWong-si for a few months? She might be able to keep some order inmy household, although I doubt a person of a nature not divine beingable to still the many tongues I have now about me.We send thee love, and greetings to thy new-born great-grandson.Kwei-li.21My Dear Mother,I have been in the country with my friend Ang Ti-ti. It was the time ofpilgrimage to the graves of her family at the temple near Wu-seh. Myhousehold gave me many worries, and my husband said it was a timeof rest for me, so we took a boat, with only a few servants, as I amtired of chattering women, and spent three long happy days amongstthe hills. We sat upon the deck as the boat was slowly drawn alongthe canal, and watched the valley that autumn now is covering withher colours rare. All the green of the fields is changed. All the gayfoliage of the trees upon the hillsides will soon be dead and crumbling.These withered leaves that once waved gaily in the air are lying now inclustered heaps, or fluttering softly to the ground like dull, brownbutterflies who are tired with flight. The only touch of colour is on themaple-trees, which still cling with jealous hands to coverings of redand gold. The autumn winds wailed sadly around our cabin windows,and every gust brought desolation to tree and shrub and waving grass.Far away the setting sun turned golden trees to flame, and now andthen on the sluggish waters of the canal would drift in lonely splendoura shining leaf that autumn winds had touched and made into a thing ofmore than beauty.At the temple near Wu-seh.We anchored the first night by a marshy bank girdled with tall yellowreeds and dwarf bamboo, and from our quiet cabin listened to therainy gusts that swept the valley. Out of the inky clouds the lightningflashed and lighted up each branch and stem and swaying leaf,revealing to our half-blinded eyes the rain-swept valley; then darknesscame with her thick mantle and covered all again.We anchored at night by a marshy bank girdled with tall yellow reeds.We discussed the past, the present, and the future; and then, asalways when mothers meet, the talk would turn to children. How weare moved by our children! We are like unto the Goddess of thePine-tree. She came out from her rugged covering and bore aman-child for her husband's house, and then one day the overlord ofall that land sent to cut down the pine-tree, that its great trunk mightform the rooftree of his temple. At the first blow of the axe the soulglided back into its hiding-place, and the woman was no more. Andwhen it fell, three hundred men could not move it from its place offalling; but her baby came and, putting out his hand, said, "Come,"and it followed him quite quietly, gliding to the very doorway of thetemple. So do our children lead us with their hands of love.On the second day we went to the temple to offer incense at thefamily shrine of Ang Ti-ti. We Chinese ladies love these pilgrimages tothese shrines of our ancestors, and it is we who keep up the familyworship. We believe that it is from the past that we must learn, and"the past is a pathway which spirits have trodden and madeluminous." It is true, as Lafcadio Hearn has written, "We should behaunted by the dead men and women of our race, the ancestors thatcount in the making of our souls and have their silent say in everyaction, thought and impulse of our life. Are not our ancestors in verytruth our souls? Is not every action the work of the dead who dwellwithin us? Have not our impulses and our tendencies, our capacitiesand our weaknesses, our heroisms and our fears, been created bythose vanished myriads from whom we received that all-mysteriousgift of life? Should we think of that thing which is in each of us andwhich we call 'I' should it be 'I' or 'they'? What is our pride or shamebut the pride or shame of the unseen in that which they have made?And what is our conscience but the inherited sum of countless deadexperiences with all things good and evil?""In this worship that we give the dead they are made divine. And thethought of this tender reverence will temper with consolation themelancholy that comes with age to all of us. Never in our China arethe dead too quickly forgotten; by simple faith they are still thought todwell among their beloved, and their place within the home remainsholy. When we pass to the land of shadows we know that loving lipswill nightly murmur our names before the family shrine, that our faithfulones will beseech us in their pain and bless us in their joy. We willnot be left alone upon the hillsides, but loving hands will place beforeour tablet the fruits and flowers and dainty food that we were wont tolike, and will pour for us the fragrant cups of tea or amber rice-wine.""Strange changes are coming upon this land, old customs arevanishing, old beliefs are weakening, the thoughts of to-day will not bethe thoughts of to-morrow; but of all this we will know nothing. Wedream that for us as for our mothers the little lamp will burn onthrough the generations; we see in fancy the yet unborn, the childrenof our children's children, bowing their tiny heads and making the filialobeisance before the tablets that bear our family name."This is our comfort, we who feel that "this world is not a place of rest,but where we may now take our little ease, until the landlord whom wenever see, gives our apartment to another guest."As I said to thee, it is the women who are the preservers of the familyworship and who are trying hard to cling to old loved customs.Perhaps it is because we suffer from lack of facility in adaptingourselves to new conditions. We are as fixed as the star in its orbit.Not so much the men of China but we women of the inner courtyardsseem to our younger generation to stand an immovable mountain inthe pathway of their freedom from the old traditions.In this course we are only following woman nature. An instinct morepowerful than reason seems to tell us that we must preserve the thingwe know. Change we fear. We see in the new ideas that ourdaughters bring from school, disturbers only of our life's ideals. Yetthe new thoughts are gathering about our retreats, beating at ourdoorways, creeping in at the closely shuttered windows, even winningour husbands and our children from our arms. The enclosing walls andthe jealously guarded doors of our courtyards are impotent. While westand a foe of this so-called progress, a guardian of what to us seemswomanhood and modesty, the world around us is moving, feeling theimpulse of a larger life, broadening its outlook and clothing itself innew expression that we hardly understand. We feel that we cannotkeep up with this generation; and, seeing ourselves left behind withour dead Gods, we cry out against the change which is coming to ourdaughters with the advent of this new education and the knowledge ofthe outside world. But--.All happy days must end, and we floated slowly back to the busy lifeagain. As we came down the canal in the soft moonlight it recalledthose other nights to me upon the mountain-side, and as I saw thelights of the city before us I remembered the old poem of Chang ChiliLo:"The Lady Moon is my lover,My friends are the Oceans four,The Heavens have roofed me over,And the Dawn is my golden door.I would liefer follow a condor,Or the sea-gull soaring from ken,Than bury my Godhead yonder,In the dust and whirl of men."Thy daughter,Kwei-li.22My Dear Mother,I have not written thee for many days. I came back from my happycountry trip to find clouds of sorrow wrapping our home in closeembrace. We hear Ting-fang is in deep trouble, and we cannotunderstand it. He is accused of being in league with the Southernforces. Of course we do not believe it, my son is not a traitor; butblack forebodings rise from deeps unknown and the cold trail of fearcreeps round my heart.But I cannot brood upon my fears alone; this world seems full ofsorrow. Just now I have stopped my letter to see a woman who wasbrought to theYamenfor trying to kill her baby daughter. She isalone, has no one to help her in her time of desolation, no rice forcrying children, and nothing before her except to sell her daughter tothe tea-house. She gave her sleep; and who can blame her?Mother, send me all that thou canst spare from out thy plenty. I wouldI could give more. I would be a lamp for those who need a lamp, a bedfor those who need a bed; but I am helpless. O, He who hears thewretched when they cry, deign to hear these mothers in their sorrow!Thy daughter,Kwei-li.23I know that thou hast heard the news, as it is in all the papers.Ting-fang is accused of throwing the bomb that killed General Chang. Iwrite to reassure thee that it cannot be true. I know my son. Thouvknowest thy family. No Liu could do so foul a deed.Do not worry; we will send thee all the news. The morrow's tidings willbe well, so rest in peace.Kwei-li.24,a.I thank thee from my heart for the ten thousandtaelstelegraphed forthe use of our son. Father has sent fifty thousandtaelsto be used inobtaining his freedom. I am sure it will not be needed, as my son isnot the culprit. And if he were, it is not the olden time when a lifecould be bought for a few thousand ounces of silver, no matter howgreat the crime. We will not bribe the Courts of Law, even for our son.But I am sure it will pass with the night's darkness, and we will waketo find it all a dream. I know, my mother's heart assures me, that myboy is innocent.Do not speak or think of coming down. We will let thee know at onceall news.Kwei-li24,b.[-Telegram_]We are leaving to-night for Canton.25We are entering Canton. The night denies me sleep, and my brainseems beating like the tireless shuttles upon a weaving-loom. Icannot rest, but walk the deck till the moon fades from the dawn'spale sky, and the sun shows rose-coloured against the morning'sgrey. Across the river a temple shines faintly through its ring ofswaying bamboo, and the faint light glistens on the water drippingfrom the oars that bring the black-sailed junks with stores ofvegetables for all that greedy city of living people. The mists clinglovingly to the hill-tops, while leaves from giant banyan-trees sway idlyin the morning wind, and billows of smoke, like dull, grey spirits, rollup-ward and fade into a mist of clouded jade, touched with the goldenfingers of the rising sun.Across the river a temple shines faintly.I see it all with eyes that do not see, because the creeping hours Icount until I find my son.26Ting-fang has been tried and found guilty. The runners have broughtme hour by hour the news; and even his father can see nothing thatspeaks in favour of his innocence. It is known and he confesses tohaving been with the men who are the plotters in this uprising. He waswith the disloyal officers only a few hours before the bomb wasthrown, but of the actual deed he insists that he knows nothing. Allevidence points to his guilt. Even the official who sentenced him, alife-long friend of ours, said in the open court that it hurt him sorely tocondemn a man bearing the great name of Liu, because of what hisfather and his father's father had been to China, but in times such asthese an example must be made; and all the world is now looking onto see what will be done.I will write thee and telegraph thee further news; I can say no more atpresent; my heart is breaking.Kwei-li.27 A man came to us secretly last night and offered to effect my son'sescape for fifty thousandtaels. He said that arrangements could bemade to get him out of the country-- and we have refused! We toldhim we could give no answer until the morning, and I walked the floorthe long night through, trying to find the pathway just.We cannot do it. China is at the parting of the ways; and if we, herfirst officials, who are taking the stand upon the side of justice andnew ideas of honour, do not remain firm in hours of great temptation,what lesson have we to give to them who follow where we lead? Itust not be said that our first acts were those of bribery and corruption.If my son is a traitor, we let him pay. He must give his life upon thealtar of new China. We cannot buy his life. We are of the house of Liu,and our name must stand, so that, through the years to come, it willinspire those who follow us to live and die for China, the country thatwe love.28My Mother,From the red dawn until the dense night fell, and all the hours ofdarkness through, have my weary feet stumbled on in hopelessmisery, waiting, listening for the guns that will tell to me my son isgone. At sunset a whispered message of hope was brought, thenvanished quite again, and I have walked the lengthened reach of thegreat courtyard, watching as, one by one, the lanterns die and theworld is turning into grey. Far away toward the rice-fields the circlinggulls rise, flight on flight, and hover in the blue, then fly away to lifeand happiness in the great beyond. In the distance, faint blue smokecurls from a thousand dwellings of people who are rising and will greettheir sons, while mine lies dead. Oh, I thought that tears were humanonly, yet I see each blade of shining grass weighed down withdewdrop tears that glimmer in the air. Even the grass would seem allsorrow filled as is my heart.The whole night through the only sound has been the long-drawn noteof the bamboo flute, as the seller passes by, and the wind that wailedand whistled and seemed to bring with it spirits of the other world whocame and taunted me that I did not save my son. Why,whydid I notsave him! What is honour, what is this country, this fighting,quarrelling, maddened country, what is our fame, in comparison to hisdear life? Why did we not accept the offer of escape! It was ours togive or take; we gave, and I repent-- O God,how I repent! My boy, myboy! I will be looking for his face in all my dreams and find despair........Dost thou remember how he came to me in answer to the Towers ofPrayer I raised when my first-born slept so deep a sleep he could notbe wakened even by the voice of his mother? But that sorrow passedand I rose to meet a face whose name is memory. At last I knew itwas not kindness to mourn so for my dead. Over the River of Tearstheir silent road is, and when mothers weep too long, the flood of thatriver rises, and their souls cannot pass but must wander to and fro.But to those whom they leave with empty arms they are never utterlygone. They sleep in the darkest cells of tired hearts and busy brains,to come at echo of a voice that recalls the past........My sleeve is wet with bitter rain; but tears cannot blot out the dreamvisions that memory wakes, and the dead years answer to my call. Isee my boy, my baby, who was the gift of kindly Gods. When I firstopened my eyes upon him, I closed them to all the world besides,and my soul rested in peace beside the jewel within its cradle. Theone sole wish of my heart was to be near him, to sit close by hisside, to have him day by day within my happy sight, and to lay mycheek upon his rose-tipped feet at night. The sun's light seemed morebeautiful where it touched him, and the moon that lit my Heaven washis eyes.As he grew older he was fond of asking questions to which none butthe Gods could give reply, and I answered as only mothers will. Whenhe wished to play I laid aside my work to play with him, and when hetired and wished to rest, I told him stories of the past. At eveningwhen the lamps were lighted I taught him the words of the eveningprayer, and when he slept I brought my work close by his cradle andwatched the still sweetness of his face. Sometimes he would smile inhis dreams, and I knew that Kwan-yin the Divine was playingshadow-play with him, and I would murmur a silent prayer to theMother of all Mercies to protect my treasure and keep him from allharm........I can see my courtyard in far Sezchuan; and in the wooden box withinmy bedroom are all his baby-clothes. There are the shoes withworn-out toes and heels that tried so hard to confine restless, eagerfeet; the cap with Buddha and his saints, all broken and tarnishedwhere tiny, baby teeth have left their marks; and, Mother, dost thouremember when we made him clothing like the soldier at theYamen?And the bamboo that the gateman polished he carried for a gun...O my son, my son! How can I rise to begin the bitter work of lifethrough the twilights yet to come!29How can I tell thee, Mother mine, of the happiness within my heart! Itis passed; it was but a dream, a mirage. He is here, my boy, his handin mine, his cheek against my cheek; he is mine own again, my boy,my man-child, my son.It was not he; the culprit has been found; and in the golden morninglight my son stood free before me. I cannot write thee more atpresent, I am so filled with joy. What matter if the sun shines onwrinkles and white hair, the symbol of the fulness of my sorrow-- Ihave mine own again!30My Dear Mother,I can talk to thee more calmly, and I know thou hungerest for fullnews. Dost thou remember Liang Tai-tai, she whom I wrote thee wasso anxious for the mercy of the Gods that she spent her time inpraying instead of looking after household duties and her son? He wasthe one who tried to pass the Dark Water and I talked to him and wesent him to the prefect at Canton. It was he who found the man forwhom my son was accused. It seemed he felt he owed us much forhelping him in his time of trouble, and now he has repaid.I feel that I have laughed too oft at Liang Tai-tai and her Gods, but nowI will go with her from temple shrine to temple shrine. I will buy for hercandles, incense, spirit money, until the Gods look down in wonderfrom their thrones. I am so filled with gratitude that when I see myfriend, I will fall before her feet and bathe them with my happy tears forhaving trod the path of motherhood and given to the world a man-child,who has saved for me my son.Kwei-li.31My Mother,We are home, and have not written thee for long, but have telegraphedthee twice daily, so that thou hast been assured that all is well.We found our dear one, our Li-ti, bending o'er her babe, holding itsafely, nestling it, murmuring, softly, whispers of mother love. Thisson, born in the hour of trouble and despair, is a token of thehappiness to come, of the new life that will come forth from grief andsorrow.He has learned a lesson, this boy of mine, and he will walk morecarefully, guard more surely his footsteps, now he is the father of ason.Kwei-li.32O Mother of graciousness, we are coming to thee! When all the hillsare white with blossoms, we shall set forth, our eager hearts andsouls one great, glad longing for the sight of thee standing in thearchway, searching with earnest gaze the road, listening for thebearers' footsteps as we mount the hillside.When all the hills are white with blossoms.We leave this place of trial and turmoil. I want my children to comewithin the shelter of thy compound walls, where safety lies; and withthe "shell of forgetfulness" clasped tightly in our hands, we will forgetthese days of anguish and despair. Then only, when my dear onesare far from here, shall my soul obtain the peace it craves, forgetful ofthe hostile, striving, plotting treachery of this foreign world I fear.We are coming home to thee, Mother of my husband, and I havelearned in life's great, bitter school that the joy of my Chinesewoman-hood is to stand within the sheltered courtyard, with my familyclose about me, and my son's son in my arms.Kwei-li.
modern philosophy.Perhaps the memory work of the Chinese education was wrong; but itserved its purpose once, if tales are true.It is said that many hundreds of years ago, the founder of the Chinesedynasty, the man of pride who styled himself Emperor the First,conceived the idea of destroying all literature which was before hisreign, so that he might be regarded by posterity as the founder of theChinese Empire. It is believed by many Chinese scholars that thiswicked thing was done, and that not a single perfect copy of any bookescaped destruction. He even went so far as to bury alive above fivehundred of the best scholars of the land, that none might remain towrite of his cruel deed. But the classics had been too well learned bythe scholars, and were reproduced from memory to help form theminds of China for many tens of years. This could be done to-day if asimilar tragedy were enacted. Thousands of boys have committed thegreat books to heart, and this storing in the mind of enormous bookshas developed in our race a marvellous memory, if, as others say, ithas taken away their power of thinking for themselves.Which is the best? Only time will tell. But we are told that the literatiof China, the aristocracy of our land, must go. Yet, as of old, it is theeducated men who will move China. Without them, nothing can bedone, for the masses will respect education and the myriads willblindly follow a leader whom they feel to be a true scholar; and it willbe hard to change the habits of a people who have been taught forcenturies that education is another word for officialdom.This new education, in my mind, must not be made so general; itmust be made more personal. Three things should be taken intoaccount: who the boy is, where he is, and where he is going. It is notmeet to educate the son of my gate-keeper the same as my son. Heshould be made a good workman, the best of his kind, better to fill theplace to which the Gods have called him. Give our boys the moderneducation, if we must, but remember and respect the life work eachmay have to follow. Another thing we should remember: the progressin the boy's worldly knowledge should not make him hard in his revoltagainst his Gods, nor should his intelligence be freed without teachinghim self-control. That is fatal for our Eastern race. Let him learn, in hisbooks and in his laboratories, that he moulds his destiny by his actsin later life, and thus gain true education, the education of the soul aswell as of the mind.I have written thee a sermon, but it is a subject on which we mothersare thinking much. It is before us daily, brought to our courtyards byour sons and daughters, and we see the good and the evil of trying toreach at a single bound the place at which other nations have at lastarrived after centuries of weary climbing.I must go to the women's quarters and stop their chattering. Oh,Mother mine, why didst thou send to me that priest of thine?Why didst thou send to me that priest of thine?Kwei-li.18Dear Mother,I must introduce thee to thy new daughter-in-law. Yes, I can see theestart. I will tell thee quickly. Thy son hath not taken to himself anotherwife, but it is I, Kwei-li, who should be made known to thee anew.Kwei-li, the wife of the Governor of Kiang-si, who has become soforeignised that the mother of her husband would never know her. Ifthings keep on the path they have gone for these last few moons, Ifully expect thou wilt see me with that band of women who are makingsuch a great outcry for their rights and freedom. I cannot even explainthem to thee, as thou wouldst not understand.My last adventure in the ways or the modern woman is in relation tothe courtship of my son. Tang-si, my second son, is in love; and I, hismother, am aiding and abetting him, and allowing him to see hissweet-heart in the foreign way. I know thou wilt blush when thoureadest this; but I have been in the hands of the Gods and allowed notto speak of "custom," or propriety, and when I have tried to reasonwith my son and talk to him in regard to what is seemly, he laughs atme and calls me pet names, and rubs my hair the wrong way andsays I am his little mother. I knew that astounding fact long yearsago, and still I say that is no reason why I should go against allcustoms and traditions of my race.I told him I was taught that men and women should not sit together inthe same room, nor keep their wearing apparel in the same place, noreven cleanse them in the same utensils. They should not look uponeach other, or hand a thing directly from man to woman hand. I wastaught that it was seemly and showed a maidenly reserve to observea certain distance in my relations even with my husband or mybrothers, but I have found that the influence of reason upon love is likethat of a raindrop upon the ocean, "one little mark upon the water'sface and then it disappears."Now I will tell thee all about it. Tang-si came to me one day, and afterspeaking of many things of no importance, he finally said, "Mother,wilt thou ask Kah-li, Wu Tai-tai's daughter, here to tea?" I said, "Why,is she a friend of thy sister's?" He said, while looking down upon thefloor, "I do not know, but-- but-- she is a special friend of mine." Ilooked at him in amazement. "Thou hast seen her?" "Yes, manytimes. I want thee to ask her to the house, where we may have achance to talk." I sat back in my chair and looked at him, and saidwithin myself, "Was ever mother blessed with such children; whatmay Inextexpect?" He gave me a quick look, and came over andtook my hand in his, and said, "Now, Mother, do not get excited, anddon't look as if the Heavens were going to fall. I-- well-- thou makest ithard to tell thee, but I want to marry Kah-li, and I would like a chanceof seeing her as the foreign men see their wives before they marrythem." I said, quite calmly for me, "Thou meanest thou art choosingthy wife instead of allowing thy father and mother to choose her?" Hesaid, "Why, yes; I have to live with her and I ought to choose her." Isaid nothing-- what is the use? I have learned that my men-folk havestrong minds, which they certainly must have inherited from thinehonourable family. I said that first I would speak to her mother, and ifshe approved of her daughter's seeing my son in this mostunbecoming manner, I would do whatsoever he wished in the matter. Icould not wait, but went at once to the house of Wu Tai-tai. Wediscussed the matter over many cups of tea, and we saw that we arebut clouds driven by the winds and we must obey.She has been here for tea, and I am charmed with her. She is aspretty as a jewel of pure jade; I do not blame my son. She haslaughter in her dancing eyes and seems as if she would sing her lifeaway from year to year and see life always through the golden gleamof happy days. She is respectful and modest, and now I feel she isone of the family and I ask her to join us in all our feastings. Shecame to the feast when we burned the Kitchen God, and joined withus in prayers as he ascended to the great Spirit to tell him of ouractions in the past year. I am afraid our young people do not believeo'ermuch in this small God of the Household, who sits so quietly uponhis shelf above the kitchen stove for twelve long months, watching allthat goes on within the home, then gives his message for good or ill toHim above; but they are too respectful to say ought against it-- in myhearing. They must respect the old Gods until they find somethingbetter to take their place.I do not know but that my son is right in this question of his courtship.It is pretty to see them as they wander through the gardens, while wemothers sit upon the balconies and gossip. Their love seems to be aspure as spotless rice and "so long as colour is colour and life is lifewill the youth with his sublime folly wait for the meeting of his lovedone." What matter if the winter days will come to them or if "the snowis always sure to blot out the garden--" to-day is spring, and love islove and youth is happy.Thy shameless daughter,Kwei-li.19My Dear Mother,Thy gifts which came by the hand of Tuang-fang are most welcome.We have already drunk of the sun-dried tea, and it brings to thoughtthe sight of the long, laden trays of the fragrant leaves as they lie inthe sun on the mountain-side. The rose wine we will use on occasionsof special rejoicing; and I thank thee again for the garments which willbring comfort to so many in the coming days of cold. I was glad tosee Tuang-fang, and sorry to hear that he, with his brother, are goingso far away from home in search of labour. Is there not work enoughfor our men in the province without going to that land of heat andsickness?Our people go far in their passion for labour; in search of it they crossland and sea. They are the workers of the world, who sell their labourfor a price; and it is only strong men with great self-dependence whoare capable of taking a road that is likely never to join again thosewho speak their language and worship their Gods. What is it that hasgiven these men this marvellous adaptability to all conditions, howeverhard they may seem? They can live and work in any climate, they areat home in the sandy wastes of our great deserts or in the swamps ofthe southern countries. They bear the biting cold of northern lands asreadily as they labour under the burning sun of Singapore and Java.The more I come out from the courtyard and see our people, the moreI admire them; I see the things that are so often lost sight of by thoseof other lands who seek to study them. They are a philosophical raceand bear the most dreadful losses and calamities with wonderfulbravery. Nothing daunts them. Behold the family of Tuang-fang: theysaw their home ruined at time of flood and began again on the morrowto build on the remaining foundations. They saw their fields burned upby drouth, and took their winter clothing to the pawn-shop to getmoney to buy seed for the coming spring. They did not complain solong as they could get sufficient food to feed their bodies and thecoarse blue cloth with which to clothe them, and when these failedthey sent their three strong sons, the best of the family, to the rubberplantations of the South.They are the workers of the world.We hear so much in the papers here of the "Yellow Peril." If there is aYellow Peril, it lies in the fact that our men are ready to labourunceasingly for a wage on which most Europeans would starve, andon that pittance they manage to save and become rich andprosperous. They have gone into other lands wherever they have foundan opening, and some of the southern countries, like Singapore andthe Philippines, owe much of their commercial progress to our people.They are honest and industrious, and until the foreigner began to feelthe pinch of competition, until he found that he must work all day andnot sleep the hours away if he would be in the race with the man fromthe Eastern land, he had nothing to say about the character of theman from China. But so soon as he felt the pressure of want becauseof his sloth, he began to find that the "yellow man" was vicious, andsoon his depravity became a by-word. The Chinese were abusedbecause of their virtues rather than their vices, for things for which allother nations are applauded-- love of work and economy. It is theindustry of our people that offends, because it competes with thehalf-done work of the white man, who dissipates his time and money.The men from this land have learned their ways of work at home,where the struggle for existence is hard. Sunrise sees the carpenterand the smith, the shoemaker and the beater of cotton at their labour,and the mid-night cry of the watchman often finds them patientlyearning the rice for the morrow's meal. And they have not learned todisobey when told to go to work. There are no strikes as in the foreigncountries. Our workmen are obedient, although it is said that theylack in leadership, that nothing is originated within themselves; butthey can be taught, and all who employ Chinese labour testify to theirability to follow a good master.I think, from hearing the gossip from thy son's courtyard, that whenChina is again peaceful, there will be more chance for the men withinher borders, who can then stay beside their fires and earn their food.Our land is a land of fertile soil, of rich minerals, and great rivers. It issaid that there are millions and millions of acres on which food orother products can be grown, and that a great part of China may bemade one vast garden. The German scientist who is trying to get acoal mine concession from the government told my husband thatthere were tens of millions of tons of coal of the best quality in China,and that the single province of Shansi could supply the entire world fora thousand years. No wonder the Germans are looking with longingeyes on China! But we want these riches and this labour for ourpeople. If it is worth the time of men of other countries to come to thisfar-off land in search of what lies beneath our soil, it is worth our whileto guard it and keep it for our own.We hear news of battles and of secret plottings, and I am worriedabout my son, who is in Canton, the province that seems to be thecentre of rebellion and the breeding-place of plots and treachery. Iwonder what will be the outcome of it all; if after all this turmoil andbloodshed China will really become a different nation? It is hard tochange the habits of a nation, and I think that China will not bechanged by this convulsion. The real Chinese will be the samepassive, quiet, slow-thinking and slow-moving toiler, not knowing orcaring whether his country is a republic or whether he is ruled by theSon of Heaven. He will be a stable, peaceable, law-abiding citizen orsubject, with respect for his officials so long as they are not toooppressive; not asking whether the man who rules him is called agovernor or afutai, so long as work is plentiful and rice is cheap.These patient, plodding men of China have held together for countlessthousands of years, and I am sure that their strength is derived fromqualities capable of bearing great strain; and our government, even thegovernment which we are trying so hard to overturn and mould onWestern lines, must have suited the country and the people, becausenothing ever persists generation after generation, century aftercentury, without being suited to its environment and more or lessadapted to the changes which time always brings.Confucius said, "When I was on a mission to Ch'u State, I saw a litterof young pigs nestling close to their dead mother. After a while theylooked at her, then all left the dead body and went off. For theirmother did not look at them any more, nor did she seem any more tobe of their kind. What they loved was their mother: not the body whichcontained her, but that which made the body what it was."That is the way with our country. She may leave the dead forms of herold government, perhaps it will be her misfortune to leave her religion,but the spirit of her government and the spirit of her religion she willalways love.But I must not gossip more with thee over my dearly loved countryand her people. I know I talk to thee o'ermuch of politics and thegreedy eyes of foreigners which are fixed upon our land, but onecannot live in Shanghai, even behind the women's archway, withouthearing, night and day, the things that move this, our world, sostrongly. Even my small children play at war, shoot their rebels, buildtheir fortresses and drive the foreigners from off their piles of sand.I cry to thee, my Mother, because a heart must speak its bitterness,and here our lips are sealed to all. I dare not even tell thy son, myhusband, all that passes in my mind as I look from out my window atthis fighting, struggling, maddened world that surges round me. Weare more than troubled about our son.Thy daughter,Kwei-li.20My Dear Mother,I send to thee some silken wadding for the lining of thy coat, also apiece of sable to make a scarf for Su-su, and a box of clothing for hernew-born son. The children each have written her a letter, and thecandles have been lighted before Kwan-yin, to show our joy.We have a guest, old General Wang, who is on his way to visit withmy father. He is of the old, old China, and wags his head mostdolefully over the troubles of his country, and says a republic neverwill succeed. My husband was bewailing the fact of the emptystrong-box, and Wang said, "Why don't you do what I did when I wasin command of the troops? When money was scarce, I simplystopped a dollar a month from each man's pay, and, lo, there was themoney." He was quite shameless in regard to the old-time "squeeze"and said it was necessary. When he was general he received thesalary of an ill-paid servant and was expected to keep up the state ofa small king. But there were many ways to fill the empty pockets.When a high official was sent to inspect his troops, men werecompelled to come from the fields, the coolies to lay down theirburdens, the beggar to leave his begging-bowl, and all to standstraight as soldiers with guns within their hands. But when the officerwas gone each went his way with a small present in his hand and didnot appear again until the frightened official was compelled to sweepthe highways and byways to find men enough to agree with lists paidby the government.But those times are past, and these old-time officials find it safer toretire to homes within their provinces.He told us of Chung-tai, who wasTaotaiof our city at one time. Dostthou remember him? He made many millions in the exportation of riceat time of famine. He was asked to go to Peking, and promised a highposition. He sent as answer the story of Chung Tzu the philosopher,who was fishing in the Piu when the Prince of Ch'u sent high officialsto ask him to take charge of the State. Chung went on fishing andwithout turning his head said: "I have heard that in Ch'u there is asacred tortoise which has been dead now some three thousandyears, and that the Prince keeps this tortoise carefully enclosed in achest on the altar of the sacred temple. Now would this tortoise ratherbe dead and have its remains venerated, or be alive and wagging itstail in the mud?" "It would rather be alive and wagging its tail in themud," said the officials. "Begone" said Chung. "The tortoise is asymbol of longevity and great wisdom. It would not befit me to aspireto greater wisdom than the tortoise. I, too, prefer the mud."Chung spoke bravely in sending this reply to Peking; but no soonerwas it sent than he gathered his family and hissyceeand departedfor Shanghai, where he feels more sure of the protection of the foreignsettlements than he does of the kindly intentions of His ExcellencyYuan toward his dollars.The children have come home and are clamouring for their supper.They are growing rougher and noisier each day, and, I fear, arespending far too many hours in the servants' courtyard, where theyhear of things not seemly for young ears. Canst thou send meWong-si for a few months? She might be able to keep some order inmy household, although I doubt a person of a nature not divine beingable to still the many tongues I have now about me.We send thee love, and greetings to thy new-born great-grandson.Kwei-li.21My Dear Mother,I have been in the country with my friend Ang Ti-ti. It was the time ofpilgrimage to the graves of her family at the temple near Wu-seh. Myhousehold gave me many worries, and my husband said it was a timeof rest for me, so we took a boat, with only a few servants, as I amtired of chattering women, and spent three long happy days amongstthe hills. We sat upon the deck as the boat was slowly drawn alongthe canal, and watched the valley that autumn now is covering withher colours rare. All the green of the fields is changed. All the gayfoliage of the trees upon the hillsides will soon be dead and crumbling.These withered leaves that once waved gaily in the air are lying now inclustered heaps, or fluttering softly to the ground like dull, brownbutterflies who are tired with flight. The only touch of colour is on themaple-trees, which still cling with jealous hands to coverings of redand gold. The autumn winds wailed sadly around our cabin windows,and every gust brought desolation to tree and shrub and waving grass.Far away the setting sun turned golden trees to flame, and now andthen on the sluggish waters of the canal would drift in lonely splendoura shining leaf that autumn winds had touched and made into a thing ofmore than beauty.At the temple near Wu-seh.We anchored the first night by a marshy bank girdled with tall yellowreeds and dwarf bamboo, and from our quiet cabin listened to therainy gusts that swept the valley. Out of the inky clouds the lightningflashed and lighted up each branch and stem and swaying leaf,revealing to our half-blinded eyes the rain-swept valley; then darknesscame with her thick mantle and covered all again.We anchored at night by a marshy bank girdled with tall yellow reeds.We discussed the past, the present, and the future; and then, asalways when mothers meet, the talk would turn to children. How weare moved by our children! We are like unto the Goddess of thePine-tree. She came out from her rugged covering and bore aman-child for her husband's house, and then one day the overlord ofall that land sent to cut down the pine-tree, that its great trunk mightform the rooftree of his temple. At the first blow of the axe the soulglided back into its hiding-place, and the woman was no more. Andwhen it fell, three hundred men could not move it from its place offalling; but her baby came and, putting out his hand, said, "Come,"and it followed him quite quietly, gliding to the very doorway of thetemple. So do our children lead us with their hands of love.On the second day we went to the temple to offer incense at thefamily shrine of Ang Ti-ti. We Chinese ladies love these pilgrimages tothese shrines of our ancestors, and it is we who keep up the familyworship. We believe that it is from the past that we must learn, and"the past is a pathway which spirits have trodden and madeluminous." It is true, as Lafcadio Hearn has written, "We should behaunted by the dead men and women of our race, the ancestors thatcount in the making of our souls and have their silent say in everyaction, thought and impulse of our life. Are not our ancestors in verytruth our souls? Is not every action the work of the dead who dwellwithin us? Have not our impulses and our tendencies, our capacitiesand our weaknesses, our heroisms and our fears, been created bythose vanished myriads from whom we received that all-mysteriousgift of life? Should we think of that thing which is in each of us andwhich we call 'I' should it be 'I' or 'they'? What is our pride or shamebut the pride or shame of the unseen in that which they have made?And what is our conscience but the inherited sum of countless deadexperiences with all things good and evil?""In this worship that we give the dead they are made divine. And thethought of this tender reverence will temper with consolation themelancholy that comes with age to all of us. Never in our China arethe dead too quickly forgotten; by simple faith they are still thought todwell among their beloved, and their place within the home remainsholy. When we pass to the land of shadows we know that loving lipswill nightly murmur our names before the family shrine, that our faithfulones will beseech us in their pain and bless us in their joy. We willnot be left alone upon the hillsides, but loving hands will place beforeour tablet the fruits and flowers and dainty food that we were wont tolike, and will pour for us the fragrant cups of tea or amber rice-wine.""Strange changes are coming upon this land, old customs arevanishing, old beliefs are weakening, the thoughts of to-day will not bethe thoughts of to-morrow; but of all this we will know nothing. Wedream that for us as for our mothers the little lamp will burn onthrough the generations; we see in fancy the yet unborn, the childrenof our children's children, bowing their tiny heads and making the filialobeisance before the tablets that bear our family name."This is our comfort, we who feel that "this world is not a place of rest,but where we may now take our little ease, until the landlord whom wenever see, gives our apartment to another guest."As I said to thee, it is the women who are the preservers of the familyworship and who are trying hard to cling to old loved customs.Perhaps it is because we suffer from lack of facility in adaptingourselves to new conditions. We are as fixed as the star in its orbit.Not so much the men of China but we women of the inner courtyardsseem to our younger generation to stand an immovable mountain inthe pathway of their freedom from the old traditions.In this course we are only following woman nature. An instinct morepowerful than reason seems to tell us that we must preserve the thingwe know. Change we fear. We see in the new ideas that ourdaughters bring from school, disturbers only of our life's ideals. Yetthe new thoughts are gathering about our retreats, beating at ourdoorways, creeping in at the closely shuttered windows, even winningour husbands and our children from our arms. The enclosing walls andthe jealously guarded doors of our courtyards are impotent. While westand a foe of this so-called progress, a guardian of what to us seemswomanhood and modesty, the world around us is moving, feeling theimpulse of a larger life, broadening its outlook and clothing itself innew expression that we hardly understand. We feel that we cannotkeep up with this generation; and, seeing ourselves left behind withour dead Gods, we cry out against the change which is coming to ourdaughters with the advent of this new education and the knowledge ofthe outside world. But--.All happy days must end, and we floated slowly back to the busy lifeagain. As we came down the canal in the soft moonlight it recalledthose other nights to me upon the mountain-side, and as I saw thelights of the city before us I remembered the old poem of Chang ChiliLo:"The Lady Moon is my lover,My friends are the Oceans four,The Heavens have roofed me over,And the Dawn is my golden door.I would liefer follow a condor,Or the sea-gull soaring from ken,Than bury my Godhead yonder,In the dust and whirl of men."Thy daughter,Kwei-li.22My Dear Mother,I have not written thee for many days. I came back from my happycountry trip to find clouds of sorrow wrapping our home in closeembrace. We hear Ting-fang is in deep trouble, and we cannotunderstand it. He is accused of being in league with the Southernforces. Of course we do not believe it, my son is not a traitor; butblack forebodings rise from deeps unknown and the cold trail of fearcreeps round my heart.But I cannot brood upon my fears alone; this world seems full ofsorrow. Just now I have stopped my letter to see a woman who wasbrought to theYamenfor trying to kill her baby daughter. She isalone, has no one to help her in her time of desolation, no rice forcrying children, and nothing before her except to sell her daughter tothe tea-house. She gave her sleep; and who can blame her?Mother, send me all that thou canst spare from out thy plenty. I wouldI could give more. I would be a lamp for those who need a lamp, a bedfor those who need a bed; but I am helpless. O, He who hears thewretched when they cry, deign to hear these mothers in their sorrow!Thy daughter,Kwei-li.23I know that thou hast heard the news, as it is in all the papers.Ting-fang is accused of throwing the bomb that killed General Chang. Iwrite to reassure thee that it cannot be true. I know my son. Thouvknowest thy family. No Liu could do so foul a deed.Do not worry; we will send thee all the news. The morrow's tidings willbe well, so rest in peace.Kwei-li.24,a.I thank thee from my heart for the ten thousandtaelstelegraphed forthe use of our son. Father has sent fifty thousandtaelsto be used inobtaining his freedom. I am sure it will not be needed, as my son isnot the culprit. And if he were, it is not the olden time when a lifecould be bought for a few thousand ounces of silver, no matter howgreat the crime. We will not bribe the Courts of Law, even for our son.But I am sure it will pass with the night's darkness, and we will waketo find it all a dream. I know, my mother's heart assures me, that myboy is innocent.Do not speak or think of coming down. We will let thee know at onceall news.Kwei-li24,b.[-Telegram_]We are leaving to-night for Canton.25We are entering Canton. The night denies me sleep, and my brainseems beating like the tireless shuttles upon a weaving-loom. Icannot rest, but walk the deck till the moon fades from the dawn'spale sky, and the sun shows rose-coloured against the morning'sgrey. Across the river a temple shines faintly through its ring ofswaying bamboo, and the faint light glistens on the water drippingfrom the oars that bring the black-sailed junks with stores ofvegetables for all that greedy city of living people. The mists clinglovingly to the hill-tops, while leaves from giant banyan-trees sway idlyin the morning wind, and billows of smoke, like dull, grey spirits, rollup-ward and fade into a mist of clouded jade, touched with the goldenfingers of the rising sun.Across the river a temple shines faintly.I see it all with eyes that do not see, because the creeping hours Icount until I find my son.26Ting-fang has been tried and found guilty. The runners have broughtme hour by hour the news; and even his father can see nothing thatspeaks in favour of his innocence. It is known and he confesses tohaving been with the men who are the plotters in this uprising. He waswith the disloyal officers only a few hours before the bomb wasthrown, but of the actual deed he insists that he knows nothing. Allevidence points to his guilt. Even the official who sentenced him, alife-long friend of ours, said in the open court that it hurt him sorely tocondemn a man bearing the great name of Liu, because of what hisfather and his father's father had been to China, but in times such asthese an example must be made; and all the world is now looking onto see what will be done.I will write thee and telegraph thee further news; I can say no more atpresent; my heart is breaking.Kwei-li.27 A man came to us secretly last night and offered to effect my son'sescape for fifty thousandtaels. He said that arrangements could bemade to get him out of the country-- and we have refused! We toldhim we could give no answer until the morning, and I walked the floorthe long night through, trying to find the pathway just.We cannot do it. China is at the parting of the ways; and if we, herfirst officials, who are taking the stand upon the side of justice andnew ideas of honour, do not remain firm in hours of great temptation,what lesson have we to give to them who follow where we lead? Itust not be said that our first acts were those of bribery and corruption.If my son is a traitor, we let him pay. He must give his life upon thealtar of new China. We cannot buy his life. We are of the house of Liu,and our name must stand, so that, through the years to come, it willinspire those who follow us to live and die for China, the country thatwe love.28My Mother,From the red dawn until the dense night fell, and all the hours ofdarkness through, have my weary feet stumbled on in hopelessmisery, waiting, listening for the guns that will tell to me my son isgone. At sunset a whispered message of hope was brought, thenvanished quite again, and I have walked the lengthened reach of thegreat courtyard, watching as, one by one, the lanterns die and theworld is turning into grey. Far away toward the rice-fields the circlinggulls rise, flight on flight, and hover in the blue, then fly away to lifeand happiness in the great beyond. In the distance, faint blue smokecurls from a thousand dwellings of people who are rising and will greettheir sons, while mine lies dead. Oh, I thought that tears were humanonly, yet I see each blade of shining grass weighed down withdewdrop tears that glimmer in the air. Even the grass would seem allsorrow filled as is my heart.The whole night through the only sound has been the long-drawn noteof the bamboo flute, as the seller passes by, and the wind that wailedand whistled and seemed to bring with it spirits of the other world whocame and taunted me that I did not save my son. Why,whydid I notsave him! What is honour, what is this country, this fighting,quarrelling, maddened country, what is our fame, in comparison to hisdear life? Why did we not accept the offer of escape! It was ours togive or take; we gave, and I repent-- O God,how I repent! My boy, myboy! I will be looking for his face in all my dreams and find despair........Dost thou remember how he came to me in answer to the Towers ofPrayer I raised when my first-born slept so deep a sleep he could notbe wakened even by the voice of his mother? But that sorrow passedand I rose to meet a face whose name is memory. At last I knew itwas not kindness to mourn so for my dead. Over the River of Tearstheir silent road is, and when mothers weep too long, the flood of thatriver rises, and their souls cannot pass but must wander to and fro.But to those whom they leave with empty arms they are never utterlygone. They sleep in the darkest cells of tired hearts and busy brains,to come at echo of a voice that recalls the past........My sleeve is wet with bitter rain; but tears cannot blot out the dreamvisions that memory wakes, and the dead years answer to my call. Isee my boy, my baby, who was the gift of kindly Gods. When I firstopened my eyes upon him, I closed them to all the world besides,and my soul rested in peace beside the jewel within its cradle. Theone sole wish of my heart was to be near him, to sit close by hisside, to have him day by day within my happy sight, and to lay mycheek upon his rose-tipped feet at night. The sun's light seemed morebeautiful where it touched him, and the moon that lit my Heaven washis eyes.As he grew older he was fond of asking questions to which none butthe Gods could give reply, and I answered as only mothers will. Whenhe wished to play I laid aside my work to play with him, and when hetired and wished to rest, I told him stories of the past. At eveningwhen the lamps were lighted I taught him the words of the eveningprayer, and when he slept I brought my work close by his cradle andwatched the still sweetness of his face. Sometimes he would smile inhis dreams, and I knew that Kwan-yin the Divine was playingshadow-play with him, and I would murmur a silent prayer to theMother of all Mercies to protect my treasure and keep him from allharm........I can see my courtyard in far Sezchuan; and in the wooden box withinmy bedroom are all his baby-clothes. There are the shoes withworn-out toes and heels that tried so hard to confine restless, eagerfeet; the cap with Buddha and his saints, all broken and tarnishedwhere tiny, baby teeth have left their marks; and, Mother, dost thouremember when we made him clothing like the soldier at theYamen?And the bamboo that the gateman polished he carried for a gun...O my son, my son! How can I rise to begin the bitter work of lifethrough the twilights yet to come!29How can I tell thee, Mother mine, of the happiness within my heart! Itis passed; it was but a dream, a mirage. He is here, my boy, his handin mine, his cheek against my cheek; he is mine own again, my boy,my man-child, my son.It was not he; the culprit has been found; and in the golden morninglight my son stood free before me. I cannot write thee more atpresent, I am so filled with joy. What matter if the sun shines onwrinkles and white hair, the symbol of the fulness of my sorrow-- Ihave mine own again!30My Dear Mother,I can talk to thee more calmly, and I know thou hungerest for fullnews. Dost thou remember Liang Tai-tai, she whom I wrote thee wasso anxious for the mercy of the Gods that she spent her time inpraying instead of looking after household duties and her son? He wasthe one who tried to pass the Dark Water and I talked to him and wesent him to the prefect at Canton. It was he who found the man forwhom my son was accused. It seemed he felt he owed us much forhelping him in his time of trouble, and now he has repaid.I feel that I have laughed too oft at Liang Tai-tai and her Gods, but nowI will go with her from temple shrine to temple shrine. I will buy for hercandles, incense, spirit money, until the Gods look down in wonderfrom their thrones. I am so filled with gratitude that when I see myfriend, I will fall before her feet and bathe them with my happy tears forhaving trod the path of motherhood and given to the world a man-child,who has saved for me my son.Kwei-li.31My Mother,We are home, and have not written thee for long, but have telegraphedthee twice daily, so that thou hast been assured that all is well.We found our dear one, our Li-ti, bending o'er her babe, holding itsafely, nestling it, murmuring, softly, whispers of mother love. Thisson, born in the hour of trouble and despair, is a token of thehappiness to come, of the new life that will come forth from grief andsorrow.He has learned a lesson, this boy of mine, and he will walk morecarefully, guard more surely his footsteps, now he is the father of ason.Kwei-li.32O Mother of graciousness, we are coming to thee! When all the hillsare white with blossoms, we shall set forth, our eager hearts andsouls one great, glad longing for the sight of thee standing in thearchway, searching with earnest gaze the road, listening for thebearers' footsteps as we mount the hillside.When all the hills are white with blossoms.We leave this place of trial and turmoil. I want my children to comewithin the shelter of thy compound walls, where safety lies; and withthe "shell of forgetfulness" clasped tightly in our hands, we will forgetthese days of anguish and despair. Then only, when my dear onesare far from here, shall my soul obtain the peace it craves, forgetful ofthe hostile, striving, plotting treachery of this foreign world I fear.We are coming home to thee, Mother of my husband, and I havelearned in life's great, bitter school that the joy of my Chinesewoman-hood is to stand within the sheltered courtyard, with my familyclose about me, and my son's son in my arms.Kwei-li.