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"Ah San," I said gently, you are the finest liar I ever met. I myself took those cats in a basket at 6 o'clock to Mrs Taylor's house." looked at me for a moment as if in sorrow for the waste of such a good lie, said not a word, and went about his work. In truth it was a good lie: so graphic and circumstantial that I could hardly believe that I had actually carried those cats away myself that morning.

But the Chinese certainly recognise and, I think, in a way admire the general truthfulness of foreigners. Of this I once had specific proof. We had arrived by boat at Tungchow on the Pei Ho River, and were waiting to continue our journey to Peking by cart. The others had gone for a stroll, but, unbeknown to the boy, I had remained on the houseboat, which was moored alongside the bank. On the bank were the boy and the cart contractor discussing terms. The boy had stated the sum that the foreigners were willing to pay, but the contractor showed some doubt as to whether, once in Peking, the foreigners would really pay the amount promised. Whereupon I heard the boy reply: Wai Kuo jên pu huei sa huang, "Foreigners don't know how to lie.' Whether it was entirely a compliment or not I do not know. He may have said it in pity! But, to the best of my belief, he expressed a widespread Chinese opinion,

Of ingratitude-barring the theft recorded above-I have no instance to offer. In high or low, rich or poor, I have never met with it. Nor have I heard of it in the case of others. But of gratitude many instances rise to memory; nor was it of the brand which has been defined as a mere "lively anticipation of favours to come.

For example, when I left China-" for good," as he well knew-the old mafoo aforesaid sent my little daughter a farewell cumshaw of a bangle of soft Chinese gold. No future profits, commissions, or "squeezes" could have been in his mind. It was, I submit, a case of pure gratitude-as free from amalgam as the gold itself.

But the most striking instance of which I ever heard was the case of a foreigner who, having lost position, friends, caste, and everything in the world, was kept from starvation by his former jinricsha-coolie, who sheltered him in his hovel. There the foreigner eventually died, and at the inquest on his body the circumstances came to light. The faithful jinricsha-man had not only fed him out of his miserable earnings, but, in compassionate toleration, had even kept him supplied with a cheap brand of "Hongkew" whisky. This was all without hope or prospect of reward or even of repayment, and was done

simply because, in his palmy days, the foreigner had been a kind master.

Of such good feeling, but in a less degree, I have had experiences of my own. Once during an illness I staggered from bed, semi-delirious, at two in the morning, and stumbled into the verandah. There, huddled on a straight-backed chair, was a figure which, after a minute, I recognised as that of my grey-haired servant, Mei Shan. On waking him up I found that for several nights past he had slept there, in case I should require anything in the night. Needless to say, this was entirely without my knowledge or that of the doctor; and that, that, if I had not happened to wander out to the verandah, it would never have been known to any one.

It is difficult to resist quoting another example of such devotion beyond the bounds of duty. The Amah had gone on a ten days' holiday to her home upcountry, some thirty miles away. She had not been gone a day before the baby, the first, appeared to be fretting for her, with the risk of becoming ill. The foolish young parents (of whom I was one) fell panicstricken, and a special messenger was despatched to the Amah to tell her that the baby was missing her and likely to fall sick, and to beg her to return at once. This meant forfeiting her holiday and (she was an elderly woman of portly habit) wading for a mile or so

in torrential rain through water up to her knees (the country being flooded) to where the boat waited to bring her down. river to Foochow. And yet, without demur or delay, she came.

Much, so far as my experience goes, may be done by kindness; but, as the Chinese say, Yo shang yo fa, "There is reward and there is punishment." Punishment, of some kind, occasionally becomes a necessity. To cause a servant to "lose face" is one of the most effective methods, and irony is a rod that the thinskinned Chinese much shrink from. A comical little illustration of this comes back to me. I had noticed that my sun-hat, of the generally worn mushroom pattern, was badly in need of a pipe-claying, so called my boy, at that time a pidgin-speaking Cantonese, when the following little dialogue ensued:

Self. Boy, you savvee my sun-hat belong all same plenty other man hat!

Boy. My savvee, master.

Self. Any night, Club-side, have got twenty thirty hat hang hall, all same my hat.

Boy. My savvee, master; my have see.

Self. But suppose my wanchee my hat, my can findee any time, chop-chop.

Boy (rather doubtfully). Master belong velly clever man.

Self. Yes, boy, my belong clever man, but that's not the reason. Of all those hats only

my hat belong dirty. All other men hat belong quite clean.

Ah Ling gave one sickly smile, then turned away without a word. But for ever after my sun-hat was white amongst the whitest.

The Chinese themselves use irony with effect; so effective, indeed, was one dose that it has stuck in my gizzard for thirty-five years. I was snipeshooting near Peking, in a small marsh bordered by tall reeds. These reeds were a good seventy yards away when a snipe came over, and, feeling it safe to fire, I fired-at an angle of about 45°. I was immediately horrified to hear a voice crying in the reeds, Ni shih ta niao shih ta jên ni, "Are you shooting birds or shooting men?" Now, imagine the case inverted: a Chinese sporting gent peppering, with what must have appeared gross carelessness, a Sussex farm-labourer while at his work!

Equally unanswerable was the reply made by a house-boy to my father, who, momentarily annoyed by something, had told him with rather brutal candour that he was too fat, that he ate too much, and worked too little. The two were really very good friends, and the boy (a middle-aged man of portly and dignified appearance) replied, more in sorrow than in anger: "And how fashion, master, my belong fat? 'Cos any night my go bed shuttee eye makee sleep: no all same those other boy

lie wake all night tinkee tinkee how fashion can squeeze Master nex' day!"

East and West meet at many points, but at others they cannot meet. The Viceroy, Li Hungchang, the ablest Chinaman of his time, was constantly in touch with foreign thought: but even he could not understand all our points of view. His medical adviser and more or less intimate friend, an Irish doctor, told me once that on an afternoon's visit at the yamên in Tientsin he had been describing to the Viceroy the joys of ice-boat sailing, then in full swing, the glorious exhilaration of skimming over the ice at fifty miles an hour on a sparkling winter's day, with the added thrill of the constant possibility of turning turtle over some ice-hummock; and at last he believed that Li had really caught some of his own enthusiasm. He was, however, quickly undeceived when His Excellency observed with grave but kindly sympathy

I would then add that unquestionably the quality in foreigners to which they attach most importance is Good Temper. Ta ti p'i ch'i hao, His temper is good," is almost the highest praise they can bestow. Next in order, I think, come Good Manners; and if in addition to these the foreigner is reputed to be Kung tao-fair, honest, just the quiver of his virtues is, in Chinese eyes, wellnigh full. I would repeat that, speaking generally, the Chinese always react to sympathetic treatment; and I would con

clude by suggesting that there is no simpler and no sounder rule for ensuring good relations with them-whether as individuals or as a nation-than that laid down by Confucius to his disciple

Chap. xxiii.-Tsze - kung asked, saying, "Is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life?"

The Master said: "Is not Reciprocity such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others."

PERIFORDYCE used to be remarkable for the daring of its fishermen. The coast in that part is so inhospitable that once a boat is out of the harbour she cannot find shelter for miles to east or west, and, as in neap tides you can only get in and out an hour on either side of high water, the risk of getting caught in dirty weather and having to ride it out is unusually great. But nowa days the fishing is small. The fishermen, with their motorcraft, are more timid than their fathers were, for they find they need not work perilously in the winter months if they keep up the picturesqueness of their village, and their wives take in those golden-egglaying migrants, summer visitors. Although the number of strangers it can house over-night is not great, somehow nearly every one manages to get there at one time or another. It is one of those show places that people go to, not so much for its scenery, which is admittedly grand, or its tradition, which is admittedly illustrious, but because it is Perifordyce, and because not to have been there will lose you a useful topic in light conversation.

The ancient prejudice which

held any one not grown on the very soil of the place to be a foreigner, had altogether given way when Mr James Gabbis, a complete stranger to everybody, came there and opened a kind of establishment which fell midway between a temperance bar, a tea-garden, and a village shop. That Mr Gabbis had business instincts was witnessed by the cottage he took for his venture, which was on a site likely to please the day tripper, being withdrawn slightly from the village on a cliff abutment overlooking the sea. The cottage itself looked old-fashioned, and an oldfashioned garden went with it. Mr Gabbis was himself a picturesque figure. His hair and beard were snowy white, and he affected a nautical cap, jersey and pea-jacket, and neat blue-serge trousers. Though he had not got the local vernacular he had a sufficiency of nautical terms and looked Perifordysian enough to please his pleasure-seeking clients, so it soon came to be known that the more honourable prefix of captain fitted him better than mister. When after a year's residence he put up the following sign over his doorway