in the life of the community in after years, and of all the pleasure
it was to give--the I.G. sent money from his private purse to buy
instruments and music, though until that moment the idea of a band in
Peking had seemed infinitely remote if not utterly preposterous.

[Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART'S BAND IN THE EARLY 'NINETIES, BEFORE
IT HAD GROWN TO ITS PRESENT SIZE.

Playing on the lawn in front of his house.]

Some dozen promising young Chinese were at once collected and
initiated into the complicated mysteries of chords and keys. They
learned quickly and well--so well that within a year eight of them
were ready to come up to the capital and teach others. A doubtful
venture became an assured success. More and more players were added;
a promising barber, lured, perhaps, by the playing of his friend's
flute, abandoned his trade and set to work on the 'cello; or a
shoemaker, forsaking his last, devoted himself to the cornet. The
neighbouring tailor laid aside his needle; the carter left his cart,
bewitched away from everyday things by the music. It may be the smart
uniform had something to do with the popularity of the organization;
there is ever a fine line between art and vanity--but why dwell upon
an ignoble motive?

Suffice it to say, whether from pure conceit or better things, the
little company grew till it reached a score, and, under a Portuguese
bandmaster, touched a high level of perfection, playing both on brass
and strings with taste and spirit. The Tientsin branch flourished
equally well and became ultimately the Viceroy's band, and the mother
of bands innumerable all over the metropolitan province of Chihli. But