young contemporaries would do well to remember.

"There was," said he, "in the village of Fu-Isher, a literary man, who
wrote beautiful poems.

"He lived in great solitude, and no one would have heard of his existence
if it had not been that my master, Lang-Ho, while walking in the woods
one day, was attracted by the harmonious sounds of poetry, which this
young man was reciting, without thinking that he had any other listeners
than the birds of the forest.

"Lang-Ho made himself known to him and began to question him.

"He learned that he did not lack ambition, but, being poor, and having no
means of approaching those who would have been able to patronize him, he
was singing of nature for his own pleasure, waiting patiently until he
should be able to influence the powerful ones of the earth to share his
appreciation.

"Lang-Ho, touched by his youth and his ardor, pointed out to him the
dwelling of a prince, a patron of the arts, and, at the same time, told
him how he ought to address the nobleman, assuring him that the fact of
his being a messenger from a friend of the prince would open the doors of
the palace to him.

"The next day the young poet presented himself at the home of the
great lord, who, knowing that he had been sent by Lang-Ho, received
him in spite of the fact that he was suffering intensely from a
violent headache.