by Wu-Wang, which is an imitation of war; they composed pieces of eighty
rhymes upon the flowers, the trees, the clouds, the streams, the birds,
the bees. But in all accomplishments Sië far excelled her young
sweetheart. Whenever they played at chess, it was always Ming-Y's
general, Ming-Y's _tsiang_, who was surrounded and vanquished; when they
composed verses, Sië's poems were ever superior to his in harmony of
word-coloring, in elegance of form, in classic loftiness of thought.
And the themes they selected were always the most difficult,--those of
the poets of the Thang dynasty; the songs they sang were also the songs
of five hundred years before,--the songs of Youen-tchin, of Thou-mou, of
Kao-pien above all, high poet and ruler of the province of Sze-tchouen.

So the summer waxed and waned upon their love, and the luminous autumn
came, with its vapors of phantom gold, its shadows of magical purple.

* * * * *

Then it unexpectedly happened that the father of Ming-Y, meeting his
son's employer at Tching-tou, was asked by him: "Why must your boy
continue to travel every evening to the city, now that the winter is
approaching? The way is long, and when he returns in the morning he
looks fordone with weariness. Why not permit him to slumber in my house
during the season of snow?" And the father of Ming-Y, greatly
astonished, responded: "Sir, my son has not visited the city, nor has he
been to our house all this summer. I fear that he must have acquired
wicked habits, and that he passes his nights in evil company,--perhaps
in gaming, or in drinking with the women of the flower-boats." But the
High Commissioner returned: "Nay! that is not to be thought of. I have
never found any evil in the boy, and there are no taverns nor
flower-boats nor any places of dissipation in our neighborhood. No doubt