completeness, it will be studied in various senses, during the intervals
between a chat and a cup of tea. Such concentration is absolutely
essential, in the eyes of the Chinese critic, to a true interpretation
of the artist's meaning, and to a just appreciation of his success.

The marvellous old stories of grapes painted by Zeuxis of ancient
Greece, so naturally that birds came to peck at them; and of the curtain
painted by Parrhasius which Zeuxis himself tried to pull aside; and
of the horse by Apelles at which another horse neighed--all these find
their counterparts in the literature of Chinese art. One painter, in
quite early days, painted a perch and hung it over a river bank, when
there was immediately a rush of otters to secure it. Another painted the
creases on cotton clothes so exactly that the clothes looked as if they
had just come from the wash. Another produced pictures of cats which
would keep a place free from rats. All these efforts were capped by
those of another artist, whose picture of the North Wind made people
feel cold, while his picture of the South Wind made people feel hot.
Such exaggerations are not altogether without their value; they suggest
that Chinese art must have reached a high level, and this has recently
been shown to be nothing more than the truth, by the splendid exhibition
of Chinese pictures recently on view in the British Museum.

The literary activities of the Chinese, and their output of literature,
have always been on a colossal scale; and of course it is entirely due
to the early invention of printing that, although a very large number of
works have disappeared, still an enormous bulk has survived the ravages
of war, rebellion and fire.

This art was rather developed than invented. There is no date, within
a margin even of half a century either way, at which we can say that