For better, is it not, that an embroidered bag should hold my
well-shaped bones,
And that a heap of stainless earth should in its folds my winsome
charms enshroud.
For spotless once my frame did come, and spotless again it will go!
Far better than that I, like filthy mire, should sink into some drain!
Ye flowers are now faded and gone, and, lo, I come to bury you.
But as for me, what day I shall see death is not as yet divined!
Here I am fain these flowers to inter; but humankind will laugh me as
a fool.
Who knows, who will, in years to come, commit me to my grave!
Mark, and you'll find the close of spring, and the gradual decay of
flowers,
Resemble faithfully the time of death of maidens ripe in years!
In a twinkle, spring time draws to a close, and maidens wax in age.
Flowers fade and maidens die; and of either nought any more is known.

After listening to these effusions, Pao-yue unconsciously threw himself
down in a wandering frame of mind.

But, reader, do you feel any interest in him? If you do, the subsequent
chapter contains further details about him.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

Chiang Yue-han lovingly presents a rubia-scented silk sash.
Hsueeh Pao-ch'ai blushingly covers her musk-perfumed string of red