account.

An aged provincial governor married a young wife, and thus gave deep offence to his only son, who was one of the most artful and avaricious young men to be found in China, and was commonly said to have got his name, Chen-Ki, (worthy descendant,) in bitter irony. Ere a year had elapsed, Chen-Ki had greater cause for anger; the governor's wife presented him with another son, whose beauty claimed universal admiration.

"But this event, which so gratified his father, filled the heart of Chen-Ki with fury. Every body knows,' said he, that at the age of sixty man's powers fail; how much more feeble must they be at eighty? Did any one ever see flowers grow on a withered tree? I am sure that this child is not the son of my father, and I will never acknowledge one manifestly illegitimate, as my brother.'"

The scandal-mongers of the neighbourhood soon brought tidings of these calumnies to the governor, and he soon received proof that Chen-Ki was sincere in his declaration; for the young man refused to attend the feast Souïpan-hoeï, given when a boy attains the age of twelve months, when the emblems of war and writing are placed before him, that his choice may determine whether nature has designed him for a military or literary life. Vexed, as the governor justly was, he resolved to suppress his wrath, rather than afford Chen-Ki an excuse for taking vengeance on his younger brother.

"Four springs passed, and the boy had now attained his fifth year. The old man, seeing that he was endowed with rare intelligence, but that, on the other hand, he was wasting his time in sport and play, resolved to send him to school. As the elder brother was called Chen-Ki, he named the younger Chen-Chu, which has nearly the same signification.

"A fortunate day being chosen, the governor prepared a collation, and sent

Chen-Chu to invite the teacher selected to superintend his education."

The teacher chosen was the same to whom Chen-Ki had entrusted his son. Fearing that the young uncle and nephew would become acquainted, Chen-Ki removed his boy to another academy. When the governor heard home from making inquiries on the this, he was so agitated, that returning and fell, severely wounded. His young subject, he tripped over his threshold wife employed all the means in her power to restore his health, and summoned an able physician to her aid, but the resources of art were unavailing, and the physician declared that he had only two days to live.

"At this intelligence Chen-Ki cast many secret glances at the physician, and observed with joy that he was telling the truth. Thenceforward he began to make a noise in the house; scolding and beating the servants; directing every thing, and acting as if already a master. The old man perceived it, and the grief such conduct occasioned, accelerated the progress of disease. His young wife ceased not to lament and groan; his child went no longer to school, but remained to watch by the bed of his father.

"The governor perceiving his end approach, called to him his eldest son, and taking the register of his lands and houses, placed it in his hands, and said

Chen-Chu is only five years old; he wants a guardian. His mother is too young to superintend my house; if I give her any part of my fortune, she will not know how to employ it. I think it, therefore, better to make you my sole heir. If Chen-Chu attains the age of manhood, I beg of you to act as his father. Provide him with a farm, give him a small house and five or six acres of land, that he may escape thirst and hunger, and be able to provide for his wants. ... If Mei-Chi, (the young wife,) wishes to form a new alliance, permit her; but if restraint on her inclinations. When I shall she desires to continue a widow, place no be no more, punctually execute my last commands; filial piety, and ensure my repose in the thus you will display your world of shadows."

Chen-Ki having received the schedule, went from his father's presence transported with joy. As soon as he had departed, Mei-Chi remonstrated with the old man on an arrangement

"It is a family portrait," replied the governor, "and contains a very important secret; take care to keep it sacredly, and shew it not to any body. But when your son attains maturity, if Chen-Ki shews him no attention, carefully keep your secret, and wait until they point you out a wise, upright magistrate, endowed with rare penetration; shew him this mysterious painting; tell him my last words, and request him to explain the enigma of the picture. The desired explanation will naturally offer itself to his mind, and afterwards you will obtain sufficient to provide you and your son, not merely with the necessaries but the comforts of life."

After the death of the governor, Chen-Ki acted as had been anticipated. He drove Mei-Chi and her child from the palace, but permitted them to occupy a dilapidated cottage, which stood at the extremity of the grounds. By the labour of her hands she contrived to support herself and Chen-Chu, until the latter had attained his fourteenth year. At this age he began to reflect on his condition, and to contrast the meanness of his appearance with his noble birth. Contrary to the advice of his mother, he went to remonstrate with Chen-Ki on the subject, and he, to avoid further importunity, sent Mei-Chi and the boy to a distant and barren farm, of which he gave them full possession-an act of generosity that cost him nothing, for the farmhouse was a ruin, and the land worthless. To console Chen-Chu in his desolate exile, Mei-Chi told him the secret of the mysterious painting, and permitted him to see it. He beheld the portrait of an aged man, richly clothed, with hair white as snow, pressing with one hand an infant to his bosom, and pointing with the other to the ground. The mother and son wearied themselves with conjectures respecting the mystery concealed in

the picture, and at length laid it aside in despair.

A few days afterwards, Chen-Chu, whilst going to a neighbouring town, heard an anecdote of a magistrate, named Teng, who had, with singular sagacity, discovered the real perpetrators of a murder, and delivered from danger those who had been falsely accused. It was a case of circumstantial evidence, and all its particulars are fully detailed by our author. The case gives us a complete view of the administration of criminal justice in China, but it is too long to be extracted, and the parts of the evidence so closely linked together, that a portion of it would scarcely be intelligible. Suffice it to say, that Teng displays as much ingenuity as Sir Andrew Wylie, on the trial of the gipsey, in Galt's best novel.

To this magistrate Chen-Chu resolved to apply. Accompanied by his mother, he brought the picture to Lord Teng, detailed all the circumstances, and solicited his aid. For many successive days, Teng tried to solve the enigma in vain : at length chance came to his aid. Having accidentally spilled a cup of tea on the painting, he went to hang it up to dry; but some of the paint being rubbed off, he perceived something like writing on a sheet of paper, behind that on which the picture was drawn. It is scarcely necessary to say that the paper used by the Chinese is very thin, and becomes transparent when moistened. Teng immediately removed the picture, and found under it a paper written by the governor, in which, having stated his dread of the avarice of Chen-Ki, he had bequeathed to Chen-Chu only a little cottage to the left of his palace; adding that the bequest was more valuable in reality than in appearance; for in a specified part of it he had concealed a large treasure of gold aud silver; a portion of which he designed for the intelligent magistrate that should first penetrate the mystery of the picture.

Teng now summoned Chen-Ki to appear before him, and declared that on an appointed day he would take cognizance of the question of the inhe ritance. When the day came, Chen-Ki appeared with a numerous train of friends and relations. Mei-Chi and

her son stood by themselves. Teng soon arrived he affected to pronounce some mysterious words, and perform certain magical ceremonies, as he entered the house; and when he came into the hall, he turned to the seat which the late governor used to occupy, and made a profound salute, as if he had been actually present. While all present stood petrified with astonishment, he pretended to hold a conversation with the governor's ghost; and in obedience to the spirit's commands, he summoned all present to follow him. At the same time he described from the picture so accurately the size, ap pearance, and dress of the deceased, that all were terrified and persuaded of the reality of the apparition. When they reached the cottage, Teng declared that this, with its contents, was the only inheritance which the old governor designed for Chen-Chu; a declaration which filled Chen-Ki with joy, and Mei-Chi with consternation. Teng then commanded Chen-Ki to make a formal assignment of the cottage, with its contents, to Chen-Chu, which he readily did. The magistrate then declared that the ghost of the

governor had revealed to him the place where he had concealed the treasure designed for the support o his younger son. Labourers wref instantly procured, and the treasure, of course, found. Obeying the pretended commands of the spirit, Teng took the portion designed for the person who would discover the secret. On the following day he returned the picture to Mei-Chi, and thus destroyed the romance of the best authenticated ghost-story that could have been related within the circle of the celestial empire.

The third tale is entitled "The two Brothers of different Sexes." It is exceedingly interesting; but the specimens we have already given are sufficient to show the nature of the romantic literature of China. Besides, as Stanislas Julien announces his intention of speedily translating some more dramas and tales, we shall have an opportunity of again directing the attention of our readers to the subject, if their reception of the present article proves Chinese literature to be a topic in which they feel any interest.

ADVENA.

I never have been able fully to make up my mind, whether the man who takes crosses and disappointments with easy indifference, or he who is sensibly and (to a degree) fretfully affected by them, is to be preferred. It is scarcely in my nature to tolerate a creature so divested of sensibility even for himself, that he cannot be disturbed. He affronts my sympathies-he seems unworthy of good fortune, who treats ill fortune with an equal complement of smiles, and hums a tune as vigorously when his banker breaks, with his year's income in said banker's hands, as when he gets a prize in the lottery. On the other hand, what can be more odious than the man who allows small annoyances to convert him into a savage, or he, who, when the blue devils, or any more substantial enemies than these azure fiends, attack him, instead of taking his glass like a man, cries, give me some drink, Mrs. Brady," like a sick girl? I have read in some philosophic work, that the lady who hears of the loss of a child, or the loss of a pool at loo, with the same genteel absence of emotion, is scarcely to be esteemed, and I agree with the sentiment and judgment of the writer. I have known a man fret himself nearly into a fever, because he had not oil and condiments with his salmon, instead of lobster sauce, and I have said, surely this is folly-so it comes to this, that there is an aurea mediocritas in the temper with which we should bear things not pleasant to us, as well as in other matters. Upon the whole, a habit of resignation to what happens, is perhaps the best.

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"Permittes ipsis expendere numinibus, quid Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris." Permit the Gods themselves to rule our fate, And fix whate'er is fittest for our state.

Yet carry not this too far, lest the tide of thy affections be held back by the VOL. III.

ice of thy philosophy-lest the blossoms of joy, and the dew-drops of sorrow be given up for the dry wood of stoicism. One thing is clear, that the same temper which enjoys keenly, will suffer in its turn when the occasion comes; for it is true, though "put in a ballad," that

"The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers Is always the first to be touched by the thorns." But what has all this to do with your journey ? cry fifteen hundred of my readers at once. A great deal, my dear ladies and gentlemen. Remember ye how ye left me at the end of the last chapter, "perplexed in the extreme," and ordering tea for my body's solacement, and to bring my perturbed spirits to rest!

The reflections with which I have just troubled you, were those that occurred to me as I walked up the stairs of the Peacock at Islington. By the way, for fear of a misunderstanding, you are to take notice that in England we commonly call Inns by the names of the signs that now are, or heretofore have been, suspended over the doors thereof-therefore, when I speak of the stairs of the Peacock, I mean the stairs of the inn so called. It may not be impertinent to note also in this place, (that which by my travels I have discovered) namely, that there are sundry buildings or collections of buildings, in London, called "Inns," and dedicated to the use chiefly of lawyers, which are by no means "houses of entertainment." This I think

it right to insert in my chapters, for the benefit of the unwary.

It was a mistake, or rather an error of judgment, arising from my rustic innocence, to have ordered tea. Tell me not of its refreshing qualities-I know them perfectly. It does excellent well in the country, where things are quiet and tea-like round about you, and where

2 T