losopher. Over and above the power of seeing truly, he has that of making just reflections on the things which he has seen. The moralist is always there, lurking behind the historian and the archæologist. After remarking on the great irregularity of the streets of Dijon he observes: "But let us not complain too much of this; and above all, let us not blame the spirit of the Middle Ages! Dijon grew up of itself, a little at haphazard, with the independence which is a characteristic of its people. And if our reason is sometimes outraged by its incongruities do we not find ample compensations? ... Positively, when we remember the difficulties with which our fathers had to contend, we wonder how they managed to live at all. But live they did; and gaily. They bore their troubles better than we bear ours. A regular visitation of the plague had no more effect on them, than the mild epidemics of to-day have upon ourselves; putting many of us to flight, and robbing the rest of their wits.

It will be seen that our sage cherishes no extravagant faith in the so-called progress of civilization. It is not that Le is prejudiced against the present; but he loves the past as well as he knows it; and this is at all events a precious quality in a historian. It enables M. Chabeuf to study with impartial sympathy, every one of the successive phases in the development of Dijon; finding, in each, the expression of some special ideal, either of luxurious refinement, or of tranquil happiness; finding in each also, under a new aspect but essentially unchanged by time, the same healthful and well-known Dijonian mind. So he goes from quarter to quarter. hunting for the slightest vestiges of the vanished times. Now he describes the monuments of his beloved town, and now he recounts their history; and yet again, he takes them for a text, and reconstructs around them the entire epoch to which they bear witness. Happy town-where every epoch has left some enduring

trace!

Translated for the LIVING AGE.

From Good Words.

CLEMATIS.

(FROM THE CHINESE.)
PART II.

So saying Chang led the way to the point of view in question, from which the two young men gazed in admiration at the mass of blossom which looked as though it had been dyed in blood, so brilliant was its hue. After a lengthened contemplation of the scene they returned to the study where Chang, who was haunted with the fear that he might be summoned to Pai's repast before the song was finished, at once spread paper before his friend. With an imagination influenced by the beauty of the blossom, Su poured forth his ideas in dulcet numbers.

"These are my rough, untaught lines," he said, as he handed the result to Chang. “I pray you not to jeer at them."

But Chang was in no humor to jeer. He took the paper and read its contents with delight. Not once but several times he conned the song over, until Su muttered to himself, "He looks as though he was learning it by heart."

While they were thus engaged a servant entered.

"My master," he said, addressing Chang, "is in the study of Dreamy Carelessness and invites you, sir, to converse with him there."

"There is no reason why you should go," said Chang, rising to obey the summons. "I shall not be long away, and you will find this very quiet and enjoyable."

"Su was not at all unwilling to remain, for he was anxious to find out all he could about Clematis. Meanwhile, having put Su's song into his sleeve, Chang went over to the study of Dreamy Carelessness where he was welcomed by Pai, who invited him to a repast under the red pear-tree.

"Seated as we are to-day," he said, "beneath these flowers, the opportunity should not be missed of expressing our admiration in verse, and I would suggest that you should write me a song."

Chang, secure in his recollection of Su's lines, replied cheerily, "How dare I decline?"

Then, having refreshed himself with an extra glass of wine, he assumed the attitude of one in deep thought, and presently wrote from memory the first few stanzas of Su's song. Towards the end, however, his memory failed him. Under other circumstances he would have become flurried by this mishap, but the consciousness that he had the original at hand gave him courage, and making an excuse he retired behind a bank of flowers where he read and reread the required verses. With his memory refreshed he returned, and with a flowing pencil completed the song.

"This is indeed a wonderful performance," said Pai, as he looked over the paper. "The measure is harmonious and the diction is perfect. The time must assuredly come when you will give me the go-by in honor and reputation."

"How is it possible," answered Chang, "to compare a clod beneath the grass with a cloud which floats in the azure?"

While the two were thus conversing the demon of unrest impelled Clematis to test the truth of Primrose's description of Chang by the evidence of her own senses. So, taking advantage of the absence of her maid, she stealthily made her way towards the Pavilion of Flowers. Cautiously she crept under the bushes with so light a foot that sne surprised the birds enjoying their midday rest and deluded them by her beauty into the belief that she was some new invention of the "Goddess of a Hundred Flowers." Just as she approached the pavilion, Su sauntered out, and as he stood gazing on scene of floral beauty about him, with all the delicacy of youth in his appearance, Clematis was lost in surprise and admiration. To her astonished eyes he looked like a god rising from the flowers, and seemed to be rippling over, like an autumn wave, with the inspiration of genius. Motionless she watched his every movement until he turned

the

back into the pavilion, when she hurried to her boudoir filled with indignation against Primrose for having maligned the figure and features of the poet.

As she entered she was met by that young person, who exclaimed, "where have you been, miss? I have been looking for you everywhere to tell you that dinner is ready."

Clematis was so angry that she passed her without a word. Primrose, who saw the unwonted look of displeasure on her mistress's brow, asked the cause of her anger.

"You faithless girl," replied Clematis, "how could you bring so false a report. You might have destroyed the happiness of my life."

"You must be joking, miss; how have I deceived you?"

"Did you not tell me that Chang was ugly?"

"Oh, said Primrose, laughing, "that's my fault, is it?" All I can say is that I am not only willing to be abused but to be put to death if Chang is anything but what I represented him to be."

or

"You must be either truthless blind, then," said Clematis, still boiling over with anger. "I have seen him myself, and in the whole empire he has not got his equal."

"Why, this is strange. How can you, miss, talk so of such a man? But perhaps you have made a mistake and have seen the wrong young gentleman."

"Who could there possibly be in the pavilion in the garden beside him?"

"I don't know, but from your description it could not have been Chang. Let me go and make another inspection."

Not having the same motive for secrecy that actuated Clematis, Primrose walked into the garden and was speedily discovered by Su, who observed her pear-shaped shoulders, her willow waist, her pretty features and her graceful gait with considerable interest. Coming behind her he put his hand on her shoulder and said:

"My pretty miss, whose maid you?"

At first Primrose was too much overcome by the sight of the youth and beauty of Su to answer, but presently recovered sufficiently to reply, "I wait upon Miss Pai."

"Then you afford another instance of the truth of the saying, 'Like mistress like maid,'" said Su, looking at her with admiration.

Primrose blushed and smiled, and in her turn asked, "And what daring butterfly are you who have thus ventured to enter the garden of flowers?"

"I am Su, the writer of some verses on the spring willows, and though my poem was not successful with your mistress, I cannot tear myself away from this spot."

"You look like a scholar," said Primrose. "How can it be that your verses were rejected?"

"My poem was hastily written, and Miss Pai did not think it worthy the award. But what I do not understand is this: how your mistress with her learning and penetration can have preferred the verses of a man who deserves only to be laughed at."

"You must not speak slightingly of Mr. Chang. In appearance I admit," said Primrose, with a smile, "he is not to be compared with you, but his poetry is excellent."

"Your explanation only makes matters more difficult to understand than ever. If his appearance had pleased your mistress I could have excused it, for young ladies take queer fancies; but that she should have thought well of his poetry is strange indeed."

"People have their taste in poetry as in other things," said Primrose, who was rather nettled at Clematis's taste being called in question.

said

"You must not think that my mistress is unfair in her judgment. If you are dissatisfied why not write out again the piece you sent in and I will carry it to her. Possibly she may find in it some pearls which she overlooked at first."

"If you will do this for me," said Su, "I shall be eternally grateful to you."

"Well, then, set to work at once," said Primrose, "for I ought to be going back."

Without more ado Su took a sheet of flowery note paper, and having seated himself took off his spectacles to wipe them. The depth of his feelings had bedewed their surface.

"How odd you look without your glasses," said Primrose, who had watched the proceeding with some amusement.

"I am obliged to wear them always," explained Su, "for my sight is peculiar. Without them I see everything upside down. At the present moment you look as if you were standing on your head."

"Then put them on at once," said Primrose, laughing.

Su obeyed, and in a very few minutes handed the maid a copy of the original ode.

With an air of triumph, Primrose entered Clematis's presence.

"I knew you were mistaken, miss," she said.

"How do you mean?" asked Clematis.

"Why if Chang were anything like the very nice young gentleman you saw in the garden, he would indeed be delightful."

"If it was not Chang, who was it?"
"A friend of his-Su."
"What is he doing here?"

"He says that he sent you an ode on the spring willows which was not more successful in winning your favor than he is in trying to tear himself from this spot."

At these words, Clematis's willowleaved eyebrows lowered, and the ap

too impudent. That song is also mine," and then he told Primrose by what means he had been induced to write the song. "Who would have thought," he added, "that in obeying his request I was weaving his marriage robe?"

"Well, really," said Primrose, "there are so many twists and turns in this business as there are bends in the Yellow River. But just wait until I go to the Fragrant Apartment to consult my lady. Depend upon it I will do all I can to help you."

Su made the maid a low bow. "For every drop of kindness which you have showered upon me I shall owe you a well of gratitude."

Presently Primrose returned, and with a queer twinkle in her eye, which Su interpreted propitiously, she said: "My mistress still thinks there is something doubtful about you, and says that if you are willing to give her an indisputable instance of your ability she is prepared with themes on which she would ask you to write in my presence."

Su accepted the proposal with pleas

ure.

laugh

"Take care," said Primrose, ing; "the themes are not easy. They are 'Speed the wild goose,' and 'Welcome the swallow.' The alternate lines of the first ode are to rhyme with 'not,' and those of the second with ‘alight,' and each is to consist of eight heptameter verses."

The themes are not difficult, but what a profound sentiment they contain."

"How do you mean?"

"We are just at the parting of spring, when the swallows come, and the wild geese take their flight. 'Speeding the wild goose,' means that your young lady wants to get rid of Chang, and the rhyming word means that he is 'not' worthy to be considered a man; and welcoming the swallow means, that she desires to receive me, and is minded that we should alight for life on to the same bough. Is not this clever?"

"Don't be too sanguine," said Primrose, making a faint-hearted attempt to

damp his ardor. "Remember sorrow is born of excessive joy. There is more yet to come. Each line is to begin with one of these words in succession, 'Gold,' 'Stone,' 'Silk,' 'Bamboo,' 'Gourd,' 'Earth,' 'Hide,' or as the word otherwise means 'Removed,' and 'Wood.' My young lady says that marriage is a most important matter, and so it is," interjected Primrose demurely.

"She is right," said Su ecstatically, "such virtue and ability make a picture which man may gaze at forever."

So overpowered was Su by his emotions that for a moment or two his poetic inspiration remained dormant. By degrees however, his imagination bubbled up like a spring of water, and seizing his pencil he wrote with the speed of a flying dragon. In an inconceivably short time he had scattered his pearls over the entire paper with the ability of a god.

"I am much afraid that these hasty lines will not please the fastidious taste of your mistress," said he, as he put down his pencil.

"Your despicable handmaid will take charge of your priceless ode," said Primrose, carried away into courtly language by her admiration of Su's genius. "But it is now late and I must go in," she added, dropping into pure colloquial. "Be here to-morrow at noon, when I may possibly have news for you."

So saying, Primrose took her departure and hurried with the odes up her sleeve into the presence of her mistress.

"Well," she said as she advanced, "that Mr. Su has at all events a full share of penetration."

"How do you know that?"

"Why, directly I gave him your themes he divined your meaning as though by instinct, and quite bored me with his praises of your wisdom," she added, laughing.

"Never mind that," replied her mistress. "But tell me how you bave come back so soon? Has he taken the themes away with him?"

"How do you know that I have not got the odes?" said Primrose, smiling.