The King sent the son of Jing Shuh to Loo with friendly inquiries. 4. There was the burial of Duke Hwan of Ch'ing. 5. We walled Chuh-Kew. 6. In autumn, an army of Ts'ae, an army of Wei, and an army of Ch'in followed the King and invaded Ch'ing. 7. There was a grand sacrifice for rain. 8. There were locusts. 9. In winter, the Duke of Chow went to Ts'aou." We have happened upon a year rather below the average in military expeditions. True, there was more fighting than one would infer from the text, for our commentator Tso tells us that the third entry refers to an attempt which was made to surprise the city of Ke. This attempt alarmed Loo, we are told, and led to the fortification of the city recorded in the fifth entry. So that three records out of nine are warlike. But in many years every other line is a battle or a siege.

Tso gives an interesting description of the gallant struggle of the little earldom of Ch'ing against the royal forces and their allies. The earl drew up his men in squares, as our great duke did at Waterloo. Each square contained twenty-five chariots, each chariot supported by five files of five men each. The square therefore consisted of fourteen hundred and fifty men. The total of Ch'ing's army is not given, a piece of information generally omitted in these narratives. But the army was marshalled in the orthodox way, having a centre and right and left wings. The earl strictly charged his squares not to move until they saw his flag wave, and then to advance with drums beating and fall upon the foe. The moment came, and the Ch'ingites charged the king's allies, who could not stand the shock, but broke and fled. The three divisions then made a combined attack on the royal army, which received a great defeat; the king himself being wounded by an arrow in the shoulder. The earl was overawed by his own success, and stopped the pursuit, for reverence for the royal dignity was still strong enough to make him shrink from the reputation of having not only defeated, but captured or slain, his liege lord. This narrative is brief; but some of Tso's descriptions of battles cover two or three pages, and we find abundant indications that the states of the Chow dynasty were no novices in the art of war. Yet the primitive age of war in which the personal prowess of the individual warrior was almost as effective in deciding the battle as the skill of the general had not wholly gone by. We read again and again of the exploits of doughty chieftains who signalised their strength and valour in many a tough conflict. One incident is peculiarly interesting because the hero was no other than the father of the great sage Confucius. Shuh Leang Heih was one of a band which attempted to surprise a strongly fortified place, by the common expedient of getting the gate opened to admit a waggon-load of provisions. But, once in, the attacking party found themselves in a trap, for the townswere ready in force, and behind them the portcullis was being lowered. Heih, who was possessed of extraordinary strength, sprang back and held up the portcullis with both hands, keeping his post until the storming party was safe outside.

men

The war-chariots give quite an Homeric flavour to these battle-pieces.

Cavalry appear never to have been employed, but the chiefs led their hundreds or thousands of chariots, drawn by four horses abreast, to the field, each of which carried three men-the charioteer in the centre, a bowman on his left, and a spearman on his right. When two armies were encamped opposite to each other, hesitating to begin the decisive battle, sometimes a chariot went out to flout the enemy, and provoke him to the fray. On one occasion three gallant warriors drove up to the camp of Tsin; the archer shot an arrow into the camp, the spearman entered, slew his man, and cut off his ear as a trophy, carried another bodily away, while the charioteer coolly dusted his horses and arranged the harness. The soldiers of Tsin could not stand this insolence, and their chariots were quickly in pursuit in two divisions. Yoh Peh, the archer, kept them in check by shooting horses and drivers right and left, until he had but one arrow left. At that moment a stag bounded up from the forest, and crossed right before his chariot. Yoh Peh shot the animal with his last arrow, and the spearman, Sheh Shuh, descended from the chariot, took up the venison, and politely offered it to the foremost pursuer, with the remark, "It is out of season, but I venture to present this to feast your followers." Paou Kwei, of Tsin, was struck by the cool gallantry of the deed, and stopped the pursuit ; so the chariot returned in safety. There was no lack of courage among these buff-coated warriors. Here is an account of a desperate fight between Tsin and Ts'e. The signal to advance was given by beating a drum in the commander-in-chief's chariot, which also bore his flag. Early in the fight the general of Tsin was wounded by an arrow, but he continued beating the drum till the blood ran down his shoes, when he began to waver. His charioteer said, "I have had one arrow through my hand, and another through my arm; but while one of us three is alive to hold the reins this chariot must go forward. The eyes and ears of the army are on our flag and drum." He then held the reins in his left hand and beat the drum with his right. The well-trained steeds rushed on, and that day the Tsinites gained a great victory.

There was a chivalry about these old soldiers, a boldness of speech and fidelity to their word, which contrast strongly with our idea of the modern Chinaman. The Marquis of Tsin was for long a refugee in Ts'oo, until at last there seemed an opening for his return. Tsin and Ts'oo were rivals contending for the supremacy which was dropping from the feeble hands of the royal house of Chow. Some advised the viscount of Ts'oo not to permit the marquis to return, lest it should be the worse for Ts'oo, when so able a man governed the rival state. The viscount invited the exiled marquis to a banquet, and in the course of conversation, asked, "Suppose you were seated on your ancestral throne, and war broke out between Tsin and Ts'oo, what would you do?" The other replied, "If our forces were face to face in hostile array, in remembrance of your kind hospitality, and permitting me to regain my rights, I would retire before you for three marches. If after that you persisted in your wish to manoeuvre with me, I would not refuse to submit to your commands." The plain English of

this polite phrase is, "If you want to fight, I'll be ready for you." Years after, when the quondam exile was a mighty prince, war arose between Tsin and Ts'oo. The marquis did not forget his promise. Thrice he retired before his enemy. Ts'oo pressed on, and then the marquis turned and inflicted on his old host a crushing defeat. This is but one among

many instances of the display of a lofty nobility of spirit among the ancestors of the arrogant but pusillanimous Chinese whom we know.

In the Ch'un Ts'ew period fighting was the serious business of life for the noble and his retainers at least, but the wearer of the peaceful toga sometimes attained a worthier fame than any captain renowned in arms. The civil government was evidently regarded with great seriousness, even reverence, as a sacred office in which the welfare of the people ought to be the first object. Those dukes and earls were most of them licentious and cruel tyrants, and frequently they found prime ministers who played jackal to their masters' tiger. But it was not always so. Among the civil magistrates there were those who displayed a calm courage in rebuking or remonstrating with their despotic masters and a heroic readiness to die for their principles, which outvie the rude valour of the warrior tribe. We read in this book very little about the divine right of kings, though that was an article of their creed; but much about the divine duty of kings. Some of these councillors dared to tell their lords of their faults in plain speech. Others lay in wait for a suitable opportunity. Such an one was Gan-tsze of Ts'e. He was a trusty servant to the Duke of Ts'e, and one day the duke said to him, "Your house is too near the market. The noise and dust must annoy you. Besides, it is too small. I will build you a better one." Gan-tsze declined the offer on the plea that what was good enough for his father was good enough for him; "besides," said he," it is so convenient to live near the market, I can always get what I want easily." The duke laughingly rejoined, " Of course you know the prices of things, then. Tell me what is cheap and what is dear." Gan-tsze replied, "Shoes for people whose toes have been cut off are dear, but other shoes are cheap." Cutting off the toes was one of the forms of punishment in Ts'e, and this duke was so severe in inflicting it that there were persons who sold shoes specially made for the toeless.

Gan-tsze's reply set the duke thinking, and from that time he diminished the severity of his judgments. Afterwards, however, he took advantage of Gan-tsze's absence on an embassy to erect a fine mansion for him, to make room for which he pulled down some houses of the common people, and of course without going through the formality of getting an Act of Parliament passed, and providing compensation for the evicted proprietors. Gan-tsze came back, and learnt what was done. He went to court, reported his mission, and returned thanks for the ducal favour in presenting him with so splendid an abode. He then went home, had the new house rased to the ground, rebuilt the dwellings which had stood on the site, and reinstalled their inhabitants. A fine character was Gan-tsze, and one feels inclined to shake hands with him

Tsze-chan,

across the ages, and tell him how much we admire him. whom we mentioned in a former number as the butt of Leih-tsze's wit, was one of the noblest of these upright ministers; but his story would take too long.

Many interesting particulars of old Chinese life may be gathered from these pages. Some features of society then were repulsively cruel. Punishments were barbarous. The practice of interring living persons with the dead at the funerals of great men was not unknown, though it seems not to have been common. We find no traces of idolatry, but a simple form of monotheism, combined with the worship of the spirits of nature and of deceased ancestors, prevailed. Details of their daily life are abundant. We learn that they were fond of music and of chess. There is quite a detailed account of the formation of a fire-brigade in one city-perhaps the earliest organised precaution against fire ever undertaken. And, strange to say, amid this medley of fighting lords and barons, an enthusiastic precursor of the Peace Society started an attempt to put down war, and effect universal peace, by the establishment of a congress and court of appeal for all the states; and he met with much encouragement too in high quarters, and gained a great though shortlived fame. We promise any one who is daring enough to face the formidable-looking Chinese characters arrayed in solid columns in the text, and scattered up and down in the notes of Dr. Legge's translation, and patient enough to thread the story from page to page, that he will find an abundant reward in the pleasure of becoming acquainted with a new and most interesting chapter of the world's history.

F. S. T

Agathe Marron:

The Story of a New Caledonian Deportée.

I.

ON April 28, 1871, the Communal insurrection of Paris had been lasting one month and ten days; and on the night of that 28th a frightful artillery combat took place, which resulted in the defeat of the insurgents, and was the first signal of their final overthrow, which came to pass four weeks later. At seven o'clock in the evening the batteries established by the Versailles troops on the heights of Meudon, the Plateau of Chatillon, and the Moulin de Pierre opened a raking fire on Forts Issy and Vanves and the bastions at the city gates of Vanves and Vaugirard. It was like a deluge of flame and iron which fell on those doomed points. The resistance offered by a rabble soldiery, ill-officered, insubordinate, and mostly the worst for wine, was at first wild, and by-and-by slackened hopelessly, then ceased. At midnight Fort Vanves was reduced to silence; and Fort Issy, become a heap of ruins, was precipitately abandoned by its garrison, headed by the notorious Mégy. The rebel artillerymen, infantry, and the men employed as sappers to dig trenches, filed in disorder, leaving their guns, and throwing away rifles, shovels, pickaxes, and ammunition, to run the faster. Most of them bawled that they had been betrayed; and the valour of their commander, who was galloping away on a grey horse, unheeding his men, and concerned only about his own safety, was not calculated to dispel that notion. Mégy was a convict who had been sentenced to penal servitude for life, under the Empire, for having murdered a police detective, but had been released after the Revolution of September 4. He was as queer a character as any to be found in the herd of self-seeking mountebanks who were then flaunting the banner of social regeneration in Paris.

Meanwhile, the success of the Versailles artillery enabled Generals de Cissey and Faron to make a double attack at daybreak on the Farm of Bonnemy and the Park of Issy, which the dismantled forts had protected. Conducted with great spirit, the two attacks were victorious. At Bonnemy, the rebels, dislodged at the bayonet's point, lost 30 men and 2 officers killed and 75 made prisoners; at Issy an hour's fighting got the better of 2,000 Communalists, who lost 300 killed, 100 prisoners, 8 pieces of artillery, 4 wagon-loads of stores, and 8 horses. As usual, the survivors fled pell-mell, one company being mixed with another, and the officers making no attempt to rally their men or control them. In such plight, by squads of ten and twenty, exhausted, panic-stricken, and