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1885.] WITHIN HIS DANGER:

A TALE FROM THE CHINESE.

"You stand within his danger, do you not?" – Merchant of Venice.

" it comes to pass that when men return home [from Hang-chow] they say they have been to the City of Heaven, and their only desire is to get back thither as soon as possible." Thus wrote Marco Polo. The modern Chinaman, breathing the same enthusiastic admiration for the most beautiful city in Eastern Asia, says, "See Hang-chow and die;" and unless we are to suppose that every traveller who has visited the town has been a victim to hallucinations, there are few spots on the surface of the earth which surpass in bright beauty the city and neighbourhood of Hang-chow. Earth, sky, and water there combine to form one of the most lovely pieces of landscape-gardening on a gigantic scale that it is possible to imagine; while the coloured roofs of the yamun and pagodas, the countless bridges and splendid temples of the city, present objects of man's art which are not unworthy of their natural surroundings. Even the wondrous beauty of the lake which washes the western wall of the city, is held to be heightened by the temples, palaces, and pavilions which adorn the islands scattered over its surface; while all around it, in the words of the Venetian traveller, which are as true now as they were in the thirteenth century, "are erected beautiful palaces and mansions, of the richest and most exquisite structure that you can imagine, belonging to the nobles of the city."

On summer evenings it is the habit of these noble citizens to take their pleasure on the lake in barges, which reflect in their bright decorations and luxurious fittings the meretricious beauty of their surroundings. In such a galley, one glorious evening in early autumn, the magistrate of Hang-chow was taking his ease at the close of a hard day's work, and by contact with the fresh breezes of heaven, was seeking to rid himself of the taint of chicanery, bribery, and intrigue which infected every nook and corner of his yamun. His compagnon de voyage was a Mr Tso, an old resident at Hang-chow, and one in whose judgment the magistrate placed much confidence. Being rich and independent, he could afford to hold his own opinions, even when they clashed with those of his present host; and accustomed as the magistrate was to the society of toadies, it was refreshing to find a man who did not hesitate to contradict him to his face. The evening was one rather for still enjoyment than for much talking, and for some minutes not a word had been spoken between the friends, when, on rounding a point in the lake, the boat sailed into view of the house and grounds, famed in local history as being the most beautiful among the beautiful, and as having descended in the Ts'èng family from father to son through countless generations.

"Well," said the magistrate, after gazing long and admiringly at the landscape, "if I were not the magistrate of Hang-chow, I would