"From of old down to the present time our sages have devoted
themselves to the written character—that fairest jewel in heaven
above or earth beneath. Those, therefore, who are stimulated by a
thirst for fame, strive to attain their end by the excellency of
their compositions; others, attracted by desire for wealth, pursue
their object with the help of day-book and ledgers. In both cases
men would be helpless without a knowledge of the art of writing.
How, indeed, could despatches be composed, agreements drawn up,
letters exchanged, and genealogies recorded, but for the
assistance of the written character? By what means would a man
chronicle the glory of his ancestors, indite the marriage deed, or
comfort anxious parents when exiled to a distant land? In what way
could he secure property to his sons and grandchildren, borrow or
lend money, enter into partnership, or divide a patrimony, but
with the testimony of written documents? The very labourer in the
fields, tenant of a few acres, must have his rights guaranteed in
black and white; and household servants require more than verbal
assurance that their wages will not fail to be paid. The
prescription of the physician, about to call back some suffering
patient from the gates of death, is taken down with pen and ink;
and the prognostication of the soothsayer, warning men of evil or
predicting good fortune, exemplifies in another direction the use
of the written character. In a word, the art of writing enriches
and ennobles man, hands him over to life or death, confers upon
him honours and distinctions, or covers him with abuse and shame.

"Of late, however, our schools have turned out an arrogant and
ignorant lot—boys who venture to use old books for wrapping
parcels or papering windows, for boiling water, or wiping the
table; boys, I say, who scribble over their books, who write
characters on wall or door, who chew up the drafts of their poems,
or throw them away on the ground. Let all such be severely
punished by their masters that they may be saved, while there is
yet time, from the wrath of an avenging Heaven. Some men use old
pawn-tickets for wrapping up things—it may be a cabbage or a
pound of bean-curd. Others use lottery-tickets of various
descriptions for wrapping up a picked vegetable or a slice of
pork, with no thought of the crime they are committing as long as
there is a cash to be made or saved. So also there are those who
exchange their old books for pumeloes or ground-nuts, to be
defiled with the filth of the waste-paper basket, and passed from
hand to hand like the cheques of the barbarian. Alas, too, for
women when they go to fairs, for children who are sent to market!
They cannot read one single character: they know not the priceless
value of written paper. They drop the wrapping of a parcel in the
mire for every passer-by to tread under foot. Their crime,
however, will be laid at the door of those who erred in the first
instance (i.e., those who sold their old books to the
shopkeepers). For they hoped to squeeze some profit, infinitesimal
indeed, out of tattered or incomplete volumes; forgetting in their
greed that they were dishonouring the sages, and laying up for
themselves certain calamity. Why then sacrifice so much for such
trifling gain? How much better a due observance of time-honoured
custom, ensuring as it would a flow of prosperity continuous and
everlasting as the waves of the sea! O ye merchants and
shopkeepers, know that in heaven as on earth written words are
esteemed precious as the jade, and whatever is marked therewith
must not be cast aside like stones and tiles. For happiness,
wealth, honours, distinctions, and old age, may be one and all
secured by a proper respect for written paper."