On the green and flowery banks of the beautiful Lake Tai-hoo, whose surface bears a thousand isles, resting like emeralds amid translucent pearl, dwelt Whanki the mother of LÍ. The mother of LÍ! Ah happy distinction—ah envied title! For where, far or near, was the name could rank with LÍ on the scroll of learning—receiving even in childhood the title of the “Exiled Immortal,” from his skill in classic and historical lore!

Moreover, he was of a most beautiful countenance, while the antelope that fed among the hills was not more swift of foot. Who like LÍ could draw such music from the seven silken strings of the Kin! or when with graceful touch his fingers swept the lute, adding thereto the well-skilled melody of his voice, youths and maidens opened their ears to listen, for wonderful was the ravishing harmony.

Yet although the gods of learning smiled upon this youthful disciple of Confucius, poverty came also with her iron hand, and although she could not crush the active mind of LÍ, with a strong grip, she held him back from testing his skill with the ambitious literati, both old and young, who annually flocked to the capital to present their themes before the examiners. For even in those days as the present, money was required to purchase the smiles of these severe judges. They must read with golden spectacles—or wo to the unhappy youth who, buoyant with hope and—empty pockets, comes before them! With what contempt is his essay cast aside, not worth the reading!

Sorely vexed, therefore, was poor LÍ—and what wonder—to know that he might safely cope with any candidate in the “Scientific Halls,” yet dare not for the lack of sycee (silver) enter their gates, lest disgrace might fall upon him.

Yet LÍ was of a merry heart—and, as all the world knows, there is no better panacea for the ills of fortune than the spirit of cheerfulness. Thus, although poverty barred the way to promotion, it could not materially affect his happiness—no more than the passing wind which for a moment ruffled the surface of the lake, yet had no power to move its depths.

Now it happened that one day taking his nets LÍ went down to the lake, and as he cast them within the waters, not knowing any one was near, he broke forth into a merry song, which sent its glad burthen far off to the lips of mocking Echo, like Ariel, seeming to “ride on the curled clouds.” Now it also chanced, that within a grove of the graceful bamboo, which skirted the path down which LÍ had passed on his way, walked the great Mandarin Hok-wan.

“Hi! by the head of Confucius the fellow sings well!” he exclaimed, as the song met his ear, (for, as we have said, LÍ had a voice of rare melody,) and forthwith issuing from his concealment, Hok-wan seated himself upon the bank and entered into conversation with the young fisherman.

If the mere melody of the voice had so charmed the mandarin, how much more was he captivated by the wit and learning of the youth, who, thus poorly appareled, and humbly employed, seemed to share wisdom with the gods! Hok-wan stroked his eye-brows in astonishment, and then bidding LÍ leave his nets, he bore him off as a rare prize to his own house, where he that day feasted a numerous company.

First conducting LÍ to an inner apartment, he presented him with a magnificent robe richly embroidered, together with every article necessary to complete the toilet of a person of distinction, and when thus appareled, introduced him into the presence of his guests. And truly LÍ walked in among them with all the stateliness and hauteur of a man who feels that he is conferring an honor, instead of being honored, as no doubt LÍ should have considered himself, in such an august assemblage of grave mandarins. With what an air he seated himself at the sumptuously loaded table! where, according to Chinese custom of the higher classes, the various dishes of meats, soups, fish, preserves, etc., were all nearly hidden by large bouquets of beautiful flowers, and pyramids of green leaves.

And now no sooner had Hok-wan delivered with all customary formality the speech of welcome, and drained to the health of his guests the tiny goblet of crystal, embossed with gold, than rising to his feet, and joining his hands before his breast, in token of respect to his host, LÍ called a servant, and bidding him take a part from all the good things spread before him, said:

“Carry these to the dwelling of Whanki, the mother of LÍ. Say to her that as the sands on the lake shore, countless are the blessings of the gods, who have this day smiled upon her son. Bid her eat—for although from hunger he should gnaw his flesh, and from thirst drink his blood, yet not one morsel of this banquet shall pass the lips of LÍ unless his aged mother be also sustained by the same delicacies.”

At hearing which, all the mandarins, and Hok-wan himself, loudly expressed their admiration. Such is the esteem which the Chinese entertain for filial piety.

This duty discharged, LÍ attacked the dainties before him like a hungry soldier, yet seasoning all he said and did with so much wit and humor, that the guests laid down their chop-sticks and listened with wonder. With the wine, Li grew still more merry—his wit cut like hail-stones wheresoe’er it lighted, and at his jovial songs the grave dignitaries forgetting their rank, (somewhat washed away by copious draughts of sam-shu,^[1]) snapped their fingers, wagged their shorn heads, and even rising from the table embraced him familiarly. At length, when after an interval of a few hours their hilarity was somewhat abated, during which the guests walked in the beautiful gardens, or reclining upon luxuriant cushions, regaled themselves with their pipes, or in masticating their favorite betel-nut, LÍ made bare his bosom before them, and to their astonishment they found it was only a needy scholar whose praises they had been shouting.

A needy scholar!

How firmly they clutched their fobs, lest a candareen^[2] might jump into the pocket of the needy scholar. But of advice they were as profuse as grass-hoppers in August.

“Go to the capital—go to Kiang-fu,” (Nankin the ancient capital of the empire,) “thou wilt perplex the learned—thou wilt bewilder the ignorant!” said one.

“Hi! this fellow LÍ will yet stand with honor before the emperor,” cried another.

“Appear boldly in the ‘Scientific Halls’ before the Examiners,” said a third, “and never fear but thy name shall be cried at midnight from the highest tower in the city,^[3] as the successful LÍ, with whom no other candidate can compete!”

“When the wind blows over the fields does not the grass bend before it!” said Hok-wan. “When the great Ho speaks will not inferiors obey! the learned academician Ho is my brother—to him then you shall go—one word from him, and even the judges themselves shall cry your name.”

“Ivory does not come from a rat’s mouth, or gold from brass clippings,” thought LÍ, as he listened to these remarks—“a few candareens now would be better for me than all this fine talk—truly I must be a fool not to know all this stuff before. Yet by the sacred manes of my ancestors, I will go to the capital, and that, too, ere another sun ripens the rice-fields—furnished with a letter to the illustrious Ho, I may dare admittance.”

Giddy with wine, and with the excitement of high hopes for the future, at a late hour LÍ was borne in a sumptuous palankeen to the humble dwelling of Whanki.

The poor old soul at first knew not the gay gallant who stood before her, so much had the gift-robes of the mandarin changed his appearance.

“Heigh-yah! but, LÍ, thou art as fine as a magpie,” quoth she, raising her head from the pan of charcoal, over which she seemed to be simmering something in a small dish—“Heigh—and now I look at you again, I see you have drank of that cursed sam-shu—forever abhorred be the name of I-tih!^[4] with all thy wit dost thou not know the wise saying of Mencius—‘Like a crane among hens is a man of parts among fools.’ (It may be inferred, I think, that the good old Whanki was something of a scold.) And while thou hast been guzzling, see what I have prepared for thee—what had I to do with birds-nest soup, and with shark’s fins, and with pigeon’s eggs from the table of Hok-wan! My poor LÍ will be too modest to eat with the great company, I said to myself, and I will not eat them, but warm them up to comfort him when he comes back—look, here they are,” (lifting the dish from the fire) “and yet thou comest home like a well-fed, stupid swine!”

“Now tu-h, mother,” answered LÍ, “if thy son has been drinking with fools, they wore fine feathers—and now embrace me, for I am going to the capital.”

“LÍ, thou art drunk—go to bed—the capital indeed! Ah cursed, cursed I-tih!” exclaimed the old woman.

But when at length LÍ convinced her that he was neither drunk nor crazy, but in reality about to start for Nankin, as a candidate for honors in the Scientific Halls, and with a letter to the great Ho in his pouch, Whanki knocked her head reverently before the shrine of the household gods in token of gratitude.

The remainder of the night was passed in preparations for the journey, and just as the golden ripples of the lake danced in the rays of the rising sun, LÍ tenderly embraced his aged parent, and set forth on foot for Nankin, more than a hundred miles distant.

“Ah, the blessed bug,” quoth the old woman, gazing after him so long as she could catch a glimpse of his large bamboo hat, “he will not want for rice any day—no sycee has he in his pockets, but such a tongue in his head, as will bring him food and honors.”

Whanki was right. In every hamlet he passed through—in every cottage by the wayside, LÍ found a shelter and a welcome—the good people considering themselves amply repaid for their hospitality if the young stranger would but touch the strings of the pipa, or recite to them odes from the Shoo-king.

In this manner he reached the capital, and crossing the marble bridge over the great canal, upon the eastern side, entered the city at the Gate of Extensive Peace. Going into the first barber’s shop which offered, LÍ carefully plucked out his beard, (hear this, ye exquisites of modern days!) shaved his head anew to the crown, and plaited his long black hair with red ribbons. Then entering an adjoining tavern, he exchanged his dusty, travel-worn garments for the rich dress presented him by Hok-wan, which he had preserved with great care for the occasion, and holding up his fan, to shield his eyes from the sun, stepped forth into the busy streets, to look for the dwelling of the illustrious Ho.

And next, within the Hall of Ceremony, in the elegant mansion of Ho, behold LÍ in the presence of the great man himself—for with the same audacity which marked his behavior at the dinner of Hok-wan, had LÍ given the door-keeper a vermilion card, leading Ho to expect a visiter of rank. Advancing three steps to meet him, Ho bows low to his stranger guest—then with graceful ease LÍ also advances three step, and bows still lower—Ho again gravely steps forward and makes another salutation—upon which LÍ again does the same—with a still lower bending of the body, Ho once more advances—whereupon LÍ, nearly touching the marble pavements with his forehead, steps forward yet another three steps! By this time their united and solemn paces had brought them near the couch upon which visiters are expected to repose themselves. And here again the same formalities were gone through with, as to who should first be seated thereon. But being seated, LÍ at once burst forth with such a flow of wit and fancy, that Ho was completely captivated ere he knew the name or business of the daring youth!

Now this was a capital stroke of LÍ. For the academician cared not so much for any dignitary under the Emperor Supreme, as he did for a man of learning, or even for one who could tickle the moments as they flew with witty jests, provoking laughter. Ho saw at once that LÍ not only possessed this recommendation, but that his knowledge could also ring on as many topics as there were bells to the Porcelain Tower. When, therefore, he had perused the letter of Hok-wan, which, after securing his ground, LÍ put into his hand, and after having listened to the history which the youth gave of his hard struggles, of his poverty, and earnest desire to come before the judges on the day of examination, than Ho, embracing him, bade him be of good cheer.

“Now, by the sacred Budha!” he exclaimed, “learning like thine shall win its crown without the aid of propitiatory gifts, save to the gods themselves. Know, O LÍ, that Yang and Kau, who enjoy the smiles of the great emperor, are this year the examiners. To them shalt thou go, with no favor but my name—humble as it is, it shall cause thine to be enrolled among the literati of the Imperial Academy!”

No doubt Ho manifested great vanity in this, in so much as hinting that his “humble” name could balance with gold in the scales of avarice! Nevertheless LÍ was delighted, and immediately set about piling up such a cloud castle as spread over his whole heaven of glory.

And now the day of examination approached, and confident of success, LÍ boldly presented himself for admission.

Offering the memorial of Ho, which was to insure him, as he supposed, the favor of the judges, he was much surprised to see those great men, Yang and Kau, after turning over the missive with elevated noses, expressive of their contempt, cast it from them with scorn.

“Heigh! the academician Ho thinks to cheat us with bubbles! He sends us a scrawl devoid of meaning, to bespeak our favor for an upstart without degree or title! Yes—we will remember the name of LÍ!” Saying which, they cast looks of bitter disdain upon the needy scholar.

Then commenced the tedious formula of the examination. The candidates, hundreds in number, were all obliged to undergo the strict search of the officers in attendance. Their robes, pockets, shoes, and even their nicely plaited queues were examined, to see they had not secreted some essay or composition of some kind, which they might substitute for one written on the spot without preparation, when the examiners should command them. This done, they were all seated on long benches with their paper and pencils ready for the trial—the doors and windows in the meanwhile being closely barred and guarded, that no one from without should have the power of smuggling any written paper into the hands of the students.

At a signal-gun the theme for composition was given out, and, like the velvet feet of butterflies, the pencils of the rival candidates glided smoothly and fleetly over the tinted paper. With perfect composure and ease, LÍ wrote off his essay in the most beautiful characters, without a single erasure or omission—handling the subject with great skill and judgment, and gave it into the hands of Yang.

“Heigh!” said Yang, without giving himself even the trouble to glance over it, but drawing his pencil derisively over the fair and beautiful characters, “I remember the name of LÍ! What stuff is here—why the fellow is only fit to grind my ink!”

“To grind your ink!” quoth Kau, “say rather he is only fit to lace my buskins!”

And laughing loudly at their own wit, the great judges Yang and Kau turned their backs upon the unfortunate LÍ.

Overwhelmed with mortification and rage, he rushed to the lower end of the hall, and there was obliged to remain until evening, as not until then could the doors be thrown open to give egress to any one. Here he had the vexation of listening to the jibes and sneers of those around him, and of seeing others promoted to honors, who were as far inferior to him as owls to eagles! What a bitter day for poor LÍ! and when at length dismissed with renewed contumely from the Scientific Halls, he rushed into the presence of Ho, swearing loudly that he would one day ride over the necks of the proud Yang and Kau, “and by the head of Confucius when I do—Yang shall grind my ink, and Kau lace up my buskins!” he cried with bitterness.

Ho was terribly indignant at the treatment of his protÉgÉ, as well as incensed for the insult he imagined his own dignity had received. But, although he was himself high in favor with the emperor, Yang and Kau stood still higher, therefore he dissembled his anger, lest his head might pay the forfeit, should those two powerful courtiers incense the emperor against him.

When he found LÍ preparing to return home, he embraced him kindly, and bade him tarry yet another year in the capital.

“In the end thou wilt surely succeed, O LÍ. The next year the examiners will not be the same, and thou may’st then be certain of success,” said Ho. “Remain with me until the time comes round—thy days and nights shall roll off bright and rosy as morning clouds—wine, wit, and music, yes, and the smiles of women, shall make thee forget the insults thou hast received.”

But LÍ remembered his aged mother, sitting solitary in her humble home by the side of the lake, and his resolution strengthened.

“Know, O Ho, that an old mother waits for LÍ afar off. Summer and harvest will come, but Whanki has no one to sow her rice, and desolation will sit in her dwelling. The fish sport and gambol amid the waters of the lake—Whanki has no strength to draw them forth, therefore hunger and death will await her! What profit, O wise Ho, should I gain if my aged parent suffered! Would not the gods curse the race of LÍ!”

“Noble youth, take this purse—it is heavy,” exclaimed Ho—“hasten to relieve the necessities of thy mother—a happy mother in so dutiful a son—then return without delay and await the examination. I promise thee, thou shalt not this time lack a present for the greedy judges—though, by Budha, I would like to give it them at the dagger’s point!”

Accordingly LÍ bade farewell to his generous friend, promising to return as speedily as possible.

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