Our forefathers used to say that to find pleasure it must be sought for either on the mountains or on the water, and it is quite true that if you want to enjoy fine weather, you must look out for some place where the views are varied. But, as Mahomet very wisely remarked, the mountains won’t come to us, and we must go to the mountains. It must also be remarked that there are many flat districts in China where there are no mountains to be found, whilst water can be found everywhere; besides, mountain-climbing is fatiguing, whilst excursions on the water in flower-decked canoes, comfortably fitted, afford both repose and pleasure, cradled as one is by the rhythmic cadence of the oars. When the wind is strong enough to allow of a sail being hoisted, you feel almost as light as a bird flying in space; and let the illusion last ever so short a time, you fancy you have been transformed into a member of the aerial world of genii, pursuing in cloudland a life of eternal happiness.

My countrymen have in all ages taken special pleasure in excursions on the water. Under the dynasty of the Sungs—that is, in the twelfth century—Lake Loi was very much frequented. The shores were planted all round with weeping willows, and the moon seemed to lose seven-tenths of her brightness under the gleam of the numberless illuminated boats sailing along to the sound of joyous music.

A poet has said:

The river Tchiang-Hang became the favourite excursion under the reign of the Thangs. At the beginning of the spring people used to go out to it to collect aquatic flowers. This is expressed in these lines:

When Sung came to the throne, he used to make his excursions chiefly on Lake Si-Hou, the beautiful lake in the west, which we have already described. The skiffs flew like fly-shuttles across the loom, cutting through the light mist that rose from the water; and blue flags were to be seen on every tree. The lake used at that time to be called the Crucible for Melting Gold, a metaphor which is not without point.

Three centuries ago, under the reign of the Mings, the river Tching-Houai began to grow fashionable, and as the moon rose with the tide, thousands of boats, covering more than ten lis (Chinese miles), could be seen hieing hither, with their pearly blinds casting shadows which trembled on the trouble of the waters. All that has disappeared to-day. One must have been in these boats to understand the real pleasure of a taskless and careless life. They are like floating houses, furnished with the most refined luxury. Each boat is rowed by six oarsmen, and is fitted in the centre with a deck-house, which is divided off into several drawing-rooms. Nothing more artistically and comfortably arranged can be found even in the wealthiest houses in Europe. In the evening, bright lights shine through the window-panes of all the cabins, and it is as if the water were furrowed up with thousands of meteors shedding their joyful brightness far and wide. No; there is no better mode of locomotion. On the water there is no dust; you do not run, you skim along, and the slow progress of the skiff gives you time to enjoy the varied aspects of the country, studded as it is with clusters of sombre and silent trees. Then all that a carriage can do for you is to convey you; you can’t settle down in a carriage. These boats, on the other hand, are so many houses, where whole families or large parties can meet together and dwell. To conclude, the boat alone deprives the landscape of its immobility, animates it, and gives it movement and life; it renders Nature herself more gay and more poetical.