a companion to her husband than the stone dog at his front gate. Now,
although we do not profess much personal acquaintance with the
_gynecee_ of any wealthy Chinese establishment, we think we have
gathered quite enough from reading and conversation to justify us in
regarding the Chinese lady from an entirely different point of
view. In novels, for instance, the heroine is always highly
educated--composes finished verses, and quotes from Confucius; and it
is only fair to suppose that such characters are not purely and wholly
ideal. Besides, most young Chinese girls, whose parents are well off,
are taught to read, though it is true that many content themselves
with being able to read and write a few hundred words. They all learn
and excel in embroidery; the little knick-knacks which hang at every
Chinaman's waist-band being almost always the work of his wife or
sister. Visiting between Chinese ladies is of everyday occurrence, and
on certain fete-days the temples are crowded to overflowing with
"golden lilies"[*] of all shapes and sizes. They give little
dinner-parties to their female relatives and friends, at which they
talk scandal, and brew mischief to their hearts' content. The first
wife sometimes quarrels with the second, and between them they make
the house uncomfortably hot for the unfortunate husband. "Don't you
foreigners also dread the denizens of the inner apartments?" said a
hen-pecked Chinaman one day to us--and we think he was consoled to
hear that viragos are by no means confined to China. One of the
happiest moments a Chinese woman knows, is when the family circle
gathers round husband, brother, or it may be son, and listens with
rapt attention and wondering credulity to a favourite chapter from the
"Dream of the Red Chamber." She believes it every word, and wanders
about these realms of fiction with as much confidence as was ever
placed by western child in the marvellous stories of the "Arabian
Nights."