“I’ve written an indestructible epos in fifty cantos, descriptive of all her beauties, with a due regard of anatomy. I’ll read you the whole of it, if you will stay,” added the lover.
“I’m infinitely thankful; but my time is precious,” observed Oriel, making rapid strides to the door.
“I will enrapture you with a thousand hexameters declaratory of my incommunicable affections,” shouted the prolific versifier.
“Good morning to you, Long Chi,” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, as he opened the door, evidently very desirous of making his escape. He was on the point of leaving the room, accompanied by Zabra, when he was stopped in his progress by the appearance of a stout elderly Chinese, wearing the appearance of profound gravity. No sooner had he entered, than the poet shuffled his papers hastily into his pouch, jumped off the divan, and approached the stranger with looks of veneration and awe.
“Father, here are the barbarians you expected,” said he. The ceremony of introduction was soon over; the two friends returned to their seats; and old Long Chi, seating himself cross-legged on the divan, commenced a conversation with his visitors, while his son remained standing beside him in respectful attention. He was dressed in a fashion somewhat similar to that of the younger Chinese; but the materials were not so gay, nor were they formed with so much neatness; and he wore boots of black satin instead of slippers, and a short cloak of fine cloth trimmed with fur.
“I have been sacrificing at the temple, which has detained me longer than I anticipated,” said Long Chi the elder. “But religion is the first concern of life. Nothing should stand in the way of religion. The Bonzes are the only teachers of truth; and the worship of Fo is the only way that leads to virtue.”
Neither Zabra nor his patron attempted to dispute this doctrine.
“I have been reading, father,” falteringly uttered the poet—“I have been reading——”
“Hold your tongue, Long Chi,” exclaimed his parent sharply.