“By the great Fo, impossible!” exclaimed the poet. “In what corner of the world hides the wretch so lost to every noble feeling—so lost to every sense of excellence—so inhuman, unnatural, and preposterously ignorant—as to listen to the incorruptible wisdom with which I can enlighten him, and not become transported into the very heaven of heavens?”
“You have already enlightened us to an extent as far as our limited intellects allow us to be enlightened by such productions as those you have read,” observed Zabra, with an earnest attempt to be serious; “and it would be only throwing away the talents you possess on persons utterly incompetent to appreciate their merits, if you continue the perusal of your effusions.”
“All imaginary,” said the persevering versifier; “and you will forget it in your sense of the sublime which must be excited by hearing the perusal of the following passage.” Long Chi the younger had opened his manuscript, had made a preparatory flourish of his hand, and had commenced some description, with the ordinary exclamation, “Oh!” when, happening to cast his eye towards the door, he encountered the frowning visage of his father. His hand dropped from its elevation: he quickly whipped his papers into his pouch, and jumped off the divan, with a celerity particularly acceptable to Zabra and his companion.
Old Long Chi appeared in a dress much more splendid than the one he had previously worn; and, gravely fixing himself in the seat his son had vacated, he commenced a conversation upon the business and voyage of his guests. Old Long Chi was a merchant of considerable experience and great wealth, with whom Master Porphyry had long had commercial dealings. He was remarkable for a profound gravity, a pair of moustachios the points of which descended to his chin, and a tail of hair which was the admiration of all his countrymen. Although he had passed the early part of his life in India, and had married an Anglo-Indian, on his return, like all Chinese, he continued the customs of his country, and gloried in its fancied superiority over the rest of the world. He had always been distinguished as a severe moralist. He seemed desirous of acquiring the praise of the Bonzes for the regularity of his attendance at the temples; and sought to be respected in society for the liberality of his contributions towards religious objects. Oriel and he were a considerable time agreeing about some merchandise that both had to barter; during which the melancholy poet stood at a respectful distance, looking at his parent, and then at the bamboo, with more dread than affection; while Zabra amused himself by taking notice of the scene before him.
“You have not seen much of our incomparable country, I suppose?” inquired the old man as he sipped a strong infusion of the tea leaf from a beautiful porcelain cup.
“I have only landed this morning,” replied his guest.
“Ah! then you have much to see,” added the other. “It is the most ancient government under the sun; and such a government! such laws, such institutions, and such a religion! The Emperor is quite a father to his subjects.”
“With the bamboo, father?” asked his son tremblingly.
“Hold you tongue, Long Chi!” bawled out the old man.