these collections are largely unfit for translation. All literature in China is pure. Novels and stories are not classed as literature ; the authors have no desire to attach their names to such works, and the consequence is a great falling off from what may be regarded as the national standard. Even the Hung Lou Ming contains episodes which mar to a considerable extent the beauty of the whole. One excuse is that it is a novel of real life, and to omit, therefore, the ordinary frailties of mortals would be to produce an incomplete and inade- quate picture.
The following are a few specimens of humorous anec- dotes taken from the Hsiao Lin Kuang Chi, a modern work in four small volumes, in which the stories are classified under twelve heads, such as Arts, Women, Priests :
A bridegroom noticing deep wrinkles on the face of his bride, asked her how old she was, to which she replied, "About forty-five or forty-six." "Your age is stated on the marriage contract," he rejoined, " as thirty- eight ; but I am sure you are older than that, and you may as well tell me the truth." " I am really fifty- four," answered the bride. The bridegroom, however, was not satisfied, and determined to set a trap for her. Accordingly he said, " Oh, by the by, I must just go and cover up the salt jar, or the rats will eat every scrap of it." "Well, I never !" cried the bride, taken off her guard. "Here I've lived sixty-eight years, and I never before heard of rats stealing salt."
A woman who was entertaining a paramour during the absence of her husband, was startled by hearing the latter knock at the house-door. She hurriedly bundled the man into a rice-sack, which she concealed in a
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