April 20, 1876

The following stanzas are translated from a Chinese romance entitled the "Hung Leu Mung," or, "Dream of the Red Chamber." An aged literary gentleman, who has passed through a series of disasters and misfortunes fairly rivaling those of Job, totters out on the street one day, where he meets a ragged priest of the Taoist or Rationalistic sect, chanting a lively ditty. His theme is the want of regard which men, absorbed in worldly cares, bestow upon a future existence, and the means of attaining a happy immortality in that existence. The aged scholar, after listening to the sonnet, accosts the Taoist, and begs leave to explain and amplify the meaning of his song in a few improvised rhymes of his own. The priest consents, and the "paraphrase" is forthwith given.

Both songs in the original are unique in their kind, and it is impossible to convey literally the jingle and rhythm by which they are characterized. The "Paraphrase" is composed on a single set of rhymes (tang, chwang, yang, shang, chang, etc.,) which notwithstanding its length, extend entirely through it. As the "sentiment" is not at all bad, considering the source from which it comes, I have thought that a translation might be of interest --perhaps even of profit -- to your readers. I will only add, in explanation, that the term "Immortals," is used to designate those human beings who, having lived a life of virtue on earth, are supposed to be rewarded with a felicitous immortality after death.

I am very truly yours,

A. Stritmatter

Kiukiang, China, Feb. 19, 1876

THE TAOIST'S SONG

"Immortals are good," men acknowledge,

and yet

Their honor and rank they can not forget.

But where are the statesmen and warriors of

old?

Not a floweret blooms on their sepulchers

cold.

"Immortals are good," men acknowledge,

and yet

Their silver and gold they can not forget --

Lament they've "so little" as long as they've

breath,

And just when they've "plenty," their eyes

close in death.

"Immortals are good," men acknowledge,

and yet

Their beautiful wives they can not forget --

Enjoy their caresses while living, and then

Their wives, when they're dead, go and

marry again.

"Immortals are good," men acknowledge,

and yet

Their sons and their grandsons they can not

forget.

Of old foolish parents have numerous been,

and dutiful progeny now who has seen?

PARAPHRASE

Wretched home, with crumbling walls,

Ruin'd gateways, empty halls,

Formerly the residence

Of renown and opulence;

Now the flowers wither'd, dead,

And the courtyard trees decayed.

Once the sound of music sweet

There was heard, with dancing feet;

Now the cobwebs hide the walls,

And deface the ancient halls.

Here behold a sylvan scene,

Ivied windows deck'd in green;

Pigments and cosmetics rare

Used to ornament the fair.

Surely age, with frosted feet,

Ne'er can line those temples sweet!

Ah! the fickle mind of woman!

Harrassing to feelings human!

Husband only yesterday

In the graveyard laid away;

And to-night the curtains red

Droop around the marriage-bed.

Where the wife, once more a bride,

Sleeps her new-found lord beside.

Here are coffers filled with gold,

Chests of glitt'ring coin untold,

In a twinkling all is gone,

Rags and tatters left alone!

Stript of all his riches bare,

See the quondam millionaire,

Begging for his daily food,

Suff'ring scoffs and insults rude.

Once lamenting life's brief span,

Far too short for sordid man.

Now he too, with failing breath,

Totters on the brink of death.

Methods are for training youth

In the ways of right and truth.

But there's none can guarantee

They'll no rogues nor villains be.

See the rich man's spendthrift son; --

Life so happily begun.

Soon a round of mad excess,

Riot and licentiousness!

Here a petty mandarin

Thinks his office far too mean

and by lawless methods tries

To a higher rank to rise;

Till around his neck they hang,

Shameful badge the felon's cangue*

There a beggar -- freak of fate

Changed into a magistrate.

Yesterday beheld him mourn

O'er his garments soil'd and torn;

And to-day he's in distress

At his long official dress.

Ah! this world's a vain delusion

Nought but discord and confusion.

You have sung your pensive song,

I the plaintive strains prolong.

Henceforth let us comrades be

In this vale of poverty.

Village, home, vocation, name,

Yours and mine shall be the same.

Earthly pomp and stiff parade

Are but empty gasconade.

He who plunges in life's broil,

Has alone his thankless toil,

Like the man misfortune dire!

Who prepares his bride's attire,

And at last beholds her wed

Other man himself instead!

*The "cangue" or movable pillery, is

a frame-work of boards, placed around

the neck of certain criminals, which

they are compelled to wear in public.

It is sometimes ironically termed

"the wooden neck-tie."