should do to us, this is the doctrine becoming
man, and there is nothing beyond it."

It is well known that the doctrine of the
sovereignty and authority of the people—the
correctness of the popular judgment and the
necessity of submitting to it—in a word, the
recognition of the Vox populi as the Vox Dei forms
one of the prominent teachings of Confucius and
the early Chinese sages. This is the language
of Kaou-yaou-mo. "What Heaven sees and
wills, is but what the people see and will. What
the people deem worthy of reward and punishment,
is what Heaven will reward and punish."

And of the Ho Keang:

"The fortune of the prince is dependent upon
Heaven, and the will of Heaven is in (the opinion
of) the people. If the prince possess the love
of the people, the sovereign ruler will look
upon him with complacency, and strengthen his
throne; but if he lose the people's love, the
sovereign ruler will look on him with anger, and he
will lose his throne." And whenever it suits a
temporary purpose to appeal to the popular will
in order to justify the adoption of a particular
policy, that appeal is ostentatiously put forward.
In controversies with Western nations, the
hostility of the people is a very convenient way of
getting out of a difficulty. When the late emperor
refused to give effect to the engagements of the
British treaties by allowing us a free access to
the city of Canton, the averment was that the
Cantonese would not allow us to enter, and that
the will of the people was as a wall of brass
which could not be broken. The fact being,
that the mandarins gave every encouragement
to the multitude in their hostile declarations
against the barbarians from afar, representing
that admittance into the city was only the
stepping-stone to the subjugation of the empire.

In the Chung Yung, written by Tze-tze, the
grandson of Confucius, is a description of the
celebration of ancestral rites: "In the spring
and the autumn the princes descended to the
ancestral temples, carefully arranged the most
precious ancient vases and utensils, and opened
the clothes and garments of their ancestors,
offering the meats of the season.

"The rites were those of the ancestral halls,
therefore those who were present were carefully
placed to the left or the right, according to their
dignity or their rank—dignities and ranks being
observed. Therefore the high dignitaries were
separated from the commonalty, and the
ceremonial functions were confided to those who
deserved to perform them. Thus the sages were
distinguished from ordinary men. When the
crowd retired from the ceremony, and the family
joined in the accustomed festivity, the young
administered to the old, and thus the solemnity
imitated the court in dignity. During the festival,
the colour of the hair was observed, and those
present were placed according to their years.

"The rites of the sacrifices to heaven and of
sacrifices to earth, were those which they
employed to render homage to the supreme God.
The rites of the ancestral temple were those
employed for offering sacrifices to their
predecessors."

The Book of Odes says:

"The wise man reverently and silently attends
the ancestral temple. Among all ranks and
duties, there is, during this time of sacrifice, no
dispute about precedence" (all having been
arranged).

Is it a marvel that Confucius should have
been—that he is now—almost worshipped? Is
it not rather a marvel that, in a country where
ten thousand gods are adored, he should have
escaped deification?

When Sir Henry Pottinger brought the
copy of his treaty for signature to Keying, it
was headed with "In the name of God. Amen!"
The Chinese Commissioner asked which God
was meant? It was answered, "The God of
Gods. The God who was above everything and
everybody." To which Keying replied, " There
is no God above the Son of Heaven, the
Emperor," one of whose recognised functions is
to determine what gods are to be worshipped
by the people. Keying persisted in objecting to
any authority superior to that of his sovereign,
and the words were struck out of the treaty.

SCEPTICAL AND CRITICAL MR. BULL.

IT is the fashion to say that we have lived
through the Ages of Faith and have come out
on the other side—indeed very far on the other
side—the rebound being in proportion to the
width of the first lurch; that we are a carping,
critical, unbelieving generation, testing everything
and taking nothing for granted, as would
be were we meek of mind and of a generous
faith; that, puffed up and utterly bewildered by
the pride of intellect and the scientific
advancement of these later days, we dwarf the
very powers of nature into mere pigmy potencies
which we can touch and handle and scrutinise,
and weigh in the feeble balance hanging up in
our own little back parlours comfortably; that
the old Latin proverb, "All things unknown,
magnificent," is wiped off the slate, and in its
place is scrawled in a large text hand, "All
things unknown, derided." This is the current
idea regarding the English mind of the nineteenth
century, and there never was one falser or more
mistaken. So far from being incredulous, there
have been few ages when belief was more
elastic or credulity more robust; when wilder
schemes were set afloat on smoother seas of
faith or less ruffled by the breath of doubt;
when, under the mask of science and disguised
beneath the ample drapery of the possible, more
tremendous absurdities have gained a footing
among respectable creeds; when quackery wore
richer trappings or superstition had grander
quarters. Indeed, the very knowledge and
science of the time lends itself to this width of
faith and robustness of credulity; for when so
much has been discovered what may not remain
behind? when we have already distanced the
wonders of fairy tale and fable, is it strange that
we should accept the supernatural as the next
stage? that the curbs and fetters should fall from
the impossible, and the limits of faith be set far