In 1918 Miss Tseng opened her school, under the guardianship (if one may so call it) of Miss Barnes, and splendidly helped by two of her men cousins, whom I knew as fine students in London, and both of whom are honorary workers. All the élite of Changsha were present, including the Minister of Education, the British consul and the missionary community. This was the planting of the mustard seed destined one day to grow into a tree. There were but eight pupils, varying in age from fourteen to twenty-two, a number which was increased fivefold in two years. As befits a Chinese school, it has a poetic name, I-Fang—“The Garden of Fragrance,” and the school motto is “Loyalty and Sympathy,” the two words by which the philosopher Tseng had summed up the teaching of Confucius some two thousand five hundred years ago. It was at a garden party in honour of the King’s birthday held at the British Consulate that we met Miss Tseng last summer, and she most kindly bade us to lunch next day, and asked me to speak to her students. I had no idea at the time of what she had done since we parted in London, or even that she lived at Changsha. It was with a shock of delighted surprise that we passed from the hot, busy, dusty street into the cool loveliness of the garden. Our time was woefully limited, and I should like to have sketched all day as well as talked, but there was so much to see and hear that it is impossible to do justice to it in this brief account. If the Tseng family can leave their impress on the charming bevy of girls we saw, they will have rendered the greatest possible service to their country, and I feel confident that such will be the case. When I reflect on the state of unrest which existed during the birth of this school and the masterly way in which Miss Tseng has overcome all the difficulties of the situation, I find no words adequate to express my admiration.