“I have read a story,” Jack interrupted, “in which a clown describes his sorrows at having to be funny on the stage while his wife was dying at home, so I think an actor’s life must often be a sad one.” “No,” interposed Hong, “I think on the whole it is a merry one. The clown you speak of, if he were a true actor, forgot his sorrows while on the stage, infinitely more so than the merchant who has troubles at home. The true actor feels the part he is acting, whereas the merchant is always himself.” “Yes: but when you play sad parts do you feel sad?” “Undoubtedly while playing the part one could cry, but afterwards one can laugh, and there is always the feeling that one has done it well if at the time the sadness was really felt.” “But what satisfaction does the man who plays the wicked part feel?” “He feels that he has gained the dis-approbation of the audience. Their hisses are as food and drink to him, he is delighted, he has played his part, made himself out horrible and to be despised by the audience, and therefore feels proud in having interpreted the author’s meaning properly.” “I see, I see,” replied Master Jack, who didn’t in the least understand Hong’s explanation, “but what about the fighting?” “Oh, the fighting! Yes, I remember. Well, after travelling for many weeks and earning but little money, we at length reached the village of Three Bridges. So it was called. Really it possessed but one bridge, of which the inhabitants were inordinately proud—so proud, in fact, that they tried still further to impress strangers by naming their village Three Bridges, so that when the unknowing one had seen and admired the one he might be led to believe that two others equally fine existed. When we arrived we found that serious trouble existed between this village and the neighbouring village called Ten Li village, or Bad Roads. This other village being so called because in it were several inns, and whenever travellers arrived there and, wishing to pursue their journey, inquired how far it might be to the next town, the invariable answer of the townsfolk was that the nearest halting-place was ‘ten li’ distant, and if question was made of the roads leading thither, the answer would be invariably that they were bad—in fact, almost impassable. These two villages, Ten Li village and Three Bridges village, really depended a good deal on each other. Ten Li possessed valuable clay pits, and Three Bridges manufactured the clay into pottery and also sent it away in boats down the river; so really for their mutual good they should have been friendly. However, at this time war existed between them, and continuous fights were taking place, in which frequently people received grievous wounds, even to the death in some cases. The origin of the dispute had occurred more or less by accident. The clay for which Ten Li village was famous, and which Three Bridges village depended on for its pottery industry, was dug to a depth of some