An American naval officer who, while in Japan, had become smitten with a Chinese girl, invited her to give him a kiss. Finding her comprehension of his request somewhat obscure, he suited the action to the word, and took a delicious kiss. The girl ran in another room exclaiming “terrible man-eater. I shall be devoured.” But in a moment finding herself uninjured she returned to him, saying “I would learn more of your American rite, kee-es me.” He knew it was not right but he kept on instructing her in the rite of “kee-es me” until she knew how to do it like a native Yankee girl. And after that she suggested a second course, remarking “kee-es me some more, Mee-lee-kee!” (American). And the lesson went on until her mamma’s voice rudely awakened them from their delicious dream. The concluding lines of a Chinese poem show that in some circles of China, at least, kissing is understood: Oh for those blushing, dimpled cheeks, That match the rose in hue! If one is kissed, the other speaks, By blushes, KISS ME TOO! A man ought to know how to kiss and a girl ought to know how to receive a kiss. The Rev. Sidney Smith, the witty divine, says: “we are in favor of a certain amount of shyness when a kiss is proposed, but it should not be too long, and when the fair one gives it, let it be administered with a warmth and energy; let there be soul in it. If she close her eyes and sighs immediately after it the effect is greater. She should be careful not to slobber a kiss but give it as a humming-bird runs his bill into a honeysuckle, deep but delicate. There is much virtue in a kiss when well delivered. We have the memory of one we received in our youth which lasted us forty years, and we believe it will be one of the last things we shall think of when we die.” The poets have sung of long remembered kisses. One fugitive poem entitled “Three Kisses” describes the lover as sitting beneath the whispering trees and speaking the tender words that rose unbidden upon his lips. I gently raised her sweet, pure face, Her eyes with radiant love-light filled. That trembling kiss I’ll ne’er forget, Which both our hearts with rapture thrilled. After ten years the sweetheart, now his wife, dies and he is gazing at the pale shape of clay, once warm with the throb of human life. Softly I stoop those lips to kiss, That oft have thrilled with rapturous love, But they are cold and motionless, No power again can make them move. The last farewell caress is o’er, E’en that cold touch is now denied; A grief, like waves on barren shore, Sweeps over me, an endless tide.