The “late” (or, as diplomacy ungraciously calls such, “ancient”) Chinese Minister to London, Lord Li Ching Fong, did much to cement a friendly feeling between the East and the West. He taught us to appreciate the charm of manner and breadth of thought of a cultured Chinese gentleman. No diplomat ever made himself more popular in London Society than this cheery, kindly little representative of the East. No matter where he went he always wore his hat indoors or out, with its red bob on the top and his pig-tail below, and dark silk coats in private, or embroidered robes at Court—but he walked about unattended and lived the life of an ordinary English gentleman. In the Legation he was one of the kindest and best hosts I have ever come across. He entertained a great deal and handled large, important dinners of twenty or thirty people with skilful ease. Lord Li never forgot a promise, however trivial, and was never late for an engagement. One June day in 1909 the Chinese Minister was lunching with me, so I asked him to write his name on the cloth opposite the Japanese Ambassador. His neighbour on the other side was Lady Millais, the daughter-in-law of the famous artist. She was so delighted with the neat, small Chinese writing that she asked His Excellency if he would put her name on the back of her card in Chinese. “Have you such a name as Mary or Maria,” I asked, “in Chinese?” “No,” he replied, “but I can do its equivalent phonetically,” and very pretty it looked when done. On her other side sat Joseph Farquharson, R.A., and turning to him, Lady Millais said: “‘Mary had a little lamb,’ but where is the _lamb_?” Farquharson being famous for painting snow and sheep quickly saw the point, and taking her card, and a pencil from his pocket, exclaimed: “Here it is!” and below the Chinese writing he drew a little lamb. Mrs. Kendal, on his other side, leant over to hear what was going on, and laughingly said: “I am jealous. Although not a ewe lamb, I think I deserve a sheep.” Whereupon Farquharson picked up her card, and with wonderful rapidity drew a sheep, and handing it back, said: “I am very sorry, Mrs. Kendal, it is only a black sheep.” It was all done so quickly it was quite a delightful incident. Then I asked the Minister to write his name in Latin characters above the Chinese, and he did so; whereupon I proceeded to read the first word as “Lie.” “No,” he said, “that is a bad word in English, but it is not my name. My father, Li Hung Chang, went to Paris, and as the Frenchmen pronounced his name “Lee” we have remained “Li” ever since. So I am now known by that title, and go about in Europe as Lord Li, although it sometimes causes my countrymen to smile when they hear it.” Lord Li (Lee) told me the only foreigner he had ever known who spoke Chinese like a Chinaman was Sir Robert Hart; “And he speaks it as well as I do.” Later I chaffed my Chinese friend about our English tea, and asked him if he considered it poison.