Linked with this dense ignorance and more impenetrable indifference is a most unbounded credulity. Faith in the _fêng-shui_, or geomancy of a district is still as firmly rooted as ever in the minds of the leading literary men of the empire, as is shown by memorials in the _Peking Gazette_ calling for changes in buildings, the erection of lucky towers, etc., because the number of successful competitors is not greater. A scholar who thinks it necessary to beat drums in order to save the sun in an eclipse from the "Dog" which is devouring it, receives with implicit faith the announcement that in Western lands the years are a thousand days in length, with four moons all the time. If some one who has dabbled a little in chemistry reports to him a rudimentary experiment in which carbonic dioxide poured down a trough extinguishes a row of burning candles, he is at once reminded that The Master refused to speak of feats of magic, and he dismisses the whole topic with the verdict: "Of course it was done by malign spirits." In this fertile soil every kind of mischievous tale takes root downward, and in due time bears its bitter fruit, as many foreigners in China know to their cost. Were it not for the credulity of the literary men in China, riots against foreigners would seldom or never occur. It is a melancholy fact that vast numbers of this class, especially in the rural districts, are profoundly convinced of the truth of the worst allegations made against the men of the West, while still greater numbers are absolutely indifferent to the matter unless it happens in some way to affect themselves.