Descended from a long line of scholars, he was supposed to be born to the pursuit of letters.  He did, in fact, devote himself to study with unflagging zeal, because he had as yet no temptation to turn aside.  Was there not, moreover, an open door before his face inviting him to win for himself the honors of a mandarinate?  In his native town he placed his foot on the first step of the ladder by gaining the degree of A.B., or, in Chinese, “Budding Genius.”  At the provincial capital he next carried off the laurel of the second degree, which is worth more than our A.M., not merely because it is not conferred in course, but because it falls to the lot of only one in a hundred among some thousands of competitors.  These provincial tournaments occur but once in three years; and the successful candidates proceed to Peking to compete for the third degree, or D.C.L.,—­Tsin-shi, or, “Fit for Office.”  Here the chances amount to three per cent.

Li’s fortunes were again propitious, and in company with two or three hundred new-made doctors, he was summoned to the palace to contend in presence of the emperor for the honor of a seat in the Imperial Academy,—­the Hanlin, or “Forest of Pencils.”  Here also he met with success, but he was not among the first three whose names are marked by the vermilion pen of majesty, each of whom sheds lustre on his native province.  The highest of the three is called Chuang Yuen, “Head of the List” or “Prince of Letters.”  In the ’fifties it fell to a native of Ningpo, where I then lived.  His good luck was announced to his wife by the magistrate in person, who conducted her to the six gates, at each of which she scattered a handful of rice, as an omen of good fortune.  In the ’sixties, when I had removed to Peking, this honor was for the first time conferred on a Manchu, a son of the General Saishanga.  His daughter was deemed a fit consort for the heir to the throne, wearing for a short time the tiara of empress, and committing suicide on the death of her lord.

In the two previous contests, handwriting goes for nothing, but in this it is not without weight, as the avowed object is to select scribes for the service of the throne.  On those occasions extent of erudition and originality of thought are the qualities most esteemed; but this time the order of merit is decided by superficial elegance of style, and by facility in the composition of verse.

However defective the standard of learning, this long course of competition, extending over ten or fifteen years, has the effect of bringing before the throne a body of men each of whom is the survivor of a hundred contests.  No country can boast a better system for the selection of talent, and the government guards it with jealous care.  I have known more than one examiner put to death for tampering with this ballot-box of the Empire.  For ages it has provided the state with able officers; nor is its least merit that of converting a dangerous demagogue into a quiet student.