[Footnote A:  The following is Sir William Jones’s less literal and more poetic paraphrase of the same selection:—­

  “Gay child of Spring, the garden’s queen,
    Yon peach-tree charms the roving sight;
  Its fragrant leaves how richly green! 
    Its blossoms how divinely bright!

  “So softly smiles the blooming bride
    By love and conscious virtue led
  O’er her new mansion to preside,
    And placid joys around her spread.”]

VII.

The festivities were at their height, the sam-shu was spreading its benign influences over the guests, the deep delight of satiated appetite possessed their bosoms, when the entrance of a stern and fat old gentleman arrested universal attention.  It was the respected father of Mien-yaun, the ex-censor of the highest board, and Councillor of the Empire.  The company rose to greet him; but he, with gracious suavity, begged them not to discompose themselves.  Approaching that part of the table occupied by the bridal party, he laid his hand upon his heart, and assured Tching-whang that he was unable to express the joy he felt at seeing him and his family.

Mien-yaun’s father was a perfect master of the elementary principles.

Turning then to his son, he pleasantly requested him to excuse himself to the assemblage, and follow him for a few minutes to a private apartment.

As soon as they were alone, the adipose ex-censor of the highest board said:—­“My son, have you thought of wedding this maiden?”

“Nothing shall divert me from that purpose, O my father,” confidently answered Mien-yaun.

“Nothing but my displeasure,” said the ex-censor of the highest board.  “You will not marry her.”

Mien-yaun was thunderstruck.  When he had said that nothing should awe him from the career of his humor, he had never contemplated the appalling contingency of the interposition of paternal authority.  He wept, he prayed, he raved, he gnashed his teeth, he tore out as much of his hair as was consistent with appearances.  He went through all the various manifestations of despair, but without producing the slightest effect upon the inexorable ex-censor of the highest board.  That worthy official briefly explained his objections to a union between his son, the pride and joy of the Tse, and a daughter of one of the Kung, and then, taking the grief-stricken lover by the hand, he led him back to the gardens.

“Good friends,” said he, “my son has just conveyed to me his lively appreciation of the folly he was about to commit.  He renounces all connection with the black-haired daughter of the Kung, whom he now wishes a very good evening.”

And the ex-censor of the highest board gravely and gracefully bowed the family of Tching-whang out of the premises.  The moment they crossed the threshold, Mien-yaun and Ching-ki-pin went into a simultaneous fit.