in many words.  Furthermore, what Ch’i-chao desires to say relates to what can be likened to the anxiety of one who, fearing that the heavens may some day fall on him, strives to ward off the catastrophe.  If his words should be misunderstood, it would only increase his offence.  Time and again he has essayed to write; but each time he has stopped short.  Now he is going South to visit his parents; and looking at the Palace-Gate from afar, he realizes that he is leaving the Capital indefinitely.  The thought that he has been a protege of the Great President and that dangers loom ahead before the nation as well as his sense of duty and friendly obligations, charge him with the responsibility of saying something.  He therefore begs to take the liberty of presenting his humble but extravagant views for the kind consideration of the Great President.

The problem of Kuo-ti (form of State) appears to have gone too far for reconsideration:  the position is like unto a man riding on the back of a wild tiger....  Ch’i-chao therefore at one moment thought he would say no more about it, since added comment thereon might make him all the more open to suspicion.  But a sober study of the general situation and a quiet consideration of the possible future make him tremble like an autumn leaf; for the more he meditates, the more dangerous the situation appears.  It is true that the minor trouble of “foreign advice” and rebel plotting can be settled and guarded against; but what Ch’i-chao bitterly deplores is that the original intention of the Great President to devote his life and energy to the interest of the country—­an intention he has fulfilled during the past four years—­will be difficult to explain to the world in future.  The trust of the world in the Great President would be shattered with the result that the foundation of the country will be unsettled.  Do not the Sages say:  “In dealing with the people aim at faithfulness?” If faithfulness to promises be observed by those in authority, then the people will naturally surrender themselves.  Once, however, a promise is broken, it will be as hard to win back the people’s trust as to ascend to the very Heavens.  Several times have oaths of office been uttered; yet even before the lips are dry, action hath falsified the words of promise.  In these circumstances, how can one hope to send forth his orders to the country in the future, and expect them to be obeyed?  The people will say “he started in righteousness but ended in self-seeking:  how can we trust our lives in his hands, if he should choose to pursue even further his love of self-enrichment?” It is possible for Ch’i-chao to believe that the Great President has no desire to make profit for himself by the sacrifice of the country, but how can the mass of the people—­who believe only what they are told—­understand what Ch’i-chao may, perchance, believe?

The Great President sees no one but those who are always near him; and these are the