In the mind of China, wealth is the correlative of strength.  The two ideas are combined in the word Fuchiang, which expresses national prosperity.  Hence the treasures hidden in the earth could not be neglected, when they had given up the follies of geomancy and saw foreigners prospecting and applying for concessions to work mines.  At first such applications were met by a puerile quibble as to the effect of boring on the “pulse of the Dragon”—­in their eyes not the guardian of a precious deposit, but the personification of “good luck.”  To find lucky locations, and to decide what might help or harm, were the functions of a learned body of professors of Fungshui, a false science which held the people in bondage and kept the mines sealed up until our own day.  Gradually the Chinese are shaking off the incubus and, reckless of the Dragon, are forming companies for the exploitation of all sorts of minerals.  The Government has framed elaborate regulations limiting the shares of foreigners, and encouraging their own people to engage in mining enterprises.

 “Give up your Fungshui;
  It keeps your wealth locked up,”

says a verse of Viceroy Chang.

[Page 203] A similar change has taken place in sentiment as regards railways.  At first dreaded as an instrument of foreign aggression, they are now understood to be the best of auxiliaries for national defence.  It has further dawned on the mind of a grasping mandarinate that they may be utilised as a source of revenue.  If stocks pay well, why should not the Government hold them?  “Your railways pay 10 per cent.—­that’s the sort of railway we want in China,” said one of the commissioners at a banquet in England.

It would not be strange if the nationalisation of railways decided on this spring in Japan should lead to a similar movement in China.  In a country like America, with 300,000 miles of track, the purchase would be ultra vires in more senses than one, but with only 1 per cent. of that mileage, the purchase would not be difficult, though it might not be so easy to secure an honest administration.

Trains from Peking now reach Hankow (600 miles) in thirty-six hours.  When the grand trunk is completed, through trains from the capital will reach Canton in three days.  Set this over against the three months’ sea voyage of former times (a voyage made only once a year), or against the ten days now required for the trip by steamer!  What a potent factor is the railroad in the progress of a great country!

The new enterprises in this field would be burdensome to enumerate.  Shanghai is to be connected by rail with Tientsin (which means Peking), and with Nanking and Suchow.  Lines to penetrate the western provinces are already mapped out; and even in Mongolia it is proposed to supersede the camel by the iron [Page 204] horse on the caravan route to Russia.  “Alas! the age of golden leisure is gone—­the iron age of hurry-skurry is upon us!” This is the lament of old slow-going China.