Night of the tenth day of the fourth month.  Lo-t`ien[1] says:  O Wei-chih,[2] Wei-chih, it is three years since I saw your face and almost two years since I had a letter from you.  Is man’s life so long that he can afford such partings?  Much less should hearts joined by glue be set in bodies remote as Hu and Yuueh.[3] In promotion we could not be together; and in failure we cannot forget each other.  Snatched and wrenched apart, separately each of us grows grey.  O Wei-chih, what is to be done?  But this is the work of Heaven and there is no use in speaking of it.

When I first arrived at Hsuun-yang, Hsiung Ju-teng1[4] came with the letter which you had written the year before, when you were so ill.  First you told me of the progress of your illness, next of your feelings while you were ill and last you spoke of all our meetings and partings, and of the occasion of your own difficulties and dangers.  You had no time to write more, but sent a bundle of your writings with a note attached, which said, “Later on I will send a message by Po Min-chung.[5] Ask him for news and that will do instead of a letter.”  Alas!  Is it thus that Wei-chih treats me?  But again, I read the poem you wrote when you heard I had been banished: 

The lamp had almost spent its light:  shadows filled the room, The night I heard that Lo-t`ien was banished to Kiu-kiang.  And I that had lain sick to death sat up suddenly in bed; A dark wind blowing rain entered at the cold window.

If even strangers’ hearts are touched by these lines, much more must mine be; so that to this day I cannot recite them without pain.  Of this matter I will say no more, but tell you briefly what has passed of late.

It is more than three years since I came to Kiu-kiang.  All this time my body has been strong and my heart much at peace.  There has been no sickness in my household, even among the servants.  Last summer my elder brother arrived from Hsuu-chou, leading by the hand six or seven little brothers and sisters, orphans of various households.  So that I have under my eyes all those who at present demand my care.  They share with me cold and heat, hunger and satiety.  This is my first consolation.

The climate of the River Province is somewhat cool, so that fevers and epidemics are rare.  And while snakes and mosquitoes are few, the fish in the Pen1 are remarkably fat, the River wine is exceedingly good, and indeed for the most part the food is like that of the North Country.  Although the mouths within my doors are many and the salary of a Sub-Prefect is small, by a thrifty application of my means, I am yet able to provide for my household without seeking any man’s assistance to clothe their backs or fill their bellies.  This is my second consolation.