There is a keen satirical hit at the venality of Chinese judges in our next story.  A husbandman, who wished to rear a particular kind of vegetable, found that the plants always died.  He consulted an experienced gardener as to the best means of preventing the death of plants.  The old man replied:  “The affair is very simple; with every plant put down a piece of money.”  His friend asked what effect money could possibly have in a matter of this kind.  “It is the case now-a-days,” said the old man, “that where there is money life is safe, but where there is none death is the consequence.”

The tale of Apelles and the shoemaker is familiar to every schoolboy, but the following story of the Chinese painter and his critics will be new to most readers:  A gentleman having got his portrait painted, the artist suggested that he should consult the passers-by as to whether it was a good likeness.  Accordingly he asked the first that was going past:  “Is this portrait like me?” The man said:  “The cap is very like.”  When the next was asked, he said:  “The dress is very like.”  He was about to ask a third, when the painter stopped him, saying:  “The cap and the dress do not matter much; ask the person what he thinks of the face.”  The third man hesitated a long time, and then said:  “The beard is very like.”

* * * * *

And now we shall revert once more to Persian jests, many of which are, however, also current in India, through the medium of the Persian language.  When a man becomes suddenly rich it not unfrequently follows that he becomes as suddenly oblivious of his old friends.  Thus, a Persian having obtained a lucrative appointment at court, a friend of his came shortly afterwards to congratulate him thereon.  The new courtier asked him:  “Who are you?  And why do you come here?” The other coolly replied:  “Do you not know me, then?  I am your old friend, and am come to condole with you, having heard that you had lately lost your sight.”—­This recalls the clever epigram: 

  When Jack was poor, the lad was frank and free;
    Of late he’s grown brimful of pride and pelf;
  You wonder that he don’t remember me? 
    Why, don’t you see, Jack has forgot himself!

The humour of the following is—­to me, at least—­simply exquisite:  A man went to a professional scribe and asked him to write a letter for him.  The scribe said that he had a pain in his foot.  “A pain in your foot!” echoed the man.  “I don’t want to send you to any place that you should make such an excuse.”  “Very true,” said the scribe; “but, whenever I write a letter for any one, I am always sent for to read it, because no one else can make it out.”—­And this is a very fair specimen of ready wit:  During a season of great drought in Persia, a schoolmaster at the head of his pupils marched out of Shiraz to pray (at the tomb of some saint in the suburbs) for rain, when they were met by a waggish fellow, who inquired where they were going.  The preceptor informed him, and added that, no doubt, Allah would listen to the prayers of innocent children.  “Friend,” quoth the wit, “if that were the case, I fear there would not be a schoolmaster left alive.”