It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. He could not move; but stood like one stupified, with his hands clasped together, and eyes almost starting out of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortunate parent. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. .
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