fe, a sacrifice to save him, he
had sprung forward to hold her back from her terrible death, but had
succeeded only in catching one of her tiny jewelled slippers as she sank
out of sight for ever--a dainty, silken slipper, to remind him always of
her wonderful sacrifice. In his wild grief as he clasped this pitiful
little memento to his heart he would himself have leaped in and followed
her to her death, if his servants had not restrained him until the
Emperor had repeated his signal and the liquid had been poured into the
cast. As the sad eyes of all those present peered into the molten river
of metals rushing to its earthen bed, they saw not a single sign
remaining of the departed Ko-ai.

This, then, my children, is the time-worn legend of the great bell
of Peking, a tale that has been repeated a million times by poets,
story-tellers and devoted mothers, for you must know that on this third
casting, when the earthen mould was removed, there stood revealed the
most beautiful bell that eye had ever looked upon, and when it was swung
up into the bell-tower there was immense rejoicing among the people. The
silver and the gold and the iron and the brass, held together by the
blood of the virgin, had blended perfectly, and the clear voice of the
monster bell rang out over the great city, sounding a deeper, richer
melody than that of any other bell within the limits of the Middle
Kingdom, or, for that matter, of all the world. And, strange to say,
even yet the deep-voiced colossus seems to cry out the name of the
maiden who gave herself a living sacrifice, "Ko-ai! Ko-ai! Ko-ai!" so
that all the people may remember her deed of virtue ten thousand years
ago. And between the mellow peals of music there often seems to come a
plaintive whisper that may be heard only by those standing near, "Hsieh!
hsieh"--the Chinese word for slipper. "Alas!" say all who hear it,
"Ko-ai is crying for her slipper. Poor little Ko-ai!"

And now, my dear children, this tale is almost finished, but there is
still one thing you must by no means fail to remember. By order of the
Emperor, the face of the great bell was graven with precious sayings
from the classics, that even in its moments of silence the bell might
teach lessons of virtue to the people.

"Behold," said Yung-lo, as he stood beside the grief-stricken father,
"amongst all yonder texts of wisdom, the priceless sayings of our
honoured sages, there is none that can teach to my children so s