OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Fairy Tales: Their Origin and Meaning

FAIRY TALES
THEIR ORIGIN AND MEANING
WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF
Dwellers in Fairyland
BY
JOHN THACKRAY BUNCE
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1878
The rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved
LONDON: K. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, BREAD STREET HILL.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
The substance of this volume was delivered as a course of Christmas Holiday Lectures, in 1877, at the Birmingham and Midland Institute, of which the author was then the senior Vice-president. It was found that both the subject and the matter interested young people; and it was therefore thought that, revised and extended, the Lectures might not prove unacceptable in the form of a Book. The volume does not pretend to scientific method, or to complete treatment of the subject. Its aim is a very modest one: to furnish an inducement rather than a formal introduction to the study of Folk Lore; a study which, when once begun, the reader will pursue, with unflagging interest, in such works as the various ​writings of Mr. Max-Müller; the "Mythology of the Aryan Nations," by Mr. Cox; Mr. Ralston's "Russian Folk Tales;" Mr. Kelly's "Curiosities of Indo-European Folk Lore;" the Introduction to Mr. Campbell's "Popular Tales of the West Highlands," and other publications, both English and German, bearing upon the same subject. In the hope that his labour may serve this purpose, the author ventures to ask for an indulgent rather than a critical reception of this little volume.
    Birmingham,
       September, 1878.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. :
| page ||
| ORIGIN OF FAIRY TALES—THE ARYAN RACE: ITS CHARACTERISTICS, ITS TRADITIONS, AND ITS MIGRATIONS | 1 |
| CHAPTER II. ||
| KINDRED TALES FROM DIVERS LANDS | 37 |
| CHAPTER III. ||
| DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: STORIES FROM THE EAST | 92 |
| CHAPTER IV. ||
| DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: TEUTONIC, SCANDINAVIAN, ETC. | 128 |
| CHAPTER V. ||
| DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: CELTIC, THE WEST HIGHLANDS | 160 |
| CHAPTER VI. ||
| CONCLUSION—SOME POPULAR TALES EXPLAINED. | 185 |
| INDEX | 195 |
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 30 1831

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 30 1831
Compiled By Peter J. Bolton
Contents
| | Page |
| Dreams of Heaven | 529 |
| To a Butterfly near a Tomb | 530 |
| Marguerite of France | 697-699 |
| The Freed Bird | 699-700 |
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 30 1831/Dreams of Heaven

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 30, Page 529
DREAMS OF HEAVEN,
BY MRS HEMANS.
Dream'st thou of Heaven?—What dreams are thine?
 Fair child, fair gladsome child!
With eyes that like the dewdrop shine,
 And bounding footstep wild.
Tell me what hues th' immortal shore
 Can wear, my Bird! to thee,
Ere yet one shadow hath pass'd o'er
 Thy glance and spirit free?
"Oh! beautiful is heaven, and bright
 With long, long summer days! I see its lilies gleam in light,
 Where many a fountain plays.
"And there unchecked, methinks, I rove,
 Seeking where young flowers lie,
In vale and golden-fruited grove—
 Flowers that are not to die!"
Thou Poet of the lonely thought,
 Sad heir of gifts divine!
Say, with what solemn glory fraught
 Is Heaven in dream of thine?
"Oh! where the living waters flow
 Along that radiant shore,
My soul, a wanderer here, shall know
 The exile-thirst no more!
"The burden of the stranger's heart
 Which here unknown I bear,
Like the night-shadow shall depart,
 With my first wakening there.
"And borne on eagle-wings afar,
 Free thought shall claim its dower
From every sphere, from every star,
 Of glory and of power."
O woman! with the soft sad eye
 Of spiritual gleam! Tell me of those bright realms on high,
 How doth thy deep heart dream?
By thy sweet mournful voice I know,
 On thy pale brow I see,
That thou hast lov'd in silent woe,
 Say, what is Heaven to thee?
"Oh! Heaven is where no secret dread
 May haunt Love's meeting hour;
Where from the past, no gloom is shed
 O'er the heart's chosen bower:
"Where every sever'd wreath is bound;
 And none have heard the knell
That smites the soul in that wild sound—
 Farewell, belov'd!—Farewell!"
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 29 1831

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 29 1831
Compiled By Peter J. Bolton
Contents
| | Page |
| The Last Song of Sappho | 129 |
| The Penitent's Return | 130-131 |
| Communings with Thought | 260-261 |
| The Necromancer | 261-262 |
| The Procession | 451-452 |
| The Burial in the Desert | 453 |
| Hymn of the Mountain Christian | 913 |
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 29 1831/Communings with Thought

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 29, Pages 260-261
COMMUNINGS WITH THOUGHT,
BY MRS HEMANS.
Could we but keep our spirits to that height,
We might be happy; but this clay will sink Its spark immortal.
Byron.
Return, my thoughts, come home!
Ye wild and wing'd! what do ye o'er the deep?
And wherefore thus th' Abyss of Time o’ersweep,
 As bird the ocean-foam?
 Swifter than shooting star,
Swifter than lances of the northern light,
Upspringing through the purple heaven of night,
 Hath been your course afar!
 Through the bright battle-clime,
Where laurel-boughs make dim the Grecian streams,
And reeds are whispering of heroic themes,
 By temples of old Time:
 Through southern garden-bowers,
Such as young Juliet look'd from, when her eye,
Fill'd with the fervid soul of Italy,
 Watch'd for the starry hours:
 Through the North's ancient halls,
Where banners thrill'd of yore, where harp-strings rung,
But grass waves now o'er those that fought and sung—
 Hearth-light hath left their walls!
 Through forests old and dim,
Where o'er the leaves dread magic seems to brood,
And sometimes on the haunted solitude,
 Rises the pilgrim's hymn:
Or where some fountain lies,
With lotus-cups through orient spice-woods gleaming!
There have ye been, ye wanderers! idly dreaming
 Of man's lost paradise!
 Return, my thoughts, return! Cares wait your presence in life's daily track,
And voices, not of music, call you back;
 Harsh voices, cold and stern!
 Oh! no, return ye not!
Still farther, loftier, let your soarings be!
Go, bring me strength from journeyings bright and free,
 O'er many a haunted spot.
 Go, seek the martyr's grave,
'Midst the old mountains, and the deserts vast;
Or through the ruin'd cities of the past,
 Follow the wise and brave!
 Go, visit cell and shrine!
Where woman hath endured!—through wrong, through scorn,
Uncheer'd by fame, yet silently upborne
 By promptings more divine!
 Go, shoot the gulf of death!
Track the pure spirits where no chain can bind,
Where the heart's boundless love its rest may find,
 Where the storm sends no breath!
 Higher, and yet more high!
Shake off the cumbering chain which earth would lay
On your victorious wings—mount, mount!—Your way
 Is through eternity!
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 29 1831/The Burial in the Desert

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 29, Page 453
THE BURIAL IN THE DESERT,
BY MRS HEMANS.
How weeps yon gallant Band
O'er him their valour could not save!
For the bayonet is red with gore,
And he, the beautiful and brave,
Now sleeps in Egypt's sand.—Wilson.
In the shadow of the Pyramid
 Our brother's grave we made,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
 A field of death survey'd.
The blood-red sky above us
 Was darkening into night,
And the Arab watching silently
 Our sad and hurried rite.
The voice of Egypt's river
 Came hollow and profound,
And one lone palm-tree, where we stood,
 Rock'd with a shivery sound:
While the shadow of the Pyramid
 Hung o'er the grave we made,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
 A field of death survey'd.
The fathers of our brother
 Were borne to knightly tombs,
With torch-light and with anthem-note,
 And many waving plumes:
But he, the last and noblest
 Of that high Norman race,
With a few brief words of soldier-love
 Was gather'd to his place;
In the shadow of the Pyramid,
 Where his youthful form we laid,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
 A field of death survey'd.
But let him, let him slumber
 By the old Egyptian wave!
It is well with those who bear their fame
 Unsullied to the grave!
When brightest names are breathed on,
 When loftiest fall so fast,
We would not call our brother back
 On dark days to be cast,
From the shadow of the Pyramid,
 Where his noble heart we laid,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
 A field of death survey'd.
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 29 1831/Hymn of the Mountain Christian

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 29, Page 913
HYMN OF THE MOUNTAIN CHRISTIAN,
BY MRS HEMANS.
"Thanks be to God for the Mountains."—Howitt's Book of the Seasons.
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
 Our God, our fathers' God!
Thou hast made thy children mighty,
 By the touch of the mountain sod.
Thou hast fix’d our ark of refuge
 Where the spoiler's foot ne'er trod;
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
 Our God, our fathers' God!
We are watchers of a beacon
 Whose lights must never die;
We are guardians of an altar
 Midst the silence of the sky;
The rocks yield founts of courage
 Struck forth as by thy rod—
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
 Our God, our fathers' God!
For the dark, resounding heavens,
 Where thy still small voice is heard,
For the strong pines of the forests,
 That by thy breath are stirr'd;
For the storms on whose free pinions
 Thy spirit walks abroad—
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
 Our God, our fathers' God!
The royal eagle darteth
 On his quarry from the heights,
And the stag that knows no master,
 Seeks there his wild delights;
But we for thy communion
 Have sought the mountain sod—
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
 Our God, our fathers' God!
The banners of the chieftain
 Far, far below us waves;
The war-horse of the spearman
 Cannot reach our lofty caves;
Thy dark clouds wrap the threshold
 Of freedom's last abode;
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
 Our God, our fathers' God!
For the shadow of thy presence
 Round our camp of rock outspread;
For the stern defiles of battle,
 Bearing record of our dead;
For the snows, and for the torrents,
 For the free heart's burial sod,
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
 Our God, our fathers' God!
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 29 1831/The Last Song of Sappho

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 29, Page 129
THE LAST SONG OF SAPPHO,
BY MRS HEMANS.
What is Poesy, but to create
 From overfeeling, good or ill, and aim
At an external life beyond our fate?
 Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,
Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain!
 And vultures to the heart of the bestower,
Who, having lavish'd his high gift in vain,
 Lies chain'd to his lone rock by the sea shore.
Byron's Prophecy of Dante.
Sound on, thou dark unslumbering sea!
 My dirge is in thy moan;
 My spirit finds response in thee,
To its own ceaseless cry—"Alone, alone!”
 Yet send me back one other word,
 Ye tones that never cease!  Oh! let your hidden leaves be stirr'd,
And say, deep waters! can you give me peace?
 Away!—my weary soul hath sought
 In vain one echoing sigh,
 One answer to consuming thought
In human breasts—and will the wave reply?
 Sound on, thou dark unslumbering sea!
 Sound in thy scorn and pride!
 I ask not, alien world! from thee,
What my own kindred earth hath still denied!
 And yet I loved that earth so well,
 With all its lovely things!
 Was it for this the death-wind fell
On my rich lyre, and quench'd its living strings?
 Let them lie silent at my feet!
 Since, broken even as they,
 The heart, whose music made them sweet,
Hath pour'd on desert sands its wealth away.
 Yet glory's light hath touch'd my name,
 The laurel wreath is mine—
 With a worn heart, a weary frame,
O! restless Deep! I come to make them thine!
 Give to that crown, that burning crown,
 Place in thy darkest hold!
 Bury my anguish, my renown,
With hidden wrecks, lost gems, and wasted gold!
 Thou sea-bird, on the billow's crest,
 Thou hast thy love, thy home!
 They wait thee in the quiet nest—
And I—unsought, unwatch'd for—I too come!
 I, with this winged nature fraught,
 These visions, brightly free,
 This boundless love, this fiery thought— Alone, I come! O! give me peace, dark Sea!
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 29 1831/The Penitent's Return

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 29, Pages 130-131
THE PENITENT'S RETURN,
BY MRS HEMANS.
Can guilt or misery ever enter here?
Ah! no, the spirit of domestic peace,
Though calm and gentle as the brooding dove,
And ever murmuring forth a quiet song,
Guards, powerful as the sword of Cherubim,
The hallow'd Porch. She hath a heavenly smile,
That sinks into the sullen soul of vice,
And wins him o'er to virtue.
Wilson.
My father's house once more,
In its own moonlight beauty! Yet around,
Something, amidst the dewy calm profound,
Broods, never mark'd before!
Is it the brooding night?
Is it the shivery creeping on the air,
That makes the home, so tranquil and so fair,
O'erwhelming to my sight?
All solemnized it seems,
And still'd, and darken'd in each time-worn hue,
Since the rich clustering roses met my view,
As now, by starry gleams.
And this high elm, where last
I stood and linger'd—where my sisters made
Our mother's bower—I deem’d not that it cast
So far and dark a shade!
How spirit-like a tone
Sighs through yon tree! My father's place was there
At evening-hours, while soft winds waved his hair!
Now those grey locks are gone!
My soul grows faint with fear!
Even as if angel-steps had mark'd the sod.
I tremble where I move—the voice of God
Is in the foliage here!
Is it indeed the night
That makes my home so awful? Faithless hearted!
'Tis that from thine own bosom hath departed
The in-born gladdening light!
No outward thing is changed;
Only the joy of purity is fled,
And, long from Nature's melodies estranged,
Thou hear'st their tones with dread.
Therefore, the calm abode
By thy dark spirit is o'erhung with shade,
And, therefore, in the leaves, the voice of God
Makes thy sick heart afraid!
The night-flowers round that door,
Still breathe pure fragrance on the untainted air;
Thou, thou alone, art worthy now no more
To pass, and rest thee there!
And must I turn away?
—Hark, hark!—it is my mother's voice I hear,
Sadder than once it seem'd—yet soft and clear—
Doth she not seem to pray?
My name!—I caught the sound!
Oh! blessed tone of love—the deep, the mild—
Mother, my mother! Now receive thy child,
Take back the Lost and Found!
# Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 29 1831/The Procession

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 29, Pages 451-452
THE PROCESSION,
BY MRS HEMANS.
"The peace which passeth all understanding," disclosed itself in her looks and movements. It lay on her countenance like a steady unshadowed moonlight. Coleridge.
There were trampling sounds of many feet,
And music rush'd through the crowded street;
Proud music, such as tells the sky,
Of a chief returned from victory.
There were banners to the winds unroll'd,
With haughty words on each blazon'd fold;
High battle-names, which had rung of yore,
When lances clash'd on the Syrian shore.
Borne from their dwellings, green and lone,
There were flowers of the woods on the pathway strown;
And wheels that crush'd as they swept along—
Oh! what doth the violet amidst the throng?
I saw where a bright Procession pass'd
The gates of a Minster, old and vast;
And a king to his crowning place was led,
Through a sculptur'd line of the warrior dead.
I saw, far gleaming, the long array
Of trophies, on those high tombs that lay,
And the coloured light, that wrapp'd them all,
Rich, deep, and sad, as a royal pall.
But a lowlier grave soon won mine eye
Away from th' ancestral pageantry:
A grave by the lordly Minster's gate,
Unhonour'd, and yet not desolate.
It was but a dewy greensward bed,
Meet for the rest of a peasant head;
But Love—Oh! lovelier than all beside!—
That lone place guarded and glorified.
For a gentle form stood watching there,
Young—but how sorrowfully fair!
Keeping the flowers of the holy spot,
That reckless feet might profane them not.
Clear, pale and clear, was the tender cheek,
And her eye, though tearful, serenely meek;
And I deem'd, by its lifted gaze of love,
That her sad heart's treasure was all above.
For alone she seem'd midst the throng to be,
Like a bird of the waves far away at sea;
Alone, in a mourner's vest array'd,
And with folded hands, e'en as if she pray'd.
It faded before me, that masque of pride,
The haughty swell of the music died;
Banner, and armour, and tossing plume,
All melted away in the twilight's gloom.
But that orphan form, with its willowy grace,
And the speaking prayer in that pale, calm face,
Still, still o'er my thoughts in the night-hour glide—
—Oh! Love is lovelier than all beside.
# Eminent Chinese of the Ch'ing Period/Kao Huang-ti

Layout 2
​KAO Huang-ti. Posthumous name of Nurhaci [q. v.].
# Eminent Chinese of the Ch'ing Period/Ka-li

Layout 2
​KA-li. See under Gali.
# Eminent Chinese of the Ch'ing Period/K'ung Kuang-sên

Layout 2
​K'UNG Kuang-sên 孔廣森 (T. 衆仲, 撝約, H. 顨[巽]軒), 1752–1786, scholar, a native of Ch'ü-fu, Shantung, was a descendant of Confucius in the seventieth generation. His grandfather, K'ung Ch'uan-to 孔傳鐸 (T. 振路, d. 1735, age 63 sui), inherited the title, Duke Yen-shêng 衍聖公 in 1723. His father, Kung Chi-fên 孔繼汾 (T. 體儀, H. 止堂, d. 1786, age 62 sui), was a chü-jên of 1747 and the author of the 闕里文獻考 Ch'üeh-li wên-hsien k'ao, 100 + 1 chüan, printed in 1762—a comprehensive work on Confucius, his descendants, his disciples, and his philosophy. Kung Kuangsên became a chü-jên in 1768 at the age of seventeen sui. Three years later (1771) he became a chin-shih and a member of the Hanlin Academy, and was later appointed a corrector. His mother died in 1777. Although he resumed his official duties when the mourning period was over, he retired soon after. Before long his family became involved in a law suit, which made it necessary for him to go to many places for help. He was in Honan on this matter in 1785 when he met Pi Yüan [q. v.]. There he became acquainted with many scholars who were on Pi Yüan's secretarial staff, among them Sun Hsing-yen and Hung Liang-chi [qq. v.]. Early in the winter of the following year (1786) Kung Kuang-sên died—a few months after the decease of his father.
K'ung Kuang-sên was an ardent student of the classics, especially in matters relating to the Kung-yang school of the Spring and Autumn Annals. He was the first scholar in the Ch'ing period to study the Kung-yang interpretations, but his influence was negligible. Chuang Ts'un-yü [q. v.] is regarded as the real founder of the Kung-yang school which flourished in the later Ch'ing period.
Although K'ung Kuang-sên lived a short life of only thirty-four years he left seven works, which were printed during the years 1792–1814, first by his younger brother, K'ung Kuang-lien 孔廣廉 (T. 靜吾), and then by his son, K'ung Fu-ch'ien 孔服虔 (T. 元敬), a chin-shih of 1801. These works were brought together under the general title 顨軒孔氏所著書 Hsün-hsüan K'ung-shih so-chu shu. The following five of the seven titles relate to the classics: 公羊春秋經傳通義 Kung-yang Ch'un-ch'iu ching-chuan t'ung-i, 12 chüan; 大載禮記補注 Ta-Tai Li-chi pu-chu, 14 chüan; 詩聲類 Shih shêng lei, 13 chüan; 禮學卮言 Li-hsüeh chih-yen, 6 chüan; and 經學卮言 Ching-hsüeh chih-yen, 6 chüan. The other two titles are 少廣正負術內外篇 Shao-kuang chêng-fu shu nei-wai p'ien, 6 chüan—a work on mathematics; and 駢儷文 P'ien-li wên, 3 chüan, his collected prose in the balanced, or p'ien-li style. All of these works, some of them in abbreviated form, appear in various collectanea. K'ung Kuang-sên was also an accomplished calligrapher.
[1/487/25a; 3/129/36a; 29/6/16a; 山東通志 Shan-tung t'ung-chih (1915) 172/15a; Ch'üeh-li wên-hsien k'ao 10/6a, 100/1b.]
Tu Lien-chê
# Eminent Chinese of the Ch'ing Period/K'ung Yu-tê

Layout 2
​K'UNG Yu-tê 孔有德, d. Aug. 7, 1652, Chinese bannerman in the Plain Red Banner, was a native of Liaotung. He is reported in one source to have been a descendant of Confucius, his ancestors having emigrated earlier from Shantung. He served under Mao Wên-lung [q. v.] in Korea where he was a member of the band of ninety-seven (some sources say one hundred and ninety-seven) who captured Chên-chiang 鎮江, on the Yalu River, in 1621. ​When later in the year the Manchus retook the lost territory, he accompanied Mao to his island retreat. But after the execution of the latter in 1629 he refused to serve his successor, deserting instead to the standard of Sun Yüan-hua [q. v.] in Shantung where he became a lieutenant-colonel. When the Manchu attack on Ta-ling-ho began in 1631 he was sent with 800 cavalry to join in the defense. On his way there a mutiny took place among the troops under him, whereupon he embarked on an independent career, and after plundering many smaller towns in Shantung, laid siege on February 11, 1632 to the city of Têng-chou. This city he took eleven days later with the help of Kêng Chung-ming [q. v.]. When he had been joined by forces from Lü-shun (Port Arthur) and from the islands in the Gulf of Chihli, K'ung made plans to take the city of Lai-chou, but after a siege of more than six months he was forced by Ming troops to abandon the effort.
Early in 1633 Têng-chou was taken from him, and K'ung escaped across the sea to Liaotung where on May 24 he offered his services to the Manchus. Emperor T'ai-tsung received him in audience, treated him with honor, and appointed him a commander in the army. Kung applied himself with energy to the Manchu cause; he shared in all the important expeditions with rank equal to a beile and acquired in 1636 the title of Prince Kung-shun 恭順王. When in 1642 the organization under Banners was extended to the entire Chinese army on the Manchu side, K'ung became attached to the Plain Red Banner. In 1644 he joined in the pursuit of Li Tzŭ-ch'êng [q. v.], after which he took part in the war against Ming adherents in Kiangnan. In 1646 he was appointed to combat the movement in support of the Ming Prince of Kuei (see Chu Yu-lang) in Hunan. His successes there were overwhelming. Returning in 1648, he was loaded with honors and after receiving the title of Prince of the Pacified South (Ting-nan wang 定南王) was dispatched in the following year at the head of 20,000 soldiers to subdue Kwangsi. Through the next two years he drove the Ming armies steadily back, but in 1652 he was outflanked by Li Ting-kuo [q. v.] who cut off his line of retreat through Hunan and shut him up in Kuei-lin, where, seeing that the loss of the city was imminent, he committed suicide on August 7. He was given the posthumous name Wu-chuang 武壯, and was buried with honors outside the gate, Chang-i mên 彰儀門, Peking. For his daughter, K'ung Ssŭ-chên, see biography of Sun Yen-ling.
[1/240/1a; 2/78/2a; 4/6/1a; 四王合傳 Ssŭ-wang ho-chuan, p. 38; Mao Pin [q. v.], P'ing p'an chi; Haenisch, E., T'oung Pao, 1913, p. 85.]
George A. Kennedy