If back in time from Miao Feng Shan, some of the faithful will hasten to burn a candle at the shrine of Lu Tung-pin (whose birthday is on the 14th) and Han Chung-li (feted on the 15th), two of the most popular Immortals. Did the Chinese pay reverence to them all, their religious duties would never be done, for, in addition to the Hundred Gods of their Pantheon, the Immortals are a vast group of figures of both sexes, some of whom are patron-saints of various crafts and, therefore, not to be neglected.

 These Immortals, or Saints of the Taoist Church, are a peculiar invention of that peculiar creed-a conception combining the idea of everlasting life in a better world with the retention of an earthly bodily form. Its appeal is obvious. Who would not prefer to be one of these "eternal children, eternally healthy and happy, rather than a hazy kuei, or creature of spiritual essence, dependent for a joyless existence in the sunless nether world on offerings made by relations in this?"

 The principle of cheerful immortality once established, the Taoist priests thereby much strengthened their grasp on popular imagination. They-and they only-hold the key to such a state of beatitude. They make the rules for attaining it. People have to come to them if they want to reach this blissful condition.

 Theoretically, anyone is eligible. Practically it is not so easy to become an Immortal. Candidates must follow a strict regime of body and soul, while at the same time actively searching for the "True Essence." Attempts to do this led to the most varied experiments to obtain the "Elixir of Life" and the fabulous "Pill of Immortality." Finally, in the perfecting of the superman, there are three recognised stages. First the ascetic who comes out of the shell of his old body, like a cicada and, while keeping his earthly semblance, has perfect health and the power to travel throughout the universe, eat and drink copiously, and is completely happy without fear of disease or death. Next the "hero," or "perfect man," whose entire body has grown spiritual, who can fly through the air seated upon the clouds, free of all natural laws. Last the Saint, or Immortal of the First Class, who can make transformations in full day-light in contradistinction to those on the lower rungs of the ladder of perfection, who can be metamorphosed only in darkness. Such candidates as succeed in changing themselves at will night or day "become the rulers of the world."

 Many of the Immortals, whose names are legion, live in the Palace of the Hsi Wang Mu (see "The Third Moon") and are misty figures that make little appeal to the man in the street. But the group known as the "Eight Immortals" remain immensely popular to this day. We find these fantastic personages, some of whom were historical figures and others pure creations of fancy, represented on every kind of art work, from valuable screens and porcelains to common teapots and posters sold for a cash. Their adventures are still told by story-tellers at country fairs, embodied in modern novels, and represented on the stage. "Born with a gift of laughter, and a sense that the world is mad," they are still the heroes of dramas, romances, and myths.

 Like Taoism itself, which originated in a revulsion of thought and feeling against the prevalent order of things,-an attitude to which this faith has often reverted throughout the ages,-the Eight Immortals were born during the Sung dynasty from the reaction of the vibrant Chinese sense of humour against the stilted official cult with its cut-and-dried classical examples who always did the right deed in the approved and conventional way. Shocking in appearance and habits, this boisterous, roystering band is a group of Chinese Don Quixotes who attained the highest bliss not by following the usual righteous road but by the devious paths of weird and fantastic adventure, thanks to the formula of the magic Elixir of Life. Not for them are the solemnity of things long reverenced. The universe was their box of toys and they themselves enchanted goblins at play. That is why they live when so many others, more virtuous than they, have died-because of their everlasting appeal to the little boy buried deep in every man's heart, joined to the Oriental love of make-believe. Many are those who do not take them seriously, but everybody loves them for their storied antics and their droll conceits. They folded up donkeys and tucked them in a girdle, they travelled on clouds, set fire to the Ocean, rode the waves on a crutch, met in drinking dens, and danced in and out of the gates of heaven.

 No wonder the Chinese get a thrill from the absurd juxtapositions, the happy incongruities and the naive humour of the happy Eight. Dull folk see in these figures an ideal of perfect if imaginary happiness and, necessarily abstemi-ous themselves, envy their heroes' orgies of food and wine. Tradition-bound, they enjoy the delightful spectacle of this band of national cut-ups kicking their heels like colts in a pasture. Moreover, the Eight Immortals have types ap-pealing to all classes, old and young, rich and poor,, male and female, ignorant and cultured, sound and sick. The complete story of their adventures would fill a whole book. Only the chief characteristics distinguishing each of these quaint figures can, therefore, be given here.

 Lu Tung-pin, the most famous of the band, is an actual historic personage born in Shansi under a T'ang Emperor to whom he was vaguely related. From the hour of his birth, when a great light shone and a stork flew through the room, he was plainly marked for no common destiny and seems to have grown up to expectations, an impressive figure eight feet tall with a sparse beard. A gentleman and a scholar, he rose to an exalted position holding high office until the usurping Empress Wu seized the throne. Then he and his wife fled to the mountains. In exile he changed his family name of Li to Lu Tung-pin, "Guest of the Rocks," studied the mysteries of alchemy and, living on air alone, slew dragons and "rid the earth of diverse kinds of evils for upwards of four hundred years." His ,usual symbols are his "devil-slaying sabre," and a fly-whisk, or "crud sweeper," the latter indicating that "he is able to fly at will through the air, or walk on the clouds of Heaven." More rarely, he bears in his arms a little boy, thus appearing to promise his devotees male children who shall grow up to be literati or famous officials. For this reason scholars pay him honour, and his small temple in the Chinese city of Peking is filled with votive tablets presented by some of the most important men of modern China. In the midst of these serious tributes, the itinerant barber and the ignorant soothsayer come to burn incense. How did Lu Tung-pin gather this doubtful clientele? Owing to a slovenly mispronunciation of his name, he is confused in the popular mind with Lu Ts? Ta Hsien, a disciple of Lao Tz? who behaved so badly that he had to renounce the ideal of perfection and return to the world. Here, necessity being the mother of invention, he became a barber in order to earn his living. It is this ne'er-do-well who is actually the patron saint of barbers. But fate, by a ridiculous error, allows the Razor Guild to meet yearly in Lu Tung-pin's sanctuary to burn incense, enjoy theatricals, and discuss the price of a Chinese shave and hair-cut. Both the occasion and the company seem ill-suited to the dignity of the Imperial Patron of Letters.

 Lu Tung-pin's teacher, friend, and fellow winebibber, was Han Chung-li, the typical soldier of the Group. Yet, there are so many versions of his life and adventures that he sometimes figures as a warrior, sometimes as a Taoist priest, and sometimes as a beggar receiving the Pill of Immortality. His military virtues are eclipsed by his alchemistic talents. All his pic-tures show him in mufti, sometimes holding his famous feather-fan, or a peach of long life.

 If Han Chung-li and Lii Tung-pin are the most famous of the Eight Immortals, Li T'ieh-kuai, "Li with the Iron Crutch," has the honour of being the first among them to gain immortal-ity, and the Hsi Wang Mu herself taught him the doctrine, after curing him of an ulcer of the leg. Poor Li is a pathetic figure. Losing his parents in early youth, he was ill-treated and half-starved by a cruel sister-in-law, whereupon he fled to the hills. There, while wandering in a wood, he had a most distressing adventure. His soul left his body to visit the Hua Shan, one of the Sacred Mountains. Some say that it ascended into the heavens to see his Master, Lao Tz?. In any case, it was on a perfectly respectable errand, but on returning Li's soul found that his body had vanished and it had to enter the first body it could find from which the vital essence had not yet completely departed. This happened to be the untenanted corpse of a beggar-a poor wretch lately dead of hunger with a lame leg, matted hair, and bulging eyes. When he discovered this, Li wanted, of course, to exchange the vile shell against a better one, but it was too late. Lao Tz? advised him from the skies not to attempt the impossible, but gave "him a gold band to keep his hair in order, and an iron crutch to help his lame leg." Thus his picturesque, contorted figure is unmistakable. Chinese druggists sometimes use his portrait as a shop-sign because of the medicine-gourd he carries, and exorcisers look upon him as their patron.

 Another member of the "happy band" is old Chang Kuo of Shansi who, with commendable worldly wisdom, refused all invitations to the brilliant court of the T'ang dynasty and preferred to remain obscure. Though he appears to have been old from birth, and liked to pretend to be a reincarnation of the "White Bat that appeared after the First Chaos," he had a taste for sport. He rode thousands of miles a day on a white mule which, at the end of the journey, he folded up like a sheet of paper, resuscitating his magical mount, when wanted again, by sprinkling a few drops of water on him. A picture of Chang Kuo sitting on this mule, but mounted backwards (a peculiarity of this long-distance rider) and offering a son to a newly-married couple is often placed in a bridal chamber. It seems rather inappropriate that the aged ascetic should be concerned with marital happiness and the birth of children. But even in life he was famous for conjuring tricks, and the phoenix-feather in his hand marks him as a worker of miracles.

 If Chang Kuo stands for old age among the Sung Immortals, youth is personified by Han Hsiang-tzu, grand-nephew of Han Yu (A.D. 768824) the great statesman, philosopher and poet of the T'ang dynasty. The child, educated by his cultured uncle, grew up to be a lover of flowers, producing miraculous plants with poems written in letters of gold on their leaves. This refined.. gentle youth, supposed by some to have been the pupil of LU Tung-pin, either carries a basket of the blossoms he so loved, or a jade flute, and is the patron of Chinese musicians.

 Officialdom is represented in the "Merry Eight" by the person of the stately Ts'ao Kuo-ch'iu who was connected with the Imperial family of the Sungs, and seems to have been let into the company of Immortals after leading a most dissolute life on earth for no better reason than that, the eighth grotto of the Upper Spheres, where they lived, happened to be vacant, and they nominated him because he "had the disposition of a genie." Excess of temperament involved him in the murder of another man's wife. He was imprisoned, but released, profiting by a universal amnesty granted by the Emperor, and then gave himself up to the practice of perfection. Nowadays, we find him pictured as a most respectable figure holding in both hands the kind of tablet formerly used at Imperial audi-ences-a tablet emitting miraculous light. This is a passport to audiences with the superior divinities, and becomes Ts'ao particularly well since, in life, he was allied to the reigning family and, though looked upon as the black sheep of the clan, had access to the Palace.

 One woman only is a member of this strange company,-Ho Hsien-ku, supposed to have been born in Canton about A.D. 700. "A maiden holding in her hand a lotus blossom, the flower of open-heartedness, or the peach given her by Lii Tung-pin as a symbol of identity, playing at times on the sheng, a reed organ, or drinking wine"such is the usual picture of this young lady, who gained immortality by eating powdered mother of-pearl presented to her by a friendly ghost, and henceforth spent most of her time wandering on mountain-tops or floating on coloured clouds.

 Finally, the maddest of all the mad hatters is Lan Ts'ai-ho, whose sex even is not clearly determined. This doubtful individual is the semicrazed strolling musician or mountebank of the Immortals. No one knows whence Lan Ts'ai-ho came, nor whether he was as lunatic as he pretended to be.

 "A man, yet not a man," he called himself as he earned his meagre livelihood singing in the streets. His verses denouncing "this fleeting life and its delusive pleasures" would seem to prove his sanity. Yet, when money was given him, he strung the cash on a string and dragged it after him, never looking back to see whether it was still there or not,-a sure proof of lunacy to the frugal Chinese mind. Nor was his costume less peculiar than his behaviour ; a tattered blue gown held together by a wide wooden belt, one foot shod, the other bare. In summer he wore wadded garments, in winter he slept in the snow, his "breath rising in a brilliant cloud like the steam from a cauldron." His final disappearance from this world was in harmony with his wild life. He rose lightly to Heaven on the fumes of wine he loved, throwing down to earth his shoe, his belt, his robe and castanets, with the grandiloquent gesture of one who goes to pluck the stars. - Why this queer individual has come to be represented with a basket of flowers, and is styled patron of gardeners, is one of the mysteries of this mysterious band of pictur-esque gentry.

 Finally, as a group, the Immortals who are, essentially, above and beyond the law, may serve to remind the respectability-loving Chinese of the old adage : "no man can be sure to avoid prison or the beggar's bag,"-the classical "per aspera ad astra." They embody, and subtly suggest also, the Oriental reverence for madmen and their admiration for the type that renounces the vanities of earthly honours and possessions, which are so dear to the majority of men. Indeed the wisdom, the humour, and the moral lessons, to be drawn from the lives of the Eight Immortals still keep them alive even in the XXth century-sharp figures of broken dreams with which to cheat the conventions.