As one walks along Foochow Road, where formerly the lovely singing Broken Blossoms used to disport themselves,—book-shop after book-shop is passed. And in the windows of these shops are not only translations of the most current literature of the world, but also the new literature of China, a literature th is teeming with vitality, which is realistic and which is moulding thought among the rising generations. No longer need a youth limit himself to the ancient: novels; he may read the most. modernist writing, produced hot off the griddle by some Foochow Road novelist. Yet the story of the modern novel in China is inz teresting and as far as I can gather, the first of the extreme modernist publications was _entitled "Kleeblate" and contained the correspondence between Tsung Pei-hua, Kuo Mei-shih and Tien Han, the latter of whom says in his preface:
"When we were writing these letters, we Wad no intention of publishing them. The volume of the correspondence increased in spite of ourselves. Our discussion cen-fred upon Goethe and, from. that standpoint, we discussed poetic and dramatic criticism, marriage questions, love, ethics and cosmic We three lived in different places; two of us were in Japan and one in China Kleeblatt....is, comanly used as a symbol of friendship of three. (Clover leaf) May our friend-' ship become even closer by this modest volume, Kleeblatt! The letters in this volume are so ar-vanged as to forma certain con-
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.