sort of human speech might be going on therein but I was deterred,
first by the thought that much of the speech might not be over
edifying, and next by the smells, especially by that most hideous of
all smells--new rum.

At last I came to a crowd, and in the midst of it, one of those
great French merry-go-rounds turned by machinery, with pictures of
languishing ladies round the central column. All the way from the
Champs Elysees the huge piece of fool's tackle had lumbered and
creaked hither across the sea to Martinique, and was now making the
round of the islands, and a very profitable round, to judge from the
number of its customers. The hobby-horses swarmed with Negresses
and Hindoos of the lower order. The Negresses, I am sorry to say,
forgot themselves, kicked up their legs, shouted to the bystanders,
and were altogether incondite. The Hindoo women, though showing
much more of their limbs than the Negresses, kept them gracefully
together, drew their veils round their heads, and sat coyly, half
frightened, half amused, to the delight of their papas, or husbands,
who had in some cases to urge them to get up and ride, while they
stood by, as on guard, with the long hardwood quarter staff in hand.

As I looked on, considered what a strange creature man is, and
wondered what possible pleasure these women could derive from being
whirled round till they were giddy and stupid, I saw an old
gentleman seemingly absorbed in the very same reflection. He was
dressed in dark blue, with a straw hat. He stood with his hands
behind his back, his knees a little bent, and a sort of wise, half-
sad, half-humorous smile upon his aquiline high-cheek-boned
features. I took him for an old Scot; a canny, austere man--a man,
too, who had known sorrow, and profited thereby; and I drew near to
him. But as he turned his head deliberately round to me, I beheld
to my astonishment the unmistakable features of a Chinese. He and I
looked each other full in the face, without a word; and I fancied
that we understood each other about the merry-go-round, and many
things besides. And then we both walked off different ways, as
having seen enough, and more than enough. Was he, after all, an
honest man and true? Or had he, like Ah Sin, in Mr. Bret Harte's
delectable ballad, with 'the smile that was child-like and bland'--

'In his sleeves, which were large,
Twenty-four packs of cards,
And--On his nail