graduated scale of Chinese street rights in this particular respect,
to which, as being recognised by the Chinese themselves, it would be
advisable for foreigners to pay some attention. In England it has
been successfully maintained that the roadway belongs to all equally,
foot-passengers, equestrians, and carriage-passengers alike. Not so in
China; the ordinary foot-passenger is bound to "get out of the way" of
the lowest coolie who is carrying a load; that same coolie must make
way, even at great inconvenience to himself, for a sedan-chair; an empty
chair yields the way to a chair with somebody inside; a chair, inasmuch
as being more manageable, gets out of the way of a horse; and horse,
chair, coolie, and foot-passenger, all clear the road for a wedding or
other procession, or for the retinue of a mandarin.

At the same time a Chinaman may stop his cart or barrow, or dump down
his load, just where-ever he pleases, and other persons have to make the
best of what is left of the road. I have even seen a theatrical stage
built right across a street, completely blocking it, so that all traffic
had to be diverted from its regular course. There are no municipal
regulations and no police in China, so that the people have to arrange
things among themselves; and, considering the difficulties inherent in
such an absence of government, it may fairly be said that they succeed
remarkably well.

When two friends meet in the street, either may put up his fan and
screen his face; whereupon the other will pass by without a sign of
recognition. The meaning is simply, "Too busy to stop for a chat," and
the custom, open and above-board as it is, compares favourably perhaps
with the "Not at home" of Western civilisation.

I do not know of any Chinese humorist who ever, as in the old story,
shouted out to a visitor, "I am not at home." Confucius himself
certainly came very near to doing so. It is on record that when an
unwelcome visitor came to call, the sage sent out to say that he was too
ill to receive guests, at the same time seizing his harpsichord and
singing to it from an open window, in order to expose the hollowness of
his own plea.

Any one on horseback, or riding in a sedan-chair, who happens to meet a
friend walking, must dismount before venturing to salute him. However to
obviate the constant inconvenience of so doing, the foot-passenger is in
duty bound to screen his face as above; and thus, by a fiction which
deceives no