a jewel from Heaven, Wa
Yun is the fountain of flowers, while Man Li suggests thousands of
profits. Other of the signs relate to the muse. They do not at all
reveal the business carried on within. The butcher, for example, has
over his shop such elegant phrases as Great Concord, Constant Faith,
Abounding Virtue. There are many pawn-brokers who ply their vocation
assiduously. They tell you of their honest purpose after this
fashion: "Let each have his due pawn-brokers," and, "Honest profit
pawn-brokers." In the Chinese restaurant, to which we will go later,
you will be edified by such sentiments as these,--The Almond-Flower
Chamber, Chamber of the Odours of Distant Lands, Garden of the Golden
Valley, Fragrant Tea-Chamber. The apothecary induces you to enter his
store with inviting signs of this character: Benevolence and Longevity
Hall, Hall of Everlasting Spring, Hall of Joyful Relief, Hall for
Multiplying Years. Surely if the American druggist would exhibit such
sentences as these over his shop he would never suffer for want of
customers. All are in pursuit of length of years and health; and I
think the Chinese pharmacist shows his great wisdom in offering to all
who are suffering from the ills to which flesh is heir a panacea for
their ailments. It takes the fancy, it is a pleasing conceit for the
mind, and the mere thought that you are entering Longevity Hall gives
you fresh courage!

You will find here in Chinatown men of all callings, the labourer who
is ready to bear any burden you lay on him, the artisan who is skilled
in his work, the grocer, the clothes' dealer, the merchant, the
apothecary, the doctor, the tinsmith, the furniture-maker, the
engraver, the goldsmith, the maker of paper-shrines for idols, the
barber, the clairvoyant, the fortune-teller, and all others of every
calling which is useful and brings profit to him who pursues it. But
we are deeply interested in the men whom we meet. At first view they
all seem to look alike, you can hardly distinguish one from another.
They are a study. Look on their solemn faces, sphinx-like in their
repose and imperturbability. They are a riddle to you. You rarely ever
hear them laugh. They are like a landscape beneath skies which are
wanting in the sparkling sunbeams. They seem to you as if they had
continual sorrow of heart, as if some wrong of past ages had set its
seal on their features. The Chinaman has very little sense of
the ludicrous, and he is lacking in