wn-stairs, where it performs the office of a vent for the rampant
curiosity of the thousands who besiege the proprietor for a peep at me.

A little cup and a teapot of hot tea is brought me at once, and my order
taken for supper; the characters on ray limited written vocabulary
proving invaluable as an aid toward making my g-astro-nomic preferences
understood. A dish of boiled fish, pickled ginger, chicken entrees, young
onions, together with rice enough to feed a pig, form the ingredients of
a very good Chinese meal. Chop-sticks are, of course, provided; but, as
yet, my dexterity in the manipulation of these articles is decidedly of
the negative order, and so my pocket-knife performs the dual office of
knife and fork; for the rice, one can use, after a manner, the little
porcelain dipper provided for ladling an evil-smelling liquid over that
staple. Bread, there is none in China; rice is the bread of both this
country and Japan. During the night one gets a reminder of the bek-jees
of Constantinople in the performances of a night policeman, who passes by
at intervals loudly beating a drum. This, together with roystering
mosquitoes, and a too liberal indulgence in strong tea, banishes sleep
to-night almost as effectually as the pounding of the old drug-vender's
pestle did at Chun-Kong-hoi.

The rooms below are full of sleeping coolies, cat-and-dog hucksters and
travellers, when I descend at day-break to start. The first two hours are
wasted in wandering along a levee that leads up a tributary stream,
coming back again and getting ferried to the right embankment. The riding
is variable, and the zigzagging of the levee often compels me to travel
three miles for the gaining of one. My elevated path commands a good view
of the traffic on the river, and of the agricultural operations on the
adjacent lowlands.

The boating scenes on the river are animated, and peculiarly Chinese. The
northern monsoons, called typhoons in China, are blowing strongly down
stream, while the current itself is naturally strong; under the influence
of wind and current combined, junks and sampans with butterfly sails all
set are going down stream at racing speed. In striking contrast to these,
are the up-stream boats, crawling along at scarcely perceptible pace
against the current, in response to the rhythmical movements of a line of
men, women, and children harnessed one behind another to a long tow-line.

The water in the river is low, and the la