dle of a mile along the chief
business thoroughfare of Kan-tchou-foo, the swelling whoops and yells of
"Fankwae" seem to portend the immediate bursting of the anticipated
storm, and a dozen times I breathe easier at the subsidence of its
volume. The while I am still hoping faintly for a repetition in part of
my delightful surprise at Chao-choo-foo, we arrive at a gate leading out
on to a broad paved quay of the Kan-kiang, which flows close by the
walls.

Here I first realize the presence of Imperial troops, and awaken to the
probability that I am indebted to their known proximity for the
self-restraint of the mob, and their comparatively mild behavior. These
Celestial warriors would make excellent characters on the spectacular
stage; their uniforms are such marvels of color and pattern that it is
difficult to disassociate them from things theatrical. Some are uniformed
in sky blue, and others in the gayest of scarlet gowns, blue aprons with
little green pockets, and blue turbans or Tartar hats with red tassels.
Their gowns and aprons are patterned so as to spread out to a ridiculous
width at bottom, imparting to the gay warrior an appearance not unlike an
opened fan, his head constituting the handle.

As a matter of fact, the soldiers of the Imperial army are the biggest
dandies in the country; when on the march coolies are provided to carry
their muskets and accoutrements. As seen today, beneath the walls of
Kan-tchou-foo, they impress me far more favorably as dandies than as
soldiers equal to the demand of modern warfare.

Like soldiers the whole world round, however, they seem to be a
good-natured, superior class of men; no sooner does my presence become
known than several of them interest themselves in checking the aggressive
crowding of the people about me. Some of them even accompany me down to
the ferry and order the ancient ferryman to take me across for nothing.
This worthy individual, however, enters such a wordy protestation against
this that I hand him a whole handful of the picayunish tsin. The soldiers
make him give me back the over-payment, to the last tsin. The sordid
money-making methods of the commercial world seem to be regarded with
more or less contempt by the gallant sons of Mars everywhere, not
excepting even the soldiers of the Chinese army.

The scene presented by the city and the camp from across the river is of
a most pronounced mediaeval character, as well as one of the prettiest
sights i