APPEARANCE OF THE CHINESE — MODE OF PLAITING THE “TAIL” — THE CHINESE BARBER — THE REFUSE HAIR AND ITS USES — CEREMONIOUS EMPLOYMENT OF THE TAIL — DRESSING THE HAIR OF THE WOMEN — MUTUAL ASSISTANCE — POWDER FOR THE SKIN, AND MODE OF APPLYING IT — SMALL FEET OF THE CHINESE WOMEN — ORIGIN AND DATE OF THE CUSTOM OF COMPRESSING THE FEET — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — DRESS OF THE MEN — THE “BUTTON” OF RANK — SYSTEM OF EXAMINATION — INGENIOUS MODES OF EVASION — EXCEPTION IN FAVOR OF OLD AGE — THE FAN AND ITS VARIOUS USES — CHINESE LANTERNS — THE “STALKING-HORSE LANTERN” — FEAST OF LANTERNS — THE GREAT DRAGON — CHOPSTICKS, AND THE MODE OF USING THEM — THE CASE OF CHOPSTICKS — FOOD OF THE CHINESE — LIVING CRABS — BIRDS’-NEST SOUP — TEA, AND MODE OF PREPARATION.

We now come to China, a country of such extent, so thickly populated, and containing so many matters of interest, that justice could not be fully done if an entire volume were devoted to it. We will therefore restrict ourselves to a selection of those particulars in which the Chinese appear to offer the greatest contrast to Europeans.

The appearance of the Chinese possess many of the characteristics of the Tartar, both nations being different branches of the same great family. The Chinese, however, are, as a rule, of a less determined and manly cast than the Tartars, and have about them a sort of effeminacy which accounts for the conquest suffered at their hands.

One of the chief peculiarities in a Chinaman’s appearance is his “tail.” This mode of dressing the hair was imposed upon the Chinese by the Tartars, and has remained in full force ever since. The Tae-ping rebels, however, viewing the “tail” as an ignominious sign of conquest, refuse to wear it, and allow the whole of their hair to grow.

With the loyal Chinese, however, the tail has become quite an institution, and they regard it with the same sort of reverence which is felt by an Arab, a Turk, or a Persian for his beard. It is scarcely possible to punish a Chinaman more severely than by cutting off his tail, and, though he may supply its place with an artificial tail curiously woven into the hair, he feels the indignity very keenly. Sometimes, when two men are to be punished severely, they are tied together by their tails, and exposed to the derision of the public.

The tail bears some resemblance to the scalp-lock of the American Indian, but it includes very much more hair than is comprehended in the scalp-lock. The Chinaman shaves the hair from his forehead and round the temples, but leaves a circular patch of tolerable size, the hair of which is allowed to grow to its full length. Sometimes, if the patch be not large enough to nourish a sufficient quantity of hair to produce a good tail, it is enlarged by allowing more and more hair to grow at each successive shaving. On an average, the head is shaved once in ten days, and no one would venture to go into good society unless the hair of his head were clean shaven. As for his face, he has so few hairs upon it, that he does not trouble the barber very much with his countenance.

Owing to the position of the tail, a man cannot dress it properly without aid, and, chiefly for this purpose, the peripatetic barber has become quite an institution in China. All the materials of his trade are carried at the ends of a bamboo pole, which the barber carries in yoke fashion across his shoulders. When his services are required, he puts down his load, arranges his simple apparatus in a few moments, and sets to work upon the cherished tail of his customer.

Very little capital is required to set up a barber in trade. There is the razor, a most primitive triangle of steel, two inches long by one inch wide, which cost, perhaps, three half-pence, or twopence if it be of the best kind. There is the linen strop, which costs a penny, and a bamboo seat and table, which cost, perhaps, twopence each. There is one expensive article, namely, the brass basin, but, as a rule, a Chinese barber can be well set up in trade at the expenditure of about six or seven shillings, and can make a good living by his business. This sum includes a supply of black silk, wherewith to supplement the tails of his customers, and a few locks of real hair, with which he can supply artificial tails in cases where they are denied by nature.

The customer always holds a sort of basin in which to catch the clippings of hair. These are preserved, not from any superstitious ideas, as is the case in many parts of the world, but are put aside for the hair collector, who makes his daily rounds with his basket oil his back. The contents of the basket are carefully utilized. The long hair combed from women’s heads is separated and made into false tails for the men, while the short pieces shaven from men’s heads are used as manure, a tiny pinch of hair being inserted into the ground with each seed or plantlet. In consequence of the universal practice of shaving the head and wearing a tail, the number of barbers is very great, and in 1858 they were said to exceed seven thousand in Canton alone.

The right management of the tail is, among the Chinese, what the management of the hat is among ourselves. For example, it is a mark of respect to allow the tail to hang at full length, and any one who ventured to address an equal without having his tail hanging down his back would be thought as boorish as would an Englishman who went into a lady’s drawing-room without removing his hat. When the people are at work, they always coil the cherished tail round their heads, so as to get it out of the way; but if a man of superior rank should happen to pass, down go all the tails at once.

During the late war in China, the common people soon found that the English, in their ignorance of Chinese customs, did not trouble themselves whether the tails hung down their backs or were twisted round their heads. Accordingly, Oriental-like, they took advantage of this ignorance, and, though they would lower their tails for the meanest official who happened to pass near them, they made no sign even when an English general came by. However, one of the English officers discovered this ruse, and every now and then one of them used to go through the streets and compel every Chinaman to let down his tail.

The tail is never entirely composed of the hair of the wearer. Sometimes it is almost wholly artificial, a completely new tail being fixed to a worn-out stump, and, as a general rule, the last eighteen inches are almost entirely made of black silk. Besides being a mark of fashion, the tail is often utilized. A sailor, for example, will tie his hat to his head with his tail when the wind rises, and a schoolmaster sometimes uses his tail in lieu of a cane.

Absurd as the tail looks when worn by any except a Chinese or Tartar, it certainly does seem appropriate to their cast of countenance, and it is to be doubted whether the Tartar conquerors did not confer a benefit instead of inflicting an injury on the Chinese by the enforcement of the tail.

The hair of the women is not shaven, but on the contrary, additions are made to it. While they are unmarried, it hangs down the back in a long queue, like that of the men; but when they marry, it is dressed in various fantastic forms. There is a very fashionable ornament in China, called the “butterfly’s wings.” This is a quantity of false hair made in fanciful imitation of a huge butterfly, and fastened to the back of a woman’s head. Fashions, however, vary in different parts of China, and even in the same locality the women are not tied to the absolute uniformity which distinguishes the hair of the men. One mode of hair-dressing which is very prevalent makes the hair look very much like a teapot, the long tresses being held in their place by a strong cement made from wood shavings. Another mode of hair-dressing which prevails in Northern China is thus described by Mr. Fleming: “Here it is dressed and gummed in the form of an ingot of sycee silver, which is something in shape like a cream-jug, or an oval cup, wide at the top and narrow at the bottom, with a piece scooped out of the edge at each side, and with bright-colored flowers fastened by, or stuck about with skewers and pins, that stand out like porcupine quills. Though their necks be ever so dirty, and their faces not much better, yet the hair must be as exquisitely trimmed and plastered, according to the local rage, as that in a wax model seen in a London barber’s shop-window.”

In the accompanying illustration two women are shown, who render aid to each other in arranging their hair after the “teapot” fashion. In the households of Chinese women, dressing-cases are considered almost the chief requisites of life. In the drawers are the combs, pins, and paint for the cheeks and lips, and the white powder which is rubbed into the skin. This powder is made from white marble, which is broken small with a hammer, and then thrown into a tub in which revolve two stones turned by a buffalo, just like the wheels which are used in making gunpowder. The coarsely ground mass is then transferred, together with water, to a second mill, in which it is reduced to a mixture like cream. This creamy substance is then levigated in a succession of tubs, the sediment of which is taken out and returned to the mill, and the remainder is allowed to settle, the superfluous water drawn off, and the sediment pressed, while still moist, into cakes.

When used it is not only rubbed on the skin, but actually worked into it with string, which is placed on the hands in a sort of cat’s-cradle, and worked backward and forward until the required effect is produced. This powder is also used to give rice a factitious whiteness. The coarser portions are employed for making whitewash and whitening mortar.

Many of the Chinese of both sexes are remarkable for the great length to which they allow their nails to grow. This is supposed to be a sign of rank or literary occupation, inasmuch as the nails would be broken by any laborious work. For this purpose, they are kept carefully oiled to prevent them from being brittle, and are further preserved by being enclosed in tubes which slip over the end of the finger. These tubes are sometimes of bamboo, sometimes of silver, and a few of the most precious minerals.

The feet of the Chinese women are often more strangely decorated than their heads. A vast number of the women have their feet cramped by bandages into a state which renders them little better than mere pegs on which to walk, or rather totter. It is not only the rich who are thus deformed, but the poorest often have their feet cramped. The operation is begun at a very early age, so that the feet of the full-grown woman may not exceed in size that of a child of five or six. Bandages are bound firmly round the foot in such a way as to force it into an arched shape, the heel being pressed forward and the ball of the foot backward, while the four middle toes are bent under the foot, and so completely squeezed into its substance that they almost lose their identity. In fact, the member is made artificially into a club-foot, which, repugnant as it may be to European eyes, is the delight of the Chinese, who call it metaphorically by the name of “golden lily.”

Clay models of these “golden lilies” are sold at many of the shops; and as they are very accurate imitations of the foot, and it is almost impossible to induce a Chinese woman to remove the bandages and exhibit the member, a representation of one of these models is here given. The gait of the woman is necessarily reduced to an awkward waddle. There is no play of the beautiful machinery of the human foot, and the wearer of the “golden lily” walks exactly as she would do if she had no feet at all. Indeed, her gait is even more awkward, inasmuch as the weight of the body is thrown forward upon the great toe, than which nothing can be imagined more opposed to the real intention of the foot.

Fast walking is impossible with these feet, and running is out of the question, the women being obliged to support themselves by holding to walls or other objects, or to balance themselves by holding out their arms at right angles to their bodies. Indeed, even when walking quietly in the house, the woman generally leans on the various articles of furniture as she passes them, the act appearing to be instinctive, and one of which she is not conscious. Stairs are of course a difficulty in the way of “golden lilies.” Fortunately, there are not many stairs in a Chinese dwelling-house, the living rooms of which are mostly on the ground floor. I have noticed that a small-footed Chinawoman can ascend stairs easily enough, but that she always holds by the banisters or wall as she descends.

The deformity in question does not end with the foot. As the toes and ankles are deprived of motion, the muscles which work them, and which form the calf of the leg, gradually dwindle away for want of use, so that from the ankle to the knee the leg is scarcely thicker than a broomstick.

Utterly hideous as is this deformity, it is coveted by all, and those who do not possess it try to look as if they did. This they achieve by making an artificial “golden lily” of wood, putting it into a fashionable shoe, and fastening the contrivance on the sole of the real and serviceable foot. Mr. Milne remarks that a nurse, if called up suddenly in the night, will make her appearance walking firmly on her full-sized bare feet, instead of hobbling along with the fashionable waddle which she has been exhibiting by day. By a similar ruse, the boys who enact female parts on the stage imitate not only the feet but the peculiar walk of the women, and do it with such perfection that no one who was not in the secret would have the least idea that they are not what they pretend to be.

Of the origin or date of the custom nothing is known, though there are various legends which attempt to account for both. One legend, for example, attributes it to an empress of China named Tan-key, who lived some three thousand years ago, and who, having club feet by nature, induced her husband to impose the same deformity on all his female subjects. Another legend states that a certain empress was discovered in the chamber of a courtier, and laid the fault on her feet, which carried her against her will. The emperor accepted the excuse, but cut off the fore-part of her feet in order to render them more subordinate for the future. Another legend, which is a very popular one, attributes the custom to a certain prince named Le-yuh, who in consequence was condemned to seven hundred years’ torture in the infernal regions, and to make with his own hands one million shoes for the women.

The dress of the Chinese varies greatly according to the rank of the individual and the season of the year. Without going into detail, which would occupy too much time, it is sufficient to say that the principle of the dress is similar, not only among different classes, but with the two sexes, the coat and trousers being the principal articles, modified in material and form according to circumstances. The dress of a mandarin or noble, and of his wife, may be seen in the illustration on the 1437th page. The richness of material and beauty of work displayed in some of these dresses are really marvellous. They are generally of the most delicate silks, and are covered with embroidery of such harmonious coloring and exquisite workmanship as no country can equal.

It is not, however, the richness of dress which denotes rank among the Chinese. The symbol of social status is simply a spherical “button,” about as large as a boy’s playing marble, placed on the apex of the cap. The different colors and materials of the buttons designate the rank, the “blue ribbon” being a plain red coral button. The possession of these buttons is an object of high ambition for the Chinese, and its value is increased by the fact that there is no hereditary rank in China, and that the coveted button must be earned, and can neither be purchased nor given by favor.

It can only be gained by passing through a series of examinations, each increasing in severity, and no candidate for high rank being permitted to compete unless he can show the certificate that he has gained the rank immediately below it. The examinations are conducted in a building expressly made for the purpose. It has double walls, between which sentinels are continually pacing. The gates are watched in the strictest manner, and each candidate is locked into a tiny cell, after having undergone the strictest search in order to ascertain that he has not carried in any scrap of writing that may help him in the examination.

The examiners themselves are conveyed from a distance, and surrounded by troops, so that no one can approach them; and so careful are the officers who conduct the examination that the examiners are not allowed to see the original passages written by the candidates, but only copies made by official scribes. When they have passed a paper as satisfactory, the original is produced, the two are compared, and not until then does any one know the name of the writer, which has been pasted between two leaves.

The precautions are most stringent, but the ingenuity exercised in evasion sometimes conquers all the barriers set up between a candidate and external assistance. Sometimes a man, already a graduate, will manage to substitute himself for the candidate, write all the essays, and contrive a second change on leaving the place, so that the real candidate takes up the substituted essays. Sometimes a friend within the building will learn the subject of the essays, write them in tiny characters on very thin paper, enclose the paper in wax, and drop it into the water which is supplied to the candidates. One man of peculiar daring hit on the plan of getting a friend to tunnel under the walls of the college, and push the required documents through the floor of the cell. Should any such attempt be discovered, the candidate is at once ejected, and disqualified from a second attempt.

The Chinese have good reason to be ambitious of the honors of a button, as even the very lowest button exempts the wearer from military service and from arrest by the police. The bearer of this coveted symbol becomes at once one of the privileged classes; he wears an official costume when he likes, and is qualified to enter as candidate for still higher honors. Such privileges are worth much trouble to obtain, and accordingly the rejected candidates will enter the examination year after year, even until they are gray-headed. With the respect for old age which is one of the most pleasing characteristics of the Chinese, there is a law that if a man should attend the examinations annually until he is eighty years of age, and still be unable to pass, he is invested with an honorary degree, and may wear the button and official dress honoris causâ. The same rule holds good with the higher degrees.

The very highest posts in the kingdom are denoted by a peacock’s feather, which falls down the side of the cap. The gradations in rank of the feather wearers are marked by the number of “eyes” in the ornament, the summit of a Chinaman’s ambition being to wear a feather with three eyes, denoting a rank only inferior to that of the Emperor.

There is one article common to all ranks and both sexes, and equally indispensable to all. This is the fan, an article without which a Chinaman is never seen. The richer people carry the fan in a beautifully embroidered case hung to their girdles; but the poorer class content themselves with sticking it between the collar of the jacket and the back of the neck. Whenever the hand is not actually at work on some task, the fan is in it, and in motion, not violently agitated, as is mostly the case in Europe, but kept playing with a gentle, constant, and almost imperceptible movement of the wrist, so as to maintain a continuous though slight current of air.

Sometimes, in very hot weather, a stout mandarin will quietly lift up the skirts of his jacket, place his fan under the garment, and send a current of cool air round his body; and this done, he drops the skirts afresh into their place, and directs the refreshing breeze over his countenance. Sometimes it is used by way of a parasol, the man holding it over his head as he walks along. Sometimes the schoolmaster uses it by way of a ferule, and raps his pupils unmercifully on the knuckles; and so inveterate is the use of the fan, that soldiers, while serving their guns, have been observed quietly fanning themselves in the midst of a brisk fire of shot, shell, and bullets.

The materials and patterns of Chinese fans are innumerable. They are made of paper, silk, satin, palm-leaf, wood, feathers, horn, or ivory. Some of them are made so that when they are opened from left to right they form very good fans, but when spread from right to left all the sticks fall apart, and look as if they never could be united again. Those which are made of paper have various patterns painted or printed on them, and thousands are annually sold on which are complete maps of the larger Chinese cities, having every street and lane marked. Those which are made of silk or satin are covered with the most exquisite embroidery; while the horn and ivory fans are cut into patterns so slight and so delicate that they look more like lace than the material of which they really are composed. The wooden fans are made in much the same way, though the workmanship is necessarily coarser: the material of these fans is sandal-wood, the aromatic odor of which is much prized by the Chinese.

Choice sentences and aphorisms from celebrated authors are often written on the fan; and it is the custom for Chinese gentlemen to exchange autographs written on each other’s fans. The price of these fans varies according to the material and workmanship, common ones being worth about four or five for a penny, while a first-class fan will cost several pounds.

The lantern is almost as characteristic of the Chinese as the fan, inasmuch as every one who goes abroad after dark is obliged by law to carry a lantern, whereas he need not carry a fan unless he chooses. These lanterns have of late years become very common in England, the subdued light which they give through their colored envelopes having a very pretty effect at night, especially in conservatories. There is a wonderful variety of these lanterns, some of them being most complicated in structure, enormous in size, and hung round with an intricate arrangement of scarlet tassels. Others are made of a balloon-like shape, the framework being a delicate net of bamboo, over which is spread a sheet of very thin paper saturated with varnish, so that it is nearly as transparent as glass. Figures of various kinds are painted upon the lantern, and so great is the sale of these articles, that many artists make a good living by painting them. Generally, when a man buys a lantern, he purchases a plain one, and then takes it to the painter to be decorated. The name of the owner is often placed upon his lantern, together with his address, and sometimes the lantern is used as a representative of himself.

Many of the lanterns shut up flat, on the principle of the fan; some of them open out into cylinders, and some into spherical and oval shapes.

One of the most ingenious of these articles is the “stalking-horse lantern,” which is only used for festivals. It is of large size, and contains several tapers. Above the tapers is a horizontal paddle-wheel, which is set revolving by the current of air caused by the flame, and from the wheel silk threads are led to a series of little automaton figures of men, women, birds, beasts, etc., all of which move their arms, legs, and wings as the wheel runs round. A good specimen of this lantern is really a wonderful piece of work, the threads crossing each other in the most complicated style, but never getting out of order.

So completely is the Chinaman a lantern-carrying being, that, during our war in China, when a battery had been silenced by our fire in a night attack, and the garrison driven out, the men were seen running away in all directions, each with a lighted lantern in his hand, as if to direct the aim of the enemy’s musketry.

In connection with this subject, the celebrated Feast of Lanterns must not be omitted. In this remarkable ceremony, every lantern that can be lighted seems to be used, and the Chinese on this occasion bring out the complicated “stalking-horse lantern” which has just been described. The chief object, however, is the Great Dragon. The body of the Dragon is made of a number of lanterns, each as large as a beer barrel, and having large candles fastened within it. Nearly a hundred of these joints are sometimes used in the construction of a single Dragon, each joint being tied to its neighbor, so as to keep them at the same distance from each other. At one end is an enormous head with gaping jaws, and at the other is a tail of proportionate dimensions.

This Dragon is carried through the streets and villages, and has a most picturesque effect as it goes winding along its course, the bearers contriving to give it an undulating movement by means of the sticks to which the different joints are attached. A similar festival is held in the autumn. Accompanying the Dragon are a number of men dressed in various fantastic ways, as representations of the attendants of the gods. Some of them have heads like oxen, others like horses, and they are all armed with curious pronged weapons. Then there are simulated giants and dwarfs, the former being carried on the shoulders of men whose legs are concealed by the robes of the image, and the latter by boys whose heads are received into the hats which the images wear. In neither instance do the bearers trouble themselves to conceal their faces.

Various ceremonies of a like nature are enacted, of which no description can be given for want of space.

Of the Chinaman’s social habits none has been more widely known than the use of the “chopsticks,” or the two little rods by means of which the solid food is eaten. This is not the Chinese name, but is one invented by foreigners, who have employed the term as a sort of equivalent for the “kwai-tsze,” or nimble-lads, as they are very appropriately termed by the Chinese. Originally they were simply two slips of bamboo, but now they are of wood, bone, ivory, or sometimes silver. Two pairs of chopsticks in my collection are nearly ten inches in length, and about as thick at the base as a small goose-quill, tapering gradually to half the thickness at the tip.

Much misunderstanding prevails as to the use of the chopsticks, many persons supposing that they are held one in each hand, after the manner of knives and forks in Europe. These curious implements are both held in the right hand after the following manner: One of them is taken much as a pen is held, except that, instead of being held by the thumb and forefinger, it passes between the tips of the second and third fingers. This chopstick is always kept stationary. The second chopstick is held lightly between the thumb and forefinger, and can be worked so as to press with its tip against the point of the other, and act after the manner of pincers.

The adroitness displayed by the Chinese in the use of these implements is worthy of all admiration. I have seen them pick up single grains of rice with the chopsticks, dip them in soy, and carry them to the mouth with perfect precision; and, indeed, after some few lessons, I could do it tolerably well myself. In eating rice after the usual manner, the tips of the chopsticks are crossed, and the rice lifted with them as if on a spoon. If, however, the man be very hungry, he does not trouble himself about such refinement, but holds the bowl to his lips, and scoops the rice into his mouth with a celerity that must be seen to be believed. In point of speed a spoon would be nothing compared with the chopstick.

The reader must understand that the Chinese never carve at table, thinking that to do so is an utterly barbarous and disgusting custom. The meat is brought to table ready cut up into small morsels, which can be taken up with the chopsticks. The only use made of a knife at table is to separate any small pieces of meat that may adhere together; and for this purpose, a narrow, long-bladed knife is generally kept in the same sheath with the chopstick.

As a rule, every Chinaman who can afford so cheap a luxury has his chopstick-case hanging from his girdle. The case is made of different materials, such as shagreen, tortoise shell, and ivory. Specimens of the two latter kinds of case are in my collection. The ordinary case contains the two chopsticks, the knife, and a flat ivory toothpick. Sometimes, however, a wealthy man will carry a much more complicated set of table apparatus. Besides the usual chopsticks, the knife, and the toothpick, there is a spoon for eating soup, a neat little quatrefoil saucer for soy, and a peculiar two-pronged fork, with its prongs united in the middle by a floriated ornament.

As to the food of the Chinese, it varies according to the wealth of the individual, so that a man of property would not think of eating the food which the poor man thinks luxurious. In fact, it is much the same as with ourselves, so that it is impossible to make the dietary of one station the sample for that of the nation in general. There are, perhaps, one or two articles of food which ought to be casually mentioned. One, which is not generally known, is rather graphically described by Mr. Milne: “Like other Chinese, he” (i. e. a Chinese officer named Le) “invited me to dine with him on an early day after our acquaintance was formed. On this occasion I met at his table with a peculiar dish, which I had never seen under the roof of any other host, though I was informed that it was not a monopoly of Mr. Le’s taste.

“When our party of six had seated themselves at the centre table, my attention was attracted by a covered dish, something unusual at a Chinese meal. On a certain signal, the cover was removed, and presently the face of the table was covered with juvenile crabs, which made their exodus from the dish with all possible rapidity. The crablets had been thrown into a plate of vinegar just as the company sat down, such an immersion making them more brisk and lively than usual. But the sprightly sport of the infant crabs was soon checked by each guest seizing which he could, dashing it into his mouth, and swallowing the whole morsel without ceremony.

“Determined to do as the Chinese did, I tried this novelty also with one. With two I succeeded, finding the shell soft and gelatinous, for they were tiny creatures, not more than a day or two old. But I was compelled to give in to the third, who had resolved to take vengeance, and gave my lower lip a nip so sharp and severe as to make me relinquish my hold, and likewise desist from any further experiment of this nature.”

The celebrated birds’-nests, which the Chinese convert into soup, are not, as some persons seem to think, made of sticks, and straws, and wool, but are formed from the gelatinous substance obtained by masticating a sort of seaweed. The nests are transparent, as if made of gelatine, and when placed in hot water they dissolve as readily. The nest, when dissolved, is very much like the well-known “Irish moss,” or carrageen; and I fully believe that, if the Chinese were to obtain the seaweed itself, and prepare it like the nests, it would answer every purpose. I possess specimens both of the seaweed and the nest, and, after tasting both, have found them to be identical in flavor and consistence. And, as the seaweed might be obtained for about ten shillings per hundredweight, and the finest kind of nest costs eight hundred pounds for the same amount, the importation of the seaweed instead of the nests from Java might be a good speculation.

With regard to the great staple of the country, namely tea, very little can be said here. In the first place, the public is very well informed on the subject, and, in the next, the tea question is so large that it would occupy far too great space. The mode of preparing tea differs much from that practised by ourselves. Instead of allowing the tea to be made and then to stand for a considerable time, the Chinaman puts a little tea into a cup, pours boiling rain-water on it, inverts the saucer over it, so as to prevent the aroma from escaping, and drinks it immediately, using the saucer as a strainer whereby to keep the tea-leaves out of his mouth. As to adulterating the tea with such abominations as cream and sugar, he would be horrified at the idea. The Chinese never use milk for themselves, though of late years they have learned to milk their buffaloes for the service of the foreigner, and they consume sugar in almost every shape except in tea.

We who use either of these accessories cannot understand the true flavor of tea, the aroma of which is as much destroyed by such admixture as would be that of the choicest wine. Even those who do not spoil their tea in the usual manner can seldom know what the best tea is, because it is never sent to this country. Not in China can a foreigner purchase it, as it is not made for general sale, but is reserved for “cumshaws,” or presents.