My first voyage to China was unspeakably distasteful, and as we neared Hong Kong we were suddenly caught up in the tail of a typhoon and carried for forty-eight hours wherever it pleased to take us. Most of that time we were without food, and could not even get a cup of tea; while we found it hard work to cling to a seat. When we emerged from the storm, and steamed into the wonderful bay of Hong Kong, it seemed like Paradise; it looked to my eyes the most beautiful harbour I had ever seen: and I have seen nearly all the most celebrated ones, without feeling tempted to change my opinion. The first introduction to a new country, if it happens to be when the faculties are specially quickened, makes an indelible impression, and from this time China has been to me a land of infinite charm and beauty. The more I have seen of it, the more I have realised its fascination; even its ugliness is interesting.

Hong Kong lies along the shore, with a steep cliff rising abruptly behind it, called the Peak, and the typhoon had laid parts of it in ruins, and unroofed many of the houses, so that it was by no means looking its best. British pride swelled within me as I thought of the transformation that had taken place in half a century. When it was ceded to the British it was a barren island, with a population of 5000 inhabitants; now it is the second largest port in the Empire, with a population of 238,724. There is an immense boat population; whole families have lived from generation to generation in their boats along the shore. In Hong Kong, East and West live happily together, learning to appreciate one another. Chinese merchants are members of its council and take an active part in its government. It has become not only the greatest shipping but also the greatest banking centre of the East, and it is a significant fact that it contributes annually £20,000 to the British Treasury as its military contribution.

From Hong Kong to Shanghai is but a step, and at first sight the latter seems almost as European as the former. The landing, after coming up one of the mouths of the Yangtze River, is in the centre of a promenade, with broad grass borders between it and the road, along which lie the finest commercial buildings of the city for the distance of more than a mile. This is the Bund, the most imposing part of the concession. It may be well to mention what a “concession” is, as this is a term continually used with regard to the treaty ports, such as Tientsin, Hankow, and Shanghai. It is a right granted to Europeans to inhabit a certain defined area, to possess property in it (no private individual except a Chinaman has the right to buy land for building on, in China, although it is occasionally done in the interior), to live under European law, to have their own police and manage their own affairs. The Shanghai concession was mapped out in 1843 by Sir George (then Captain) Balfour, and is on a broad cosmopolitan basis: later on the French obtained one adjoining it, and then the Americans. Many Europeans live outside the concession, especially in a quarter where the English have laid out a charming shady road, perhaps the most tortuous in existence—so as to avoid desecrating graves; it is called the Bubbling Well Road. The concessions have their own post-offices, where you call for letters, if you happen to expect any from the country to which they belong. We found the Russian post-office up a staircase in a thoroughly unofficial-looking house.

The traveller, however, on landing at Shanghai ought not to drive along the Bund to the pleasant Astor House Hotel, but should make a détour into the Chinese streets Nankin Loo, or Foochow Loo, densely thronged streets, where nineteen out of every twenty people wear blue robes, varying in shade from deepest ultramarine to palest aquamarine. One is accustomed to think of the Chinese as quiet, slow-going people, but the traffic of Shanghai is so great that I know no place where you are more conscious of business bustle. The crowd in the streets is almost entirely composed of men and boys, so that it is hard to imagine where room is found for the women and children, even the balconies and shops as well as streets being packed with men. It is estimated that Shanghai has 160,000 inhabitants to the square mile. It is necessary to visit old Shanghai really to see what it can be, and it is a mistake to be deterred from doing this (as many visitors are) on account of its special squalor and dirt, or by the absurd statement that all Chinese cities are alike.

You pass into the real Shanghai through two low gateways, set at right angles from one another, where no vehicle is ever allowed to enter; indeed, such a thing is practically impossible. The streets are so narrow and tortuous that it is hard even for carriers to force a passage through the crowd. The houses are fairly high, and innumerable signboards (long, narrow boards covered with gilt characters which read from bottom to top) hanging overhead block out the light and hinder any current of air from driving away evil smells. The entrances to the shops are lined with Chinese lanterns of every shape, size, and colour: when lit, they cast a kindly glamour over the celestials below, very different from the pitiless glare of electric light. There is no gaudy display of goods in shop windows, for there are no windows; just an open counter on which a few specimens may be lying, probably in a glass case. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with shallow drawers, filled with endless little parcels containing the rest of the stock-in-trade. Despite the squalid surroundings and the tininess of the shops, this may be very valuable (for the Chinese are great lovers of curios), jade, bronze, ivory, china, or silver. Along with such things are mixed the most absurd rubbish, mainly European goods. Many shops contain a row of finely carved chairs to accommodate purchasers, and elaborately decorated woodwork, such as screens with beautiful groups of figures at one end. We should have liked to buy many things, but this is not to be done lightly, and several days of diplomatic dealing are required before purchaser and seller can come to terms in the orthodox way. No Eastern would be satisfied with the monotony of our Western methods. The whole street is interested in the performance, and looks on as at a play. The amount of business transacted appears to be in inverse proportion to the number of shops.

We threaded our way through a maze of lanes till we came to the centre of the town—the original of the celebrated willow pattern1—and as picturesque a spot, in the mellow evening light, as you could possibly imagine. A weed-covered pond, fringed by willows, surrounds the group of tea-houses, which are reached by a zigzag bridge, across which passes a ceaseless stream of blue-robed passengers: gentlemen carrying their birds out for an airing; mothers with babies in their arms, wearing gaily coloured caps surmounted by scarlet tufts; coolies with heavy loads; children dangling sundry purchases, such as a bit of meat or vegetables, from the end of a string or blade of grass—a fascinating throng to watch, if not to be absorbed into!

Close to the garden is a mandarin’s palace, into which we gained admittance after much hammering. The reception-rooms were lofty and dignified, furnished only with Chinese lanterns, some handsomely carved chairs, alternating with little tables (just large enough to accommodate tea-things) set in two rows facing one another, and scrolls on the walls. The garden was entirely composed of rockwork, with the greatest possible length of pathway comprised in the smallest possible area. One of the stairways led up to a handsome summer-house with a balustrade consisting of a sinuous dragon, some forty feet long, carved in stone. Beside his gaping jaws sat a little stone frog, preparing to leap in—a good specimen of the humour which makes Chinese art so attractive. A few willows and shrubs adorned the garden, but no flowers—a feature characteristic of Chinese gardens, where design and architectural work such as summer-houses, bridges, and walls are the most important matters. On different parts of the inner walls of this garden were stone medallions, representing scenes in the Mandarin’s life.

On emerging from the garden by a different door from the one we came in at, we were confronted by a row of images, and found it was a joss (= worship) house; the few worshippers present were prostrating themselves—two at a time—before the altar, behind which stood the gods. The air was laden with the smell of incense, joss-sticks burning in a stand on the altar; and huge stone lions guarded the door. It was apparently the quietest and least frequented part of the city.

In the courtyard was a fine bronze monument, said to be over 2000 years old, round which a market was going on; the people sitting on the ground, surrounded by their wares, mainly vegetables. By way of variety there was a man with a large assortment of coal-black tresses of hair for sale, as even the poorest Chinaman is not above improving his queue with a false addition: also there was a large basket full of grasshoppers in cages about an inch square, “shrilling” at the top of their voices. From this courtyard ran a street full of shops of cooked meats. Above the counters hung split dried ducks, which looked as if they had been petrified in the act of flying with outstretched necks and wings. Below them were baskets full of eggs, black with age, preserved in a mixture of straw and lime, esteemed a great delicacy, as also seaweeds and sea-slugs—the most revolting, evil-smelling things—like fat caterpillars. Rows of little dishes contained various kinds of relishes, and there were piles of white square steamed flour dumplings, which is the Chinese form of bread.

Passing up the street, you come to a vegetable stall, the most exquisite harmony in reds and yellows; scarlet persimmons, bananas, pomeloes like yellow cannon-balls, yellow and scarlet capsicums, all sorts of nuts, a yellowish fruit shaped like a hand and called “Buddha’s fingers,” and baskets of dingy-coloured grapes, were some of the things for sale. Rotten pears cut in half seemed to find a ready sale; and à propos of pears, I must tell how a lady in Peking peeled one for my sister with her finger-nail! and how another, in describing the shocking extravagance of her neighbour, ended as a climax with the statement, “She actually throws away her pear skins!”

The next street was full of coffin shops, particularly dear to the Chinese heart, as a coffin is a complimentary gift from a son to his father. They were mostly black, and would probably be ornamented with gilt lettering; but in Canton scarlet coffins are the fashion.

Nauseous smells rose from the open gutters. Myriads of mosquitoes are wont to settle upon hapless visitors, but a solution of eau de Cologne and pyrethrum rubbed over face, ankles, and other vulnerable spots kept us fairly immune.

Leaving old Shanghai, you come into a whirling throng of carriages, wheelbarrows, and rickshas, of which there are thousands darting about. When an Englishman happens to be the occupant, the speed of the ricksha is automatically accelerated. Whole families of Chinese women and children, dressed in every colour of the rainbow, manage to pile themselves on the barrows. At the street corners stand Sikh policemen, tall handsome men with dazzling white turbans, who contrast finely with the celestials. There is a greater variety of vehicles in use here than in any other place that I have visited in the East, and they all go much too fast for the safety of passengers, considering the narrowness of the roads. The slightest push upsets a barrow. The swiftest of all the vehicles is a sort of low victoria, drawn by a rat-like pony. This is specially used by stockbrokers, who dash out of an office into it, one foot in the carriage and one on the step: they never think of sitting down, but are whisked away to another office, into which they dash like lunatics, and so on ad infinitum. A feverish activity seems to possess all the business population, and every movement says “Time is money.” It is only in the evening that the business folk of Shanghai may be seen strolling along the Bund or sitting on the benches, which are labelled “Europeans only.” Hard by is the public garden, where no Chinaman is allowed to enter—an offensive piece of insolence as long as other Eastern races can strut about in it; but it is in keeping with the attitude, unfortunately, of a large number of Europeans towards the race among whom they dwell. Not long ago a notice might have been seen, “No Chinamen or dogs admitted.”

It may seem strange that the Chinese post-office is in the foreign concession, but the reason is that it is under European management together with the customs, which are under the same roof. If you wish to send off a parcel to Europe, you must first take it to the Customs House, where it has to be opened for examination. If you happen to be a lady you are shown into a division marked “Ladies only,” and the Chinese officials save you all further trouble: they do your parcel up with a dexterity which makes you envious, and seal it according to regulation; and it is all accomplished with a swiftness and courtesy that might well be copied at home.

One day we drove to the fine American college of St. John’s, about five miles from the city. We passed along the Nanking Road, where the most beautiful Chinese shops are. The façades are of handsome carved gilt woodwork, with balconies in which there were parties of men drinking tea. Unfortunately, these shops are gradually being replaced by European shops with plate-glass windows, and soon this part of the city will be quite spoilt. Gay carriages were following the same direction as our own, the Bubbling Well Road, and we were amused to see in one a party of Chinese girls evidently returning from school, and with their little handmaiden hanging on to the perch behind, where you would expect to see a boy in livery. Inside the carriage was a mirror and a sort of dressing-table and a flower-vase, as the custom is at Shanghai. On arrival at the college, we were taken first to see the orphanage, where tiny little creatures of about two or three years old came and solemnly bowed to us, with folded hands. The two youngest members of the establishment were babies, one of whom had been rescued from destruction. The father and mother had both been born on unlucky days, and when the baby girl had the same misfortune they utterly refused to have anything to do with it. She was accordingly taken to St. John’s at two days old, and has thriven capitally. We visited successively the boys’ and girls’ schools, and finally were taken round the college by the principal, Dr. Pott, to whom is mainly due the great success it has achieved. There are about 120 scholars, all of whom have to pass an entrance examination in English, and they pay what are considered somewhat heavy fees, so that the bulk of the expense has not got to be met from mission funds (American Episcopal). At present the only two final schools of the college are theology and medicine, but many of the students go on to America for further college courses. We visited the dormitories, and were interested to compare the boys’ belongings with those of English schoolboys. Each boy has his own teapot, and can always get a supply of boiling water. Many of them had musical instruments, some flowers, some birds, some crickets. They are fond of having “cricket matches”—that is to say, with live crickets. In winter the boys all bring hand-warmers into class, and Nelson’s ink-bottles are the most approved for this purpose.

As regards games, Dr. Pott said that it was with the utmost difficulty that Chinese boys can be got to exert themselves; but they are gradually getting keener, and the average of attainment is steadily rising. On a board in the college they have a list of honours won, and this keeps up the interest. In answer to a geography examination question, “What are the five principal races?” the answer was, “Fifty yards, hurdle race, &c.”! The college has a fine library, alumni hall, chapel, and playing grounds, but the laboratory leaves much to be desired. It is affiliated to an American university, and has the highest reputation of any educational establishment in China. Certainly, to judge by one of its students, who travelled with us for six months as interpreter, it is worthy of the highest praise.

Since our visit a new hall has been added to it, and there will be accommodation for another 100 students when the building is completed. The cost is being largely defrayed by Chinese well-wishers, £600 having been already contributed by them.