The Middle Kingdom, Volume I (of 2)

CHAPTER III. GEOGRAPHICAL DESCRIPTION OF THE WESTERN PROVINCES.

The central provinces of Hupeh and Hunan formerly constituted a single one under the name of Hukwang (i.e. Broad Lakes), and they are still commonly known by this appellation. Hupeh (i.e. North of the Lakes) is the smaller of the two, but contains the most arable land. It is bounded north by Honan, east by Nganhwui and Kiangsí, south by Hunan, and west by Sz’chuen and Shensí. Its area is about 70,000 square miles, or slightly above that of New England.

The Great River flows through the south, where it connects with all the lakes on both its shores, and nearly doubles its volume of water. The Han kiang, or Han shui rises in the southwest of Shensí, between the Fuh-niu shan and Tapa ling, and drains the south of that province and nearly the whole of Hupeh, joining the Yangtsz’ at Wuchang. It is very tortuous in its course, flowing about 1,300 miles in all, and is navigable only a portion of the year, during the freshes, as far as Siangyang, about 300 miles. Boats of small size come down, however, at all times from Sin-pu-wan, near its source in Shensí. The mouth is not over 200 feet broad, but the bed of the river as one ascends soon widens to 400 and 500 feet, and at Shayang, 168 miles from Hankow, it is half a mile wide. The area of its whole basin is about the same as the province.

The extraordinary effects of a large body of melted snow poured into a number of streams converging on the slopes of a range of hills, and then centring in a narrow valley, bringing their annual deposit of alluvial and silt are seen along the River Han. The rise of this stream is often fifty feet where it is narrowest, and the shores are high; at Íching the channel varies from 300 to 1,500 feet at different seasons, but the river-bed from 2,000 to 9,000 feet, the water rising 18 feet at the fresh. In these wide places, the river presents the aspect of a broad, winding belt of sand dunes, in which the stream meanders in one or many channels. Navigation, therefore, is difficult and dangerous, since moving sands shift the deep water from place to place, and boats are delayed or run aground. In high water the banks are covered, but the current is then almost as serious an obstacle as the shallows are in winter.

The southeastern part of Hupeh is occupied by an extensive depression filled with a succession of lakes. The length and breadth of this plain are not far from two hundred miles, and it is considered the most fertile part of China, not being subject to overflows like the shores of the Yellow River, while the descent of the land allows its abundance of water to be readily distributed. Every spot is cultivated, and the surplus of productions is easily transported wherever there is a demand. The portions nearest the Yangtsz’ are too low for constant cultivation.

The Ax Lake, Millet Lake, Red Horse Lake, and Mienyang Lake, are the largest in the province. The remaining parts of both the Lake provinces are hilly and mountainous; the high range of the Ta-peh shan (‘Great White Mountains’), commencing far into Shensí, extends to the west of Hupeh, and separates the basins of the Great River from its tributary, the Han kiang, some of its peaks rising to the snow line. The productions of Hupeh are bread-stuffs, silk, cotton, tea, fish, and timber; its manufactures are paper, wax, and cloth. The climate is temperate and healthy.

The favorable situation of Wuchang, the provincial capital, has drawn to it most of the trade, which has caused in the course of years the settlement of Hanyang and Hankow on the northern bank of the Yangtsz’ and River Han. The number of vessels gathered here in former years from the other cities on these two streams was enormous, and gave rise to exaggerated ideas of the value of the trade. The introduction of steamers has destroyed much of this native commerce, and the cities themselves suffered dreadfully by the Tai-pings, from which they are rapidly recovering, and on a surer foundation. The cities lie in lat. 30° 33′ N. and long. 114° 20′ E., 582 geographical miles distant from Shanghai.

Wuchang is the residence of the provincial officers, the Manchu garrison, and a literary population of influence, while the working part depends mostly on Hankow for employment. Its walls are over twelve miles in circuit, inclosing more vacant than occupied surface, whose flatness is relieved by a range of low hills that extend beyond Hanyang on the other side of the river. The narrow streets are noisome from the offal, and in summer are sources of malaria, as the drainage is bad.

When Hankow was opened to foreign trade in 1861, it presented a most ruinous appearance, but the sense of security inspired by the presence of the men and vessels from far lands rapidly drew the scattered citizens and artisans to rebuild the ruins. The foreigners live near the river side, east of Hankow and west of the River Han, where the anchorage is very favorable, and out of the powerful current of the Yangtsz’. The difference in level of the great stream is about forty feet in the year. In the long years of its early and peaceful trade up to 1850, this region had gathered probably more people on a given area than could be found elsewhere in the world; and its repute for riches led foreigners to base great hopes on their share, which have been gradually dissipated. The appearance of the city as it was in 1845 is given by Abbé Huc in a few sentences:

“The night had already closed in when we reached the place where the river is entirely covered with vessels, of every size and form, congregated here from all parts. I hardly think there is another port in the world so frequented as this, which passes, too, as among the most commercial in the empire. We entered one of the open ways, a sort of a street having each side defined by floating shops, and after four hours’ toilsome navigation through this difficult labyrinth, arrived at the place of debarkation. For the space of five leagues, one can only see houses along the shore, and an infinitude of beautiful and strange looking vessels in the river, some at anchor and others passing up and down at all hours.”[72]

The coup d’œil of these three cities is beautiful, their environs being highly cultivated and interspersed with the mansions of the great; but he adds, “If you draw near, you will find on the margin of the river only a shapeless bank worn away with freshets, and in the streets stalls surmounted with palisades, and workshops undermined by the waters or tumbling to pieces from age. The open spots between these ruins are filled with abominations which diffuse around a suffocating odor. No regulations respecting the location of the dwellings, no sidewalks, no place to avoid the crowd which presses upon one, elbowing and disputing the passage, but all get along pell-mell, in the midst of cattle, hogs, and other domestic animals, each protecting himself as he best can from the filth in his way, which the Chinese collect with care for agricultural uses, and carry along in little open buckets through the crowd.”

Above Hankow, the towns on the Yangtsz’ lie nearer its banks, as they are not so exposed to the freshets. The largest trading places in this part of Hupeh on the river, are Shasí, opposite Kinchau fu, and Íchang near the borders of Sz’chuen, respectively 293 and 363 miles distance. From the first settlement there is a safe passage by canal across to Shayang, forty miles away on the River Han; the travel thence goes north to Shansí. The other has recently been opened to foreign trade. It is the terminus of navigation for the large vessels used from Shanghai upward, as the rapids commence a few miles beyond, necessitating smaller craft that can be hauled by trackers. These two marts are large centres of trade and travel, and were not made desolate by the Tai-pings, as were all other towns of importance on the lower Yangtsz’.

The portion of the Yangtsz’ in this province, between Íchang and the Sz’chuen border, exhibits perhaps some of the most magnificent glimpses of scenery in the world. Breaking through the limestone foundations that dip on either side of the granite core of the rapids, the river first penetrates the Wu shan, Mitan, and Lukan gorges on the one side, then the long defile of Íchang on the other. At various points between and beyond these the stream is broken by more or less formidable rapids. Among these grand ravines the most impressive, though not the longest, is that of Lukan, whose vertical walls rise a thousand feet or more above the narrow river. Nothing can be more striking, observes Blakiston, than suddenly coming upon this huge split in the mountain mass “by which the river escapes as through a funnel.”

The eastern portions of Hupeh are rougher than the southern, and were overrun during the rebellion by armed bands, so that their best towns were destroyed. Siangyang fu and Fanching, near the northern borders, are important places in the internal commerce of this region. Its many associations with leading events in Chinese early and feudal history render it an interesting region to native scholars. A large part of the southwestern prefecture of Shingan is hilly, and its mountainous portions are inhabited by a rude, illiterate population, many of whom are partly governed by local rulers.

JUKAN GORGE, YANGTSZ’ RIVER.

The province of Hunan is bounded north by Hupeh, east by Kiangsí, south by Kwangtung and Kwangsí, west by Kweichau and Sz’chuen. Its area is reckoned at 84,000 square miles—equal to Great Britain or the State of Kansas. It is drained by four rivers, whose basins comprise nearly the whole province, and define its limits by their terminal watersheds. The largest is the Siang, which, rising in the hills on the south and east in numerous navigable streams, affords facilities for trade in small boats to the borders of Kiangsí and Kwangtung, the traffic concentring at Siangtan; this fertile and populous basin occupies well-nigh half of the province. Through the western part of Hunan runs the Yuen kiang, but the rapids and cascades occur so frequently as to render it far less useful than the Siang. Boats are towed up to the towns in the south-west with great labor, carrying only four or five tons cargo; these are exchanged for mere scows at Hangkia, 200 miles above Changteh, in order to reach Yuenchau. The contrast between the two rivers as serviceable channels of intercourse is notable. Between these two main rivers runs the Tsz’ kiang, navigable for only small batteaux, which must be pulled up so many rapids that the river itself has been called Tan ho, or ‘Rapid River;’ its basin is narrow and fertile, and the produce is carried to market over the hills both east and west. The fourth river, the Lí shui, empties, like all the others, into the Tungting Lake, and drains the northwestern portion of the province; it is navigable only in its lower course, and is almost useless for travel. These rivers all keep their own channels through the lake, which is rather a cesspool for the overflow of the Yangtsz’ during its annual rise than a lake fed by its own springs and affluents. At Siangyin, on the River Siang, the banks are 35 feet above low water, and gradually slope down to its mouth at Yohchau, or near it. The variation of this lake from a large sheet of water at one season to a marsh at another, must of course affect the whole internal trade of the province, inasmuch as the rivers running through it are in a continual condition of flood or low water—either extreme cannot but seriously interfere with steam vessels.

The productions of Hunan do not represent a very high development of its soil or mines. Tea and coal are the main exports; tea-oil, ground-nut and tung oils, hemp, tobacco, and rice, with iron, copper, tin, and coarse paper make up the list. The coal-fields of southern Hunan contain deposits equal to those in Pennsylvania; anthracite occurs on the River Lui, and bituminous on the River Siang, both beds reaching over the border into Kwangtung. The timber trade in pine, fir, laurel, and other woods is also important. The population of Hunan was somewhat reduced during the Tai-ping rebellion; its inhabitants have in general a bad reputation among their countrymen for violence and rudeness. The hilly nature of the country tends to segregate them into small communities, which are imperfectly acquainted with each other, because travelling is difficult; nor is the soil fertile enough to support in many districts a considerable increase of population.

The capital of Hunan, Changsha, lies on the River Siang, and is one of the most influential, as it is historically one of the most interesting, cities in the central part of China; the festival of the Dragon Boats originated here. Siangtan, at the confluence of the Lien kí, more than 200 miles above Yohchau, is one of the greatest tea-marts in China. Its population is reckoned to be a million, and it is a centre of trade and banking for the products of this and other regions; it extends for three miles along the west bank, and nearly two miles inland, with thousands of boats lining the shores. Its return to prosperity since the rebellion has been marvellously rapid. The city of Changteh on the Yuen River is the next important town, as it is easily reached from Yohchau on the Yangtsz’; large amounts of rice are grown in the prefecture.

Hunan has a high position for letters, the people are well dressed, healthy, and usually peaceable. The boating population is, however, exceptionally lawless, and forms a difficult class for the local authorities to control. Aboriginal hill-tribes exist in the southwestern districts, which are still more unmanageable, probably through the unjust taxation and oppression of the imperial officers set over them. In addition to these ungovernable elements a large area is occupied by the Yao-jin, who have possessed themselves of the elevated territory lying between Yungchau and Kweiyang, in the southern point of the province, and there barricaded the mountain passes so that no one can ascend against their will.

The province of Shensí (i.e., Western Defiles) is bounded north by Inner Mongolia, from which it is divided by the Great Wall, east by Shansí and Honan, southeast by Hupeh, south by Sz’chuen, and west by Kansuh. Its area is not far from 70,000 square miles, which is geologically and politically most distinctly marked by the Tsingling shan, the watershed between the Wei and Han rivers. There is only one good road across it to Hanchung fu near its southern part; another, farther east, goes from Sí-ngan, by a natural pass between it and the Fuh-niu shan, to Shang, on the Tan ho, in the Han basin. This part comprises about one-third of Shensí. The other portion includes the basins of the Wei, Loh and Wu-ting, and some smaller tributaries of the Yellow River, of which the Wei is the most important. This river joins the Yellow at the lowest point of its basin, the Tung-kwan pass, where the larger stream breaks through into the lowlands of Honan, and divides eastern and southern China from the northwestern regions. The whole of this part presents a loess formation, and the beds of the streams are cut deep into it, the roads across them being few. The Wei basin is the most fertile part of the province; the history of the Chinese race has been more connected with its fortunes than with any other portion of their possessions. Its productiveness is shown in the rapid development and peopling of the districts along the banks and affluents.

On the north, the Great Wall separates Shensí from the Ordos Mongols, its western end reaching the Yellow River at Ninghia—the largest and only important city in that region. All the connections with this region are through Shensí and by Kwei-hwa-ching, but the configuration of the ranges of hills prevents direct travel. None of the rivers in this region are serviceable to any great degree for navigation, and but few of them for irrigation; the crops depend on the rainfall. The climate is more equable and mild than in Shansí, and not so wet as in many parts of Kansuh. The harvests of one good year here furnish food for three poor ones. The chief dependence of the people is on wheat, but rice is grown wherever water can be had; sorghum, millet, pulse, maize, barley, ground-nut, and fruits of many sorts fill up the list. Cotton, hemp, tobacco, rapeseed, and poppy are largely cultivated, but the surplus of any crop is not enough in average years to leave much for export. The ruthless civil war recently quenched in the destruction of the Mohammedans in the province has left it quite desolate in many parts, and its restoration to former prosperity and population must be slow.

The travel between Shensí and Sz’chuen is almost wholly confined to the great road reaching from Sí-ngan to Chingtu. It passes along the River Wei to Hienyang hien on the left bank, where the road north into Kansuh diverges, the other continuing west along the river through a populous region to Paokí hien, where it recrosses the Wei. During this portion, the Tai-peh Mountain, about eleven thousand feet high, with its white summit, adds a prominent feature to the scenery. At Paokí, the crossing at the Tsingling shan commences, and occupies seven days of difficult travel through a devious road of 163 miles to Fung hien on the confines of Kansuh. It crosses successive ridges from 6,000 to 9,000 feet high, and is carried along the sides of hills and down the gorges in a manner reflecting much credit on the engineers of the third century A.D. who made it. These mountainous regions are thinly settled all the way down to Paoching, near Hanchung; but upon gaining the River Han, one of the most beautiful and fertile valleys in China is reached. Its western watershed is the Kiu-tiao shan,[73] running southwesterly into Sz’chuen on the west side of the Kialing River.

The city of Sí-ngan is the capital of the northwest of China, and next to Peking in size, population, and importance. It surpasses that city in historical interest and records, and in the long centuries of its existence has upheld its earlier name of Chang-an, or ‘Continuous Peace.’ The approach to it from the east lies across a bluff, whose eastern face is filled with houses cut in the dry earth, and from whose summit the lofty towers and imposing walls are seen across the plain three miles away. These defences were too solid for the Mohammedan rebels, and protected the citizens while even their suburbs were burned. The population occupies the entire enciente, and presents a heterogeneous sprinkling of Tibetans, Mongols and Tartars, of whom many thousand Moslems are still spared because they were loyal. Sí-ngan has been taken and retaken, rebuilt and destroyed, since its establishment in the twelfth century B.C. by the Martial King, but its position has always assured for it the control of trade between the central and western provinces and Central Asia. The city itself is picturesquely situated, and contains some few remains of its ancient importance, while the neighborhood promises better returns to the sagacious antiquarian and explorer than any portion of China. The principal record of the Nestorian mission work in China, the famous tablet of A.D. 781, still remains in the yard of a temple. Some miles to the northwest lies the temple Ta-fu-sz’, containing a notable colossus of Buddha, the largest in China, said to have been cut by one of the Emperors of the Tang in the ninth century. This statue is in a cave hewn out of the sandstone rock, being cut out of the same material and left in the construction of the grotto. Its height is 56 feet; the proportions of limbs and body of the sitting figure are, on the whole, good, the Buddha being represented with right hand upraised in blessing, and the figure as well as garments richly covered with color and gilt. Before the god stand two smaller colossi of the Schang-hoa, Buddha’s favorite disciples; their inferior art and workmanship, however, testify to a later origin. The cave is lighted from above, after the manner of the Pantheon, by a single round opening in the vaulting. Sixty feet over the rock temple rises a tile roofing, and upon the hillside without the cavern are a number of minor temples and statues.[74]

Next to this city in importance is Hanchung, near the border of Sz’chuen; it was much injured by the Tai-pings, and is only slowly recovering, like all the towns in that valley which were exposed; none of these rebels crossed the Tsingling Mountains. Yu-lin (‘Elm Forest’) is an important city on the Great Wall in the north of Shensí, the station of a garrison which overawes the Mongols. Several marts carrying on considerable trade are on or near the Wei and Han Rivers.

Gold mines occur in Shensí, and gold is collected in some of the streams; other metals also are worked. The climate is too cold for rice and silk; wheat, millet, oats, maize, and cotton supply their places; rhubarb, musk, wax, red-lead, coal, and nephrite are exported. The trade of Sí-ngan is chiefly that of bartering the produce of the eastern provinces (reaching it by the great pass of Tung-kwan) and that from Tibet, Kansuh, and Ílí. Wild animals still inhabit the northern parts, and the number of horses, sheep, goats, and cattle raised for food and service is large compared with eastern China.

The immense province of Kansuh (i.e., Voluntary Reverence, made by uniting the names of Kanchau fu and Suh chau) belonged at one time to Shensí, and extended no farther west than Kiayü kwan; but since the division by Kienlung, its limits have been stretched across the desert to the confines of Songaria on the northwest, and to the borders of Tibet on the west. It is bounded north and northeast by Gobi and the Dsassaktu khanate, east by Shensí, south by Sz’chuen, southwest by Koko-nor and the desert, and northwest by Cobdo and Ílí. Its entire area cannot be much under 400,000 square miles, the greater part of which is a barren waste; it extends across twelve degrees of latitude and twenty-one degrees of longitude, and comprises all the best part of the ancient kingdom of Tangut, which was destroyed by Genghis.

The topography of this vast region is naturally divided into two distinct areas by the Kiayü kwan at the end of the Great Wall; one a fertile, well-watered, populous country, differing toto cœlo from the sandy or mountainous wildernesses of the other. The eastern portion is further partitioned into two sections by the ranges of mountains which cross it nearly from south to north in parallel lines, dividing the basins of the Wei and Yellow Rivers near the latter. The passage between them is over the Făn-shui ling, not far from the Tao ho and by the town of Tihtao, leading thence up to Lanchau. This part of the province, watered by the Wei, resembles Shansí in fertility and productions, and its nearness to the elevated ranges of the Bayan-kara induces comparatively abundant rainfall. The streams in the extreme south flow into Sz’chuen, but furnish few facilities for navigation. The affluents of the Yellow River are on the whole less useful for irrigation and navigation, and the four or five which join it near Lanchau vary too much in their supply of water to be depended on.

The peculiar feature of Kansuh is the narrow strip projecting like a wedge into the Tibetan plateau, reaching from Lanchau northwesterly between the Ala shan and Kílien shan to the end of the Great Wall. This strip of territory commands the passage between the basin of the Tarim River and Central Asia and China Proper; its passage nearly controls trade and power throughout the northern provinces. The Ta-tung River flows on the south of the Kílien Mountains, but the travel goes near the Wall, where food and fuel are abundant, a long distance beyond its end—even to the desert. The roads from Sí-ngan to Lanchau pass up the King River to Pingliang and across several ranges, or else go farther up the River Wei to Tsin chau; the distances are between 500 and 600 miles. From Lanchau one road goes along the Yellow River down to Ninghia, a town inhabited chiefly by Mongols. Another leads 90 miles west to Síning, whither the tribes around Koko-nor repair for trade. The most important continues to Suhchau, this being an easier journey, while its trade furnishes employment to denizens of the region, whose crops are taken by travellers on passage; this road is about 500 miles in length. Its great importance from early days is indicated by the erection of the Great Wall, in order to prevent inroads along its sides, and by the fortress of Kiayü, which shuts the door upon enemies.

The climate of Kansuh exhibits a remarkable contrast to that of the eastern provinces. Prejevalsky says it is damp in three of the seasons; clear, cold winds blowing in winter, and alternating with calm, warm weather; out of 92 days up to September 30, he registered 72 rainy days, twelve of them snowy. The highest temperature was 88° F. in July. Snow and hail also fall in May. North of the Ala shan, which divides this moist region from the desert, everything is dry and sandy; their peaks attract the clouds, which sometimes discharge their contents in torrents, and leave the northern slopes dry; a marsh appears over against and only a few miles from a sandy waste.[75]

The country east of the Yellow River is fertile, and produces wheat, oats, barley, millet, and other edible plants. Wild animals are frequent, whose chase affords both food and peltry; large flocks and herds are also maintained by Tartars living within the province. The mountains contain metals and minerals, among which are copper, almagatholite, jade, gold, and silver. The capital, Lanchau, lies on the south side of the Yellow River, where it turns northeast; the valley is narrow, and defended on the west by a pass, through which the road goes westward. At Síning fu, about a hundred miles east of Tsing hai, the superintendent of Koko-nor resides; its political importance has largely increased its trade within the last few years. Ninghia fu, in the northeast of the province, is the largest town on the borders of the desert. The destruction of life and all its resources during the recent Mohammedan rebellion, which was crushed out at Suhchau in October, 1873, is not likely to be repeated soon, as the rebels were all destroyed;[76] their Toorkish origin can even now be traced in their features.[77] No reliable description of the towns belonging to Kansuh in the districts around Barkul, since the pacification of the country by the Chinese, has been made.

The province of Sz’chuen (‘Four Streams’) was the largest of the old eighteen before Kansuh was extended across the desert, and is now one of the richest in its productions. It is bounded north by Kansuh and Shensí, east by Hupeh and Hunan, south by Kweichau and Yunnan, west and northwest by Tibet and Koko-nor; its area is 166,800 square miles, or double most of the other provinces, rather exceeding Sweden in superficies, as it falls below California, while it is superior to both in navigable rivers and productions. The emperors at Sí-ngan always depended upon it as the main prop of their power, and in the third century A.D. the After Hans ruled at its capital over the west of China.

Sz’chuen is naturally divided by the four great rivers which run from north to south into the Yangtsz’, and thus form parallel basins; as a whole these comprise about half of the entire area, and all of the valuable portion. The western part beyond the Min River belongs to the high table lands of Central Asia, and is little else than a series of mountain ranges, sparsely populated and unfit for cultivation, except in small spaces and bottom lands. The eastern portion is a triangular shaped region surrounded with high mountains composed of Silurian and Devonian formations with intervening deposits, mostly of red clayey sandstone, imparting a peculiar brick color, which has led Baron von Richthofen to call it the Red Basin. The ranges of hills average about 3,500 feet high, but the rivers have cut their channels through the deposits from 1,500 to 2,500 feet deep, making the travel up and down their waters neither rapid nor easy. The towns which define this triangular red basin are Kweichau on the Yangtsz’, from which a line running south of the river to Pingshan hien, not far from Süchau at its confluence with the Min, gives the southern border; thence taking a circuit as far west as Yachau fu on the Tsing-í River, and turning northwesterly to Lung-ngan fu, the western side is roughly skirted, while the eastern side returns to Kweichau along the watershed of the River Han. Within this area, life, industry, wealth, prosperity, are all found; outside of it, as a rule, the rivers are unnavigable, the country uncultivable, and the people wild and insubordinate, especially on the south and west.

The four chief rivers in the province, flowing into the Yangtsz’, are the Kialing, the Loh, the Min, and the Yalung, the last and westerly being regarded as the main stream of the Great River, which is called the Kin-sha kiang, west of the Min. The Kialing rises in Kansuh, and retains that name along one trunk stream to its mouth, receiving scores of tributaries from the ridges between its basin and the Han, until it develops into one of the most useful watercourses in China, coming perhaps next to the Pearl River in Kwangtung. Chungking, at its embouchure, is the largest depot for trade west of Íchang, and like St. Louis, on the Mississippi, will grow in importance as the country beyond develops. The River Fo Loh (called Fu-sung by Blakiston) is the smallest of the four, its headwaters being connected with the Min above Chingtu; the town of Lu chau stands at its mouth; through its upper part it is called Chung kiang. The Min River has its fountains near those of the Kialing in Koko-nor, and like that stream it gathers contributions from the ranges defining and crossing its basin; as it descends into the plain of Chingtu, its waters divide into a dozen channels below Hwan hien, and after running more than a hundred miles reunite above Mei hien, forming a deep and picturesque river down to Süchau, a thousand miles and more from the source. At its junction, the Min almost doubles the volume of water in summer, when the snows melt. The Yalung River is the only large affluent between the Min and the main trunk; it comes from the Bayan-kara Mountains, between the headwaters of the Yellow and Yangtsz’ Rivers, and receives no important tributaries in its long, solitary, and unfructuous course. The Abbé Huc speaks of crossing its rapid channel near Makian-Dsung just before reaching Tatsienlu, the frontier town; it takes three names in its course.

From Chingtu as a centre, many roads radiate to the other large towns in the province, by which travel and trade find free course, and render the connections with other provinces safe and easy. The roads are paved with flagstones wide enough to allow passage for two pack-trains abreast; stairs are made on the inclines, up and down which mules and ponies travel without risk, though most of the goods and passengers are carried by coolies. In order to facilitate travel, footpaths are opened and paved, leading to every hamlet, and wherever the traffic will afford it, bridges of cut stone, iron chains or wire, span the torrent or chasm, according as the exigency requires; towns or hamlets near these structures take pride in keeping them in repair.

The products of this fertile region are varied and abundant. Rice and wheat alternate each other in summer and winter, but the amount of land producing food is barely sufficient for its dense population; pulse, barley, maize, ground-nuts, sorghum, sweet and common potatoes, buckwheat and tobacco, are each raised for home consumption. Sugar, hemp, oils of several kinds, cotton, and fruits complete the list of plants mostly grown for home use. The exports consist of raw and woven silk, of which more is sent abroad than from any province; salt, opium, musk, croton (tung) oil, gentian, rhubarb, tea, coal, spelter, copper, iron, and insect wax, are all grown or made for other regions. The peace which Sz’chuen enjoyed while other provinces were ravaged by rebels, has tended to develop all its products, and increase its abundance. The climate of this region favors the cultivation of the hillsides, which are composed of disintegrated sandstones, because the moist and mild winters bring forward the winter crops; snow remains only a few days, if it fall at all, and wheat is cut before May. The summer rains and freshets furnish water for the rice fields by filling the streams on a thousand hills. This climate is a great contrast to the dry regions further north, and it is subject to less extremes of temperature and moisture than Yunnan south of it. When this usual experience is altered by exceptional dry or wet seasons, the people are left without food, and their wants cannot be supplied by the abundance of other provinces, owing to the slowness of transit. Brigandage, rioting, cannibalism, and other violence then add to the misery of the poor, and to the difficulty of government.

Chingtu, the capital, lies on the River Min, in the largest plain in the province, roughly measuring a hundred miles one way, and fifty the other, conspicuous for its riches and populousness. The inhabitants are reckoned to number 3,500,000 souls. This city has been celebrated from the earliest days, but received its present name of the ‘Perfect Capital’ when Liu Pí made it his residence. Its population approaches a million, and its walls, shops, yamuns, streets, warehouses, and suburbs, all indicate its wealth and political importance. Marco Polo calls it Sindafu, and the province Acbalec Manzi, describing the fine stone bridge, half a mile long, with a roof resting on marble pillars, under which “trade and industry is carried on,”[78] which spans the Kian-suy, i.e., the Yangtsz’, as the Min is still often termed. The remarkable cave houses of the old inhabitants still attract the traveller’s notice as he journeys up to Chingtu, along its banks.

M. David, who lived at this city several months, declares it to be one of the most beautiful towns in China, placed in the midst of a fertile plain watered by many canals, which form a network of great solidity and usefulness. The number of honorary gateways in and near it attract the voyager’s eye, and their variety, size, inscriptions, and age furnish an interesting field of inquiry. Many statues cut in fine stone are scattered about the city or used to adorn the cemeteries.

The city of Chungking, on the Yangtsz’, at the mouth of the Kialing River, 725 miles from Hankow, is the next important city in Sz’chuen, and the centre of a great trade on both rivers. The other marts on the Great River are also at the mouths of its affluents, and from Kwaichau to Süchau and Pingshan hien, a distance of 496 miles, there is easy and safe communication within the province for all kinds of boats; steam vessels will also here find admirable opportunities for their employment.

In the western half of Sz’chuen, the people are scattered over intervales and slopes between the numberless hills and mountains that make this one of the roughest parts of China; they are governed by their own local rulers, under Chinese superintendence. They belong to the Lolos race, and have been inimical and insubordinate to Chinese rule from earliest times, preventing their own progress and destroying all desire on the part of their rulers to benefit them. Yachau fu, Tatsienlu, and Batang are the largest towns west of Chingtu, on the road to Tibet. On the other side of the province, at Fungtu hien, occur the fire-wells, where great supplies of petroleum gas are used to evaporate the salt dug out near by. The many topics of interest in all parts of Sz’chuen, can only be referred to in a brief sketch, for it is of itself a kingdom.[79]

The province of Kwangtung (i.e., Broad East), from its having been for a long time the only one of the eighteen to which foreigners have had access, has almost become synonymous with China, although but little more is really known of it than of the others—except in the vicinage of Canton, and along the course of the Peh kiang, from Nanhiung down to that city. It is bounded north by Kiangsí and Hunan, northeast by Fuhkien, south by the ocean, and west and northwest by Kwangsí; with an area about the same as that of the United Kingdom. The natural facilities for internal navigation and an extensive coasting trade, are unusually great; for while its long line of coast, nearly a thousand miles in length, affords many excellent harbors, the rivers communicate with the regions on the west, north, and east beyond its borders.

The Nan shan runs along the north, between it and Kiangsí and Hunan, in a northeasterly and southwesterly direction, presenting the same succession of short ridges, with bottom lands and clear streams between them, which are seen in Fuhkien. These ridges take scores of names as they follow one another from Kwangsí to Fuhkien, but no part is so well known as the road, twenty-four miles in length, which crosses the Mei ling (i.e. Plum ridge), between Nan-ngan and Nanhiung. The elevation here is about a thousand feet, none of the peaks in this part exceeding two thousand, but rising higher to the west. Their summits are limestone, with granite underlying; granite is also the prevailing rock along the coast. Lí-mu ridge in Hainan has some peaks reaching nearly to the snow-line. The bottoms of the rivers are wide, and their fertility amply repays the husbandman. Fruits, rice, silk, sugar, tobacco, and vegetables, constitute the greater part of the productions. Lead, iron, and coal, are abundant.

The Chu kiang, or Pearl River, which flows past Canton, takes this name only in that short portion of its course; it is however preferable to employ this as a distinctive name, comprehending the whole stream, rather than to confuse the reader by naming the numerous branches. It is formed by the union of three rivers, the West, North, and East, the two first of which unite at Sanshwui, west of the city, while the East River joins them at Whampoa. The Sí kiang, or West River, by far the largest, rises in the eastern part of Yunnan, and receives tributaries throughout the whole of Kwangsí, along the southern acclivities of the Nan shan, and after a course of 500 miles, passes out to sea through numerous mouths, the best known of which is the Bocca Tigris. The Peh kiang, or North River, joins it after a course of 200 miles, and the East River is nearly the same length; these two streams discharge the surplus waters of all the northern parts of Kwangtung. The country drained by the three cannot be much less than 150,000 square miles, and most of their channels are navigable for boats to all the large towns in this and the province of Kwangsí. The Han kiang is the only river of importance in the eastern end of Kwangtung; the large town of Chauchau lies near its mouth. There can hardly be less than three hundred islands scattered along the deeply indented coast line of this province between Namoh Island and Annam, of which nearly one-third belong to the department of Kwangchau.

Canton, or Kwangchau fu (i.e. Broad City), the provincial capital, lies on the north bank of the Pearl River, in lat. 23° 7′ 10″ N., and long. 113° 14′ 30″ E., nearly parallel with Havana, Muskat, and Calcutta; its climate is, however, colder than any of those cities. The name Canton is a corruption of Kwangtung, derived in English from Kamtom, the Portuguese mode of writing it; the citizens themselves usually call it Kwangtung săng ching, i.e. the provincial capital of Kwangtung or simply săng ching. Another name is Yang-ching, or the ‘City of Rams,’ and a third the City of Genii, both derived from ancient legends. It lies at the foot of the White Cloud hills, along the banks of the river, about seventy miles north of Macao in a direct line, and ninety northwest of Hongkong; these distances are greater by the river.

The delta into which the West, North, and East Rivers fall might be called a gulf, if the islands in it did not occupy so much of the area. The whole forms one of the most fertile parts of the province, and one of the most extensive estuaries of any river in the world,—being a rough triangle about a hundred miles long on each side. The bay of Lintin—so called from the islet of that name, where opium and other store ships formerly anchored—is the largest sheet of water, and lies below the principal embouchure of the river, called Fu Mun, i.e. Bocca Tigris, or Bogue. Few rivers can be more completely protected by nature than this; their defences of walls and guns at this spot, however, have availed the Chinese but little against the skill and power of their enemies. Ships pass through it up to the anchorage at Whampoa, about thirty miles, from whence Canton lies twelve miles nearly due west. The approach to it is indicated by two lofty pagodas within the walls, and the multitude of boats and junks thronging the river, amidst which the most pleasing object to the “far-travelled stranger” is the glimpse he gets through their masts of the foreign houses on Sha-meen, and the flagstaffs bearing their national ensigns.

The part of Canton inclosed by walls is about six miles in circumference; having a partition wall running east and west, which divides it into two unequal parts. The entire circuit, including the suburbs, is nearly ten miles. The population on land and water, so far as the best data enable one to judge, cannot be less than a million of inhabitants. This estimate has been doubted; and certainty upon the subject is not to be attained, for the census affords no aid in determining this point, owing to the fact that it is set down by districts, and Canton lies partly in two districts, Nanhai and Pwanyü, which extend beyond the walls many miles. Davis says, “the whole circuit of the city has been compassed within two hours by persons on foot, and cannot exceed six or seven miles;”—which is true, but he means only that portion contained within the walls; and there are at least as many houses without the walls as within them, besides the boats. The city is constantly increasing, the western suburbs present many new streets entirely built up within the last ten years. The houses stretch along the river from opposite the Fa tí or Flower grounds to French Folly, a distance of four miles, and the banks are everywhere nearly concealed by the boats and rafts.

The situation of Canton is one which would naturally soon attract settlers. The earliest notices of the city date back two centuries before Christ, but traders were doubtless located here prior to that time. It grew in importance as the country became better settled, and in A.D. 700, a regular market was opened, and a collector of customs appointed. When the Manchus overran the country in 1650, this city resisted their utmost efforts to reduce it for the space of eleven months, and was finally carried by treachery. Martini states that a hundred thousand men were killed at its sack; and the whole number who lost their lives at the final assault and during the siege was 700,000—if the native accounts are trustworthy.[80] Since then, it has been rebuilt, and has increased in prosperity until it is regarded as the second city in the empire for numbers, and is probably at present the first in wealth.

The foundations of the city walls are of sandstone, their upper part being brick; they are about twenty feet thick, and from twenty-five to forty feet high, having an esplanade on the inside, and pathways leading to the rampart, on three sides. The houses are built near the wall on both sides of it, so that except on the north, one hardly sees it when walking around the city. There are twelve outer gates, four in the partition wall, and two water gates, through which boats pass, into the moat, from east to west. A ditch once encompassed the walls, now dry on the northern side; on the other three, and within the city, it and most of the canals are filled by the tide, which as it runs out does much to cleanse the city from its sewage. The gates are all shut at night, and a guard is stationed near them to preserve order, but the idle soldiers themselves cause at times no little disturbance. Among the names of the gates are Great-Peace gate, Eternal-Rest gate, Five-Genii gate, Bamboo-Wicket gate, etc.

The appearance of the city when viewed from the hills on the north is insipid and uninviting, compared with western cities, being an expanse of reddish roofs, often concealed by frames for drying or dyeing clothes, or shaded and relieved by a few large trees, and interspersed with high, red poles used for flag-staffs. Two pagodas shoot up within the walls, far above the watch towers on them, and with the five-storied tower on Kwanyin shan near the northern gate, form the most conspicuous objects in the prospect.

To a spectator at this elevation, the river is a prominent feature in the landscape, as it shines out covered with a great diversity of boats of different colors and sizes, some stationary others moving, and all resounding with the mingled hum of laborers, sailors, musicians, hucksters, children, and boatwomen, pursuing their several sports and occupations. On a low sandstone ledge, in the channel off the city, once stood the Sea Pearl (Hai Chu) Fort, called Dutch Folly by foreigners, the quietude reigning within which contrasted agreeably with the liveliness of the waters around. Beyond, on its southern shore, lie the suburb and island of Honam, and green fields and low hills are seen still farther in the distance; at the western angle of this island the Pearl River divides, at the Peh-ngo tan or Macao Passage, the greatest body of water flowing south, and leaving a comparatively narrow channel before the city. The hills on the north rise twelve hundred feet, their acclivities for miles being covered with graves and tombs, the necropolis of this vast city.

VIEW OF A STREET IN CANTON.

The streets are too narrow to be seen from such a spot. Among their names, amounting in all to more than six hundred, are Dragon street, Martial Dragon street, Pearl street, Golden Flower street, New Green Pea street, Physic street, Spectacle street, Old Clothes street, etc. They are not as dirty as those of some other cities in the empire, and on the whole, considering the habits of the people and surveillance of the government, which prevents almost everything like public spirit, Canton has been a well governed, cleanly city. In these respects it is not now as well kept, perhaps, as it was before the war, nor was it ever comparable to modern cities in the West, nor should it be likened to them: without a corporation to attend to its condition, or having power to levy taxes to defray its unavoidable expenses, it cannot be expected that it should be as wholesome. It is more surprising, rather, that it is no worse than it is. The houses along the waterside are built upon piles and those portions of the city are subject to inundations. On the edge of the stream, the water percolates the soil, and spoils all the wells.

The temples and public buildings of Canton are numerous. There are two pagodas near the west gate of the old city, and one hundred and twenty-four temples, pavilions, halls, and other religious edifices within the circuit of the city. The Kwang tah or ‘Plain pagoda,’ was erected by the Mohammedans (who still reside near it), about ten centuries ago, and is rather a minaret than a pagoda, though quite unlike those structures of Turkey in its style of architecture; it shoots up in an angular, tapering tower, to the height of one hundred and sixty feet. The other is an octagonal pagoda, of nine stories, one hundred and seventy feet high, first erected more than thirteen hundred years ago. The geomancers say that the whole city is like a junk, these two pagodas are her masts, and the five-storied tower on the northern wall, her stern sheets.

Among the best known monuments to foreigners visiting this city was the monastery of Chong-show sz’, ‘Temple of Longevity,’ founded in 1573, and occupying spacious grounds. “In the first pavilion are three Buddhas; in the second a seven-story, gilt pagoda, in which are 79 images of Buddha. In the third pavilion is an image of Buddha reclining, and in a merry mood. A garden in the rear is an attractive place of resort, and another, on one side of the entrance, has a number of tanks in which gold fish are reared. In the space in front of the temple a fair is held every morning for the sale of jade ornaments and other articles.”[81] This temple was destroyed in November, 1881, by a mob who were incensed at the alleged misbehaviour of some of the priests toward the female devotees—an instance of the existence in China of a lively popular sentiment regarding certain matters. Near this compound stands the ‘Temple of the Five Hundred Genii,’ containing 500 statues of various sizes in honor of Buddha and his disciples.

The Hai-chwang sz’, a Buddhist temple at Honam usually known as the Honam Joss-house, is one of the largest in Canton. Its grounds cover about seven acres, surrounded by a wall, and divided into courts, garden-spots, and a burial-ground, where are deposited the ashes of priests after cremation. The buildings consist mostly of cloisters or apartments surrounding a court, within which is a temple, a pavilion, or a hall; these courts are overshadowed by bastard-banian trees, the resort of thousands of birds. The outer gateway leads up a gravelled walk to a high portico guarded by two huge demoniac figures, through which the visitor enters a small inclosure, separated from the largest one by another spacious porch, in which are four colossal statues. This conducts him to the main temple, a low building one hundred feet square, and surrounded by pillars; it contains three wooden gilded images, in a sitting posture, called San Pao Fuh, or the Past, Present, and Future Buddha, each of them about twenty-five feet high, and surrounded by numerous altars and attendant images. Daily prayers are chanted before them by a large chapter of priests, all of whom, dressed in yellow canonicals, go through the liturgy. Beyond this a smaller building contains a marble carving somewhat resembling a pagoda, under which is preserved a relic of Buddha, said to be one of his toe-nails. This court has other shrines, and many rooms for the accommodation of the priests, among which are the printing-office and library, both of them respectable for size, and containing the blocks of books issued by them, and sold to devotees.

There are about one hundred and seventy-five priests connected with the establishment, only a portion of whom can read. Among the buildings are several small temples dedicated to national deities whom the Buddhists have adopted into their mythology. One of the houses adjoining holds the hogs (not bugs, as was stated in one work) offered by worshippers who feed them as long as they live.

Two other shrines belonging to the Buddhists, are both of them, like the Honam temple, well endowed. One called Kwanghiao sz’, or ‘Temple of Glorious Filial Duty,’ contains two hundred priests, who are supported from glebe lands, estimated at three thousand five hundred acres. The number of priests and nuns in Canton is not exactly known, but probably exceeds two thousand, nine-tenths of whom are Buddhists. There are only three temples of the Rationalists, their numbers and influence being far less in this city than those of the Buddhists.

The Ching-hwang miao is an important religious institution in every Chinese city, the temple, being a sort of palladium, in which both rulers and people offer their devotions for the welfare of the city. The superintendent of that in Canton pays $4,000 for his situation, which sum, with a large profit, is obtained again in a few years, by the sale of candles, incense, etc., to the worshippers. The temples in China are generally cheerless and gloomy abodes, well enough fitted, however, for the residence of inanimate idols and the performance of unsatisfying ceremonies. The entrance courts are usually occupied by hucksters, beggars, and idlers, who are occasionally driven off to give room for the mat-sheds in which theatrical performances got up by priests are acted. The principal hall, where the idol sits enshrined, is lighted only in front, and the altar, drums, bells, and other furniture of the temple, are little calculated to enliven it; the cells and cloisters are inhabited by men almost as senseless as the idols they serve, miserable beings, whose droning, useless life is too often only a cloak for vice, indolence, and crime, which make the class an opprobrium in the eyes of their countrymen.

Canton is the most influential city in Southern China, and its reputation for riches and luxury is established throughout the central and northern provinces, owing to its formerly engrossing the entire foreign trade up to 1843, for a period of about one hundred years. At that time the residence of the governor-general was at Shao-king fu, west of Canton, and his official guard of 5,000 troops is still quartered there, as the Manchu garrison is deemed enough for the defence of Canton. He and the Hoppo, or collector of customs, once had their yamuns in the New City, but a Romish Cathedral has been built on the site of the former’s office since its capture in 1857. The governor, treasurer, Manchu commandant, chancellor, and the lower local magistrates (ten in all), live in the Old City, and with their official retinues compose a large body of underlings. Some of these establishments occupy four or five acres.

The Kung Yuen or Examination Hall, lies in the southeastern corner of the Old City, similar in size and arrangement to these edifices in other cities. It is 1,330 feet long, 583 wide, and covers over sixteen acres. The wall surrounding it is entered at the east and west corners of the south end, where door-keepers are stationed to prevent a crowd of idlers. The cells are arranged in two sets on each side of the main passage, which is paved and lined with trees; they are further disposed in rows of 57 and 63 cells each—all reached through one side door. The total is 8,653; each cell is 5 feet 9 inches deep, by 3 feet 8 inches wide; grooves are made in the wall to admit a plank, serving as a table by day and a bed by night. Once within, the students are confined to their several stalls, and the outer gate is sealed. A single roof covers the cells of one range, the ranges being 3 feet 8 inches apart. The northern portion includes about one-third of the whole, and is built over with the halls, courts, lodging-rooms, and guard or eating-houses of the highest examiners, their assistants and copyists, with thousands of waiters, printers, underlings, and soldiers. At the biennial examination the total number of students and others in the Hall reaches nearly twelve thousand men.

There are four prisons in the city, all of them large establishments; all the capital offenders in the province are brought to Canton for trial before the provincial officers, and this regulation makes it necessary to provide spacious accommodations for them. The execution-ground is a small yard near a pottery manufacture between the southern gate and the river side, and unless the ground is newly stained with blood, or cages containing the heads of the criminals are hung around, has nothing about it to attract the attention. Another public building, situated near the governor’s palace, is the Wan-shao kung, or ‘Imperial Presence hall,’ where three days before and after his majesty’s birthday, the officers and citizens assemble to pay him adoration. The various guilds among the people, and the clubs of scholars and merchants from other provinces, have, each of them, public halls which are usually called consoo houses by foreigners, from a corruption of a native term kung-sz’, i.e., public hall; but the usual designation is kwui kwan or ‘Assembly Hall.’ Their total number must be quite one hundred and fifty, and some of them are not destitute of elegance.[82]

The former residences of foreigners in the western suburbs were known as Shih-san Hang, or ‘Thirteen Hongs,’[83] and for nearly two centuries furnished almost the only exhibition to the Chinese people of the yang jin or ‘ocean-men.’ Here the fears and the greed of the rulers, landlords, and traders combined to restrain foreigners of all nations within an area of about fifteen acres, a large part of this space being the Garden or Respondentia Walk on the bank of the river. All these houses and out-houses covered a space scarcely as great as the base of the Great Pyramid; its total population, including native and foreign servants, was upwards of a thousand souls. The shops and markets of the Chinese were separated from them only a few feet, and this greatly increased the danger from fire, as may be inferred from the sketch of the street next on the west side. In 1856, the number of hongs was reckoned to be 16, and the local calendar for that year contained 317 names, not including women and children. Besides the 16 hongs, four native streets, bordered with shops for the sale of fancy and silk goods to their foreign customers, ran between the factories. This latter name was given to them from their being the residences of factors, for no handicraft was carried on here, nor were many goods stored in them. Fires were not unusual, which demolished portions of them; in 1822 they were completely consumed; another conflagration in 1843 destroyed two hongs and a street of shops; and in 1842, owing to a sudden riot, connected with paying the English indemnity, the British Consulate was set on fire. Finally, as if to inaugurate a new era, they were all simultaneously burned by the local authorities to drive out the British forces, in December, 1856, and every trace of this interesting spot as it existed for so long a time in the annals of foreign intercourse obliterated. Since the return of trade, a new and better site has been formed at Shameen, west of the old spot, by building a solid stone wall and filling in a long, marshy low-tide bank, formerly occupied by boats, to a height of 8 or 10 feet, on which there is room for gardens as well as houses. This is surrounded by water, and thereby secure from fire and mobs to which the old hongs were exposed. Residences are obtainable anywhere in the city by foreigners, and the common sight in the olden times of their standing outside of the Great Peace Gate to see the crowd pass in and out while they themselves could not enter, is no longer seen. A very good map of the enciente was made by an American missionary, Daniel Vrooman, by taking the angles of all the conspicuous buildings therein, with the highest points in the suburbs; he then taught a native to pace the streets between them, compass in hand (noting courses and distances, which he fixed by the principal gates), until a complete plan was filled out. When the city was opened four years afterwards this map was found to need no important corrections.

The trades and manufactories at Canton are mainly connected with the foreign commerce. Many silk fabrics are woven at Fatshan, a large town situated about ten miles west of the city; fire-crackers, paper, mat-sails, cotton cloth, and other articles, are also made there for exportation. The number of persons engaged in weaving cloth in Canton is about 50,000, including embroiderers; nearly 7,000 barbers and 4,200 shoemakers are stated as the number licensed to shave the crowns and shoe the soles of their fellow-citizens.

The opposite suburb of Honam offers pleasant walks for recreation, and the citizens are in the habit of going over the river to saunter in its fields, or in the cool grounds of the great temple; a race-course and many enjoyable rides on horseback also tempt foreigners into the country. A couple of miles up the river are the Fa tí or Flower gardens which once supplied the plants carried out of the country, and are resorted to by pleasure parties; but to one accustomed to the squares, gardens, and esplanades of western cities, these grounds appear mean in the extreme. Foreigners ramble into the country, but rowing upon the river is their favorite recreation. Like Europeans in all parts of the East, they retain their own costume and modes of living, and do not espouse native styles; though if it were not for the shaven crown, it is not unlikely that many of them would adopt the Chinese dress.

The Cantonese enumerate eight remarkable localities, called pah king, which they consider worthy the attention of the stranger. The first is the peak of Yuehsiu, just within the walls on the north of the city, and commanding a fine view of the surrounding country. The Pi-pa Tah, or Lyre pagoda at Whampoa, and the ‘Eastern Sea Fish-pearl,’ a rock in the Pearl River off the city, on which the fort already referred to as the ‘Dutch Folly’ was formerly situated, are two more; the pavilion of the Five Genii, with the five stone rams, and print of a man’s foot in the rock, “always filled with water,” near by; the rocks of Yu-shan; the lucky wells of Faukiu in the western suburbs; cascade of Sí-tsiau, forty miles west of the city; and a famous red building in the city, complete the eight “lions.”

The foreign shipping all anchored, in the early days, at Whampoa, but this once important anchorage has been nearly deserted since the river steamers began their trips to the outer waters. There are two islands on the south side of the anchorage, called French and Danes’ islands, on which foreigners are buried, some of the gravestones marking a century past. The prospect from the summit of the hills hereabouts is picturesque and charming, giving the spectator a high idea of the fertility and industry of the land and its people. The town of Whampoa and its pagoda lie north of the anchorage; between this and Canton is another, called Lob creek pagoda, both of them uninhabited and decaying.

Macao (pronounced Makow) is a Portuguese settlement on a small peninsula projecting from the south-eastern end of the large island of Hiangshan. Its Chinese inhabitants have been governed since 1849 by the Portuguese authorities somewhat differently from their own people, but the mixed government has succeeded very well. The circuit of this settlement is about eight miles; its position is beautiful and very agreeable; nearly surrounded with water, and open to the sea breezes, having a good variety of hill and plain even in its little territory, and a large island on the west called Tui-mien shan or Lapa Island, on which are pleasant rambles, to be reached by equally pleasant boat excursions, it offers, moreover, one of the healthiest residences in south-eastern Asia. The population is not far from 80,000, of whom more than 7,000 are Portuguese and other foreigners, living under the control of the Portuguese authorities. The Portuguese have refused to pay the former annual ground-rent of 600 taels to the Chinese Government, since the assassination of their governor in 1849, and now control all the inhabitants living within the Barrier wall, most of whom have been born therein. The houses occupied by the foreign population are solidly built of brick or adobie, large, roomy, and open, and from the rising nature of the ground on which they stand, present an imposing appearance to the visitor coming in from the sea.

There are a few notable buildings in the settlement; the most imposing edifice, St. Paul’s church, was burned in 1835. Three forts on commanding eminences protect the town, and others outside of the walls defend its waters; the governor takes the oaths of office in the Monte fort; but the government offices are mostly in the Senate house, situated in the middle of the town. Macao was, up to 1843, the only residence for the families of merchants trading at Canton. Of late the authorities are doing much to revive the prosperity of the place, by making it a free port. The Typa anchorage lies between the islands Mackerara and Typa, about three miles off the southern end of the peninsula; all small vessels go into the Inner harbor on the west side of the town. Ships anchoring in the Roads are obliged to lie about three miles off in consequence of shallow water, and large ones cannot come nearer than six or seven miles.[84] Since the ascendancy of Hongkong, this once celebrated port has fallen away in trade and importance, and for many years had an infamous reputation for the protection its rulers afforded the coolie trade.

Eastward from Macao, about forty miles, lies the English colony of Hongkong, an island in lat. 22° 16½′ N., and long. 114° 8½′ E., on the eastern side of the estuary of the Pearl River. The island of Hongkong, or Hiangkiang (i.e., the Fragrant Streams), is nine miles long, eight broad, and twenty-six in circumference, presenting an exceedingly uneven, barren surface, consisting for the most part of ranges of hills, with narrow intervales, and a little level beach land. Victoria Peak is 1,825 feet. Probably not one-twentieth of the surface is available for agricultural purposes. The island and harbor were first ceded to the Crown of England by the treaty made between Captain Elliot and Kíshen, in January, 1841, and again by the treaty of Nanking, in August, 1842; lastly, by the Convention of Peking, October 24, 1860, the opposite peninsula of Kowlung was added, in order to furnish space for quartering troops and storehouse room for naval and military supplies. The town of Victoria lies on the north side, and extends more than three miles along the shore. The secure and convenient harbor has attracted the settlement here, though the uneven nature of the ground compels the inhabitants to stretch their warehouses and dwellings along the beach.

The architecture of most of the buildings erected in Victoria is superior to anything heretofore seen in China. Its population is now estimated at 130,000, of whom five-sixths are Chinese tradesmen, craftsmen, laborers, and boatmen, few of whom have their families. The government of the colony is vested in a governor, chief-justice, and a legislative council of five, assisted by various subordinate officers and secretaries, the whole forming a cumbrous and expensive machinery, compared with the needs and resources of the colony. The Bishop of Victoria has an advisory control over the missions of the establishment in the southern provinces of China, and supervises the schools in the colony, where many youths are trained in English and Chinese literature.

The supplies of the island are chiefly brought from the mainland where an increasing population of Chinese, under the control of the magistrate of Kowlung, find ample demand for all the provisions they can furnish.

Three newspapers are published in English, and two in Chinese. The Seaman’s and Military hospitals, the chapels and schools of the London and Church Missionary Society, St. John’s Cathedral, Roman Catholic establishment, the government house, the magistracy, jail, the ordnance and engineer departments, Exchange, and the Club house, are among the principal edifices. The amount of money expended in buildings in this colony is enormous, and most of them are substantial stone or brick houses. The view of the city as seen from the harbor is only excelled in beauty by the wider panorama spread out before the spectator on Victoria Peak. During the forty-odd years of its occupation, this colony has slowly advanced in commercial importance, and become an entrepôt for foreign goods designed for native markets in Southern China. Every facility has been given to the Chinese who resort to its shops to carry away their purchases, by making the port free of every impost, and preventing the imperial revenue cutters from interfering with their junks while in sight of the island. The arrangements of this contested point so that the Chinese revenue shall not suffer have not satisfied either party, and as it is in the similar case of Gibraltar, is not likely to soon be settled. Smugglers must run their own risks with the imperial officers. The most valuable article leaving Hongkong is opium, but the greatest portion of its exports pay the duties on entering China at the five open ports in the province of Kwangtung. As the focus of postal lines of passenger steamers, and the port where mercantile vessels come to learn markets, Hongkong exerts a greater influence on the southeast of Asia than her trade and size indicate. The island of Shangchuen or Sançian, where Xavier died, lies southwest of Macao about thirty miles, and is sometimes visited by devout persons from that place to reverence his tomb, which they keep in repair.

The city of Shauchau in the northern part of the province lies at the fork of the river, which compels a change of boats for passengers and goods; it is one of the largest cities after Canton, and a pontoon bridge furnishes the needed facilities for stopping and taxing the boats and goods passing through. Shauking, west of Canton, is another important town, which held out a long time against the Manchus;[85] it was formerly the seat of the provincial authorities, till they removed to Canton in 1630 to keep the foreigners under control. It stretches along six miles of the river bank, a well-built city for China, in a beautiful position. Some of its districts furnish green teas and matting for the Canton market, and this trade has opened the way for a large emigration to foreign countries. Among other towns of note is Nanhiung, situated at the head of navigation on the North River, where goods cross the Mei ling. Before the coast was opened to trade, fifty thousand porters obtained a livelihood by transporting packages, passengers, and merchandise to and from this town and Nan-ngan in Kiangsí. It is a thriving place, and the restless habits of these industrious carriers give its population somewhat of a turbulent character. Many of them are women, who usually pair off by themselves and carry as heavy burdens as the men.

Not far from Yangshan hien is a fine cavern, the Niu Yen or ‘Ox Cave,’ on a hillside near the North River. Its entrance is like a grand hall, with pillars 70 feet high and 8 or 10 feet thick. The finest part is exposed to the sun, but many pretty rooms and niches are revealed by torches; echoes resound through their recesses. The stalactites and stalagmites present a vast variety of shapes—some like immense folds of drapery, between which are lamps, thrones and windows of all shapes and sizes, while others hang from the roof in fanciful forms.

The scenery along the river, between Nanhiung and Shauchau, is described as wild, rugged, and barren in the extreme; the summits of the mountains seem to touch each other across the river, and massive fragments fallen from their sides, in and along the river, indicate that the passage is not altogether free from danger. In this mountainous region coal is procured by opening horizontal shafts to the mines. Ellis[86] says, it was brought some distance to the place where he saw it, to be used in the manufacture of green vitriol. Many pagodas are passed in the stretch of 330 miles between Nanhiung and Canton, calculated to attract notice, and assure the native boatmen which swarm on its waters, of the protection of the two elements he has to deal with—wind and water. One of the most conspicuous objects in this part of the river are five rocks, which rise abruptly from the banks, and are fancifully called Wu-ma-tao, or ‘Five-horses’ heads.’ The formation of this part of the province consists of compact, dark-colored limestone, overlying sandstone and breccia. Nearly halfway between Shauchau and Canton is a celebrated mountain and cavern temple, dedicated to Kwanyin, the goddess of Mercy, and most charmingly situated amid waterfalls, groves, and fine scenery, near a hill about 1,850 feet high. The cliff has a sheer descent of five hundred feet; the temple is in a fissure a hundred feet above the water, and consists of two stories; the steps leading up to them, the rooms, walls, and cells, are all cut out of the rock. Inscriptions and scrolls hide the naked walls, and a few inane priests inhabit this somewhat gloomy abode. Mr. Barrow draws a proper comparison between these men and the inmates of the Cork Convent in Portugal, or the Franciscan Convent in Madeira, who had likewise “chained themselves to a rock, to be gnawed by the vultures of superstition and fanaticism,” but these last have less excuse.

The island of Hainan constitutes a single department, Kiungchau, but its prefect has no power over the central and mountainous parts. In early European travels it is named Aynao, Kainan and Aniam. It is about one hundred and fifty miles long and one hundred broad, being in extent nearly twice the size of Sicily. It is separated from the main by Luichau Strait, sixteen miles wide, whose shoals and reefs render its passage uncertain. The interior of the island is mountainous, and well wooded, and the inhabitants give a partial submission to the Chinese; they are identical in race with the mountaineers in Kweichau. This ridge is called Lí-mu ling; a remarkable peak in the centre of the southern half, Wu-chi shan or ‘Five-finger Mountain,’ probably rises 10,000 feet. The Chinese inhabitants are mostly descendants of emigrants from Fuhkien, and are either trading, agricultural, marine, or piratical in their vocation, as they can make most money. The lands along the coast are fertile, producing areca-nuts, cocoa-nuts, and other tropical fruits, which are not found on the main. Kiungchau fu lies at the mouth of the Lí-mu River, opposite Luichau. The port is Hoihau, nineteen miles distant, but the entrance is too shallow for most vessels, and the trade consequently seeks a better market at Pakhoi, a town which has recently risen to importance as a treaty port on the mainland. All the thirteen district towns are situated on the coast, and within their circuit, on Chinese maps, a line is drawn, inclosing the centre of the island, within which the Lí min, or Lí people live, some of whom are acknowledged to be independent. They are therefore known as wild and civilized Lí, and are usually in a state of chronic irritation from the harsh treatment of the rulers. It is probable that they originally came from the Malayan Peninsula (as their features, dress, and habits indicate their affinity with those tribes), and have gradually withdrawn themselves into their recesses to avoid oppression. In 1292, the Emperor Kublai gave twenty thousand of them lands free for a time in the eastern parts, but the Ming sovereigns found them all intractable and belligerent. The population of the island is about a million. Its productions are rice, sweet potatoes, sugar, tobacco, fruits, timber, and insect wax.[87]

The province of Kwangsí (i.e., Broad West) extends westward of Kwangtung to the borders of Annam, occupying the region on the southwest of the Nan ling, and has been seldom visited by foreigners, whose journeys have been up the Kwai kiang or ‘Cassia River’ into Hunan. The banks of the rivers sometimes spread out into plains, more in the eastern parts than elsewhere, on which an abundance of rice is grown. There are mines of gold, silver, and other metals, in this province, most of which are worked under the superintendence of government, but no data are accessible from which to ascertain the produce. Among the commercial productions of Kwangsí, are cassia, cassia-oil, ink-stones, and cabinet-woods; its natural resources supply the principal articles of trade, for there are no manufactures of importance. Many partially subdued tribes are found within the limits of this province, who are ruled by their own hereditary governors, under the supervision of the Chinese authorities; there are twenty-four chau districts occupied by these people, the names of whose head-men are given in the Red Book, and their position marked in the statistical maps of the empire, but no information is furnished in either, concerning the numbers, language, or occupations, of the inhabitants. Kwangsí is well watered by the West River and its branches, which enable traders to convey timber and surplus produce to Canton, and receive from thence salt and other articles. The mountains on the northwest are occasionally covered with snow; many of the western districts furnish little besides wood for buildings and boats. The basin of the West River is subdivided by ranges of hills into three large valleys, through which flow many tributaries of the leading streams, and as they each usually drop the old name on receiving a new affluent, it is a confusing study to follow them all. On the south the river Yuh rises near Yunnan, and deflects south to Nan-ning near the borders of Kwangtung, joining the central trunk at Sinchau, after a course of five hundred miles. On the north the river Lung and the Hung-shui receive the surplus drainage of the northern districts and of Kweichau, a region where the Miaotsz’ have long kept watch and ward over their hilly abodes. The waters are then poured into the central trench a few miles west of Sinchau. This main artery of the province rises in Yunnan and would connect it by batteaux with Canton City if the channel were improved; it is called Sz’ ho, and ranks as the largest tributary of the Pearl River.

The capital, Kweilin (i.e., Cassia Forest), lies on the Cassia River, a branch of the West River, in the northeast part of the province; it is a poorly built city, surrounded by canals and branches of the river, destitute of any edifices worthy of notice, and having no great amount of trade. During the Tai-ping rebellion, this and the next town were nearly destroyed between the insurgents and imperialists.

Wuchau fu, on the same river, at its junction with the Lung kiang, or ‘Dragon River,’ where they unite and form the West River, is the largest trading town in the province. The independent chau districts are scattered over the southwest near the frontiers of Annam, and if anything can be inferred from their position, it may be concluded that they were settled by Laos tribes, who had been induced, by the comparative security of life and property within the frontiers, to acknowledge the Chinese sway.[88]

The province of Kweichau (i.e., Noble Region) is on the whole the poorest of the eighteen in the character of its inhabitants, amount of its products, and development of its resources. A range of mountains passes from the northeast side in a south-westerly course to Yunnan, forming the watershed between the valleys of the Yangtsz’ and Siang Rivers, a rough but fertile region. The western slopes are peopled by Chinese tillers of the soil, a rude and ignorant race, and rather turbulent; the eastern districts are largely in the hands of the Miaotsz’, who are considered by the officials and their troops to be lawful objects of oppression and destruction. The climate of the province is regarded as malarious, owing to the quantity of stagnant water and the impurity of that drawn from wells. Its productions consist of rice, wheat, musk, insect wax, tobacco, timber, and cassia, with lead, copper, silver, quicksilver, and iron. The quicksilver mines are in Kai chau, north of the provincial capital, and apparently exceed in extent and richness all other known deposits of this metal; they have been worked for centuries. Cinnabar occurs at various places, about lat. 27°, in a belt extending quite across the province, and terminating near the borders of Yunnan. Two kinds of silk obtained from the worms which feed on the mulberry and oak, furnish material for clothing so cheaply that cotton is imported from other provinces. Horses and other domestic animals are reared in larger quantities than in the eastern provinces.

The largest river is the Wu, which drains the central and northern parts of the province, and empties into the Yangtsz’, through the river Kien near Chungking. Other tributaries of that river and West River, also have their sources in this province, and by means of batteaux and rafts are all more or less available for traffic. The natural outlet for the products of Kweichau is the river Yuen in Hunan, whose various branches flow into it from the eastern prefectures, but their unsettled condition prevents regular or successful intercourse.

The capital, Kweiyang, is situated among the mountains; it is the smallest provincial capital of the eighteen, its walls not being more than two miles in circumference. The other chief towns or departments are of inferior note. There are many military stations in the southern prefectures at the foot of the mountains, intended to restrain the unsubdued tribes of Miaotsz’ who inhabit them.

Miaotsz’ Types.

This name Miaotsz’ is used among the Chinese as a general term for all the dwellers upon these mountains, but is not applied to every clan by the people themselves. They consist of eighty-two tribes in all (found scattered over the mountains in Kwangtung, Hunan, and Kwangsí, as well as in Kweichau), speaking several dialects, and differing among themselves in their customs, government, and dress. The Chinese have often described and pictured these people, but the notices are confined to a list of their divisions, and an account of their most striking peculiarities. Their language differs entirely from the Chinese, but too little is known of it to ascertain its analogies to other tongues; its affinities are most likely with the Laos, and those tribes between Burmah, Siam, and China. One clan, inhabiting Lípo hien in the extreme south, is called Yau-jin, and although they occasionally come down to Canton to trade, the citizens of that place firmly believe them to be furnished with short tails like monkeys. They carry arms, are inclined to live at peace with the lowlanders, but resist every attempt to penetrate into their fastnesses. The Yau-jin first settled in Kwangsí, and thence passed over into Lien chau about the twelfth century, where they have since maintained their footing. Both sexes wear their hair braided in a tuft on the top of the head—but never shaven and tressed as the Chinese—and dress in loose garments of cotton and linen; earrings are in universal use among them. They live at strife among themselves, which becomes a source of safety to the Chinese, who are willing enough to harass and oppress, but are ill able to resist, these hardy mountaineers. In 1832, they broke out in active hostilities, and destroyed numerous parties of troops sent to subdue them, but were finally induced to return to their retreats by offers of pardon and largesses granted to those who submitted.

A Chinese traveller among the Miaotsz’ says that some of them live in huts constructed upon the branches of trees, others in mud hovels; and one tribe in cliff houses dug out of the hillsides, sometimes six hundred feet up. Their agriculture is rude, and their garments are obtained by barter from the lowlanders in exchange for metals and grain, or woven by themselves. The religious observances of these tribes are carefully noted, and whatever is connected with marriages and funerals. In one tribe, it is the custom for the father of a new-born child, as soon as its mother has become strong enough to leave her couch, to get into bed himself and there receive the congratulations of his acquaintances, as he exhibits his offspring—a custom which has been found among the Tibetan tribes and elsewhere. Another class has the counterpart of the may-pole and its jocund dance, which, like its corresponding game, is availed of by young men to select their mates.[89]

The province of Yunnan (i.e., Cloudy South—south of the Yun ling, or ‘Cloudy Mountains’[90]) is in the southwest of the empire, bounded north by Sz’chuen, east by Kweichau and Kwangsí, south by Annam, Laos, and Siam, and west by Burmah. Its distance from the central authority of the Empire since its partial conquest under the Han dynasty has always made it a weak point, and the uneducated, mixed character of the inhabitants has given an advantage to enterprising leaders to resist Chinese rule. It was recovered from the aborigines by the Tang Emperors, who called it Jung chau, or the region of the Jung tribes, from which the name Karajang, i.e., Black Jung, which Marco Polo calls it, is derived; Kublai Khan himself led an army in 1253 thither before he conquered China, and sent the Venetians on a mission there about the year 1278, after his establishment at Peking. A son of the Emperor was his Viceroy over this outlying province at that time. The recent travels of Margary, Baber, and Anderson, of the British service, with Mouhot and Garnier of the French, have done much to render this secluded province better known. The central portion is occupied by an extensive plateau, ramifying in various directions and intersected with valley-plains at altitudes of 5,000 to 6,000 feet, in which lie several large lakes and the seven principal cities in the province. These plains are overtopped by the ridges separating them, which, seen from the lower levels, appear, as in Shansí, like horizontal, connected summit-lines. All are built up of red sandstone, like the basin in Sz’chuen, through which rivers, small and large, have furrowed their beds hundreds and thousands of feet, rendering communication almost impossible in certain directions as soon as one leaves the plateau. In the east and northwest, the defiles are less troublesome, and in this latter portion of the province are some peaks rising far above the snow line. These are called on Col. Yule’s map the Goolan Sigon range. The climate is cooler than in Sz’chuen, owing to this elevation, and not very healthy; snow lies for weeks at Yunnan fu, and the summers are charming.

The Yangtsz’ enters the province on the northwest for a short distance. The greatest river in it is the Lantsan, which rises in Tibet, and runs for a long distance parallel with and between the Yangtsz’ and Nu Rivers till the three break through the mountains not far from each other, and take different courses,—the largest turning to the eastward across China, the Lantsan southeast through Yunnan to the gulf of Siam, under the name of the Meikon or river of Cambodia, and the third, or Salween, westerly through Burmah. The Meikon receives many large tributaries in its course across the province, and its entire length is not less than 1,500 miles. The Lungchuen, a large affluent of the Irrawadi, runs a little west of the Salween. The Meinam rises in Yunnan, and flows south into Siam under the name of the Nanting, and after a course of nearly eight hundred miles, empties into the sea below Bangkok. East of the Lantsan are several important streams, of which three that unite in Annam to form the Sangkoi, are the largest. The general course of these rivers is southeasterly, and their upper waters are separated by mountain ridges, between which the valleys are often reduced to very narrow limits. There are two lakes in the eastern part of the province, south of the capital, called Sien and Tien; the latter is about seventy miles long by twenty wide, and the Sien hu (i.e., ‘Fairy Lake’) about two-thirds as large. Another sheet of water in the northwest, near Talí fu, communicating with the Yangtsz’ kiang, is called Urh hai or Uhr sea, which is more than a hundred miles long, and about twenty in width.

The capital, Yunnan, lies upon the north shore of Lake Tien, and is a town of note, having, moreover, considerable political importance from its trade with other parts of the country through the Yangtsz’, and with Burmah. The city was seriously injured in 1834, by an earthquake, which is said to have lasted three entire days, forcing the inhabitants into tents or the open fields, and overthrowing every important building.[91] The traffic between this province and Burmah centres at the fortified post of Tsantah, in the district of Tăngyueh, both of them situated on a branch of the Irrawadi. The principal part of the commodities is transported upon animals from these dépôts to Bhamo, upon the Irrawadi, the largest market-town in this part of Chin-India. The Chinese participate largely in this trade, which consists of raw and manufactured silk to the amount of $400,000 annually, tea, copper, carpets, orpiment, quicksilver, vermilion, drugs, fruits, and other things, carried from their country in exchange for raw cotton to the amount of $1,140,000 annually, ivory, wax, rhinoceros and deer’s horns, precious stones, birds’ nests, peacocks’ feathers, and foreign articles. The entire traffic is probably $2,500,000 annually, and for a few years past has been regularly increasing.

There is considerable intercourse and trade on the southern frontiers with the Lolos, or Laos and Annamese,[92] partly by means of the head-waters of the Meinam and Meikon—which are supposed to communicate with each other by a natural canal—and partly by caravans over the mountains. Yunnan fu was the capital of a Chinese prince about the time of the decadence of the Ming dynasty, who had rendered himself independent in this part of their empire by the overthrow of the rebel Lí, but having linked his fortunes with an imbecile scion of that house, he displeased his officers, and his territories gradually fell under the sway of the conquering Manchus. The southern and western districts of the province are inhabited by half-subdued tribes who are governed by their own rulers, under the nominal sway of the Chinese, and pass and repass across the frontiers in pursuit of trade or occupation.

The extension of British trade from Rangoon toward this part of China, has brought those hill tribes more into notice, and proved in their present low and barbarous condition the accuracy of the ancient description by Marco Polo and the Roman Catholic missionaries. Colonel Yule aptly terms this wide region an “Ethnological Garden of tribes of various race and in every stage of uncivilization.” The unifying influence of the Chinese written language and literary institutions has been neutralized among these races by their tribal dissensions and inaptitude for study of any kind. Anderson gives short vocabularies of the Kakhyen, Shan, Hotha Shan, Le-sau and Poloung languages, all indicating radical differences of origin, the existence of which would keep them from mingling with each other as well as from the Chinese.[93]

The mineral wealth of Yunnan is greater and more varied than that of any other province, certain of the mines having been worked since the Sung dynasty. Coal occurs in many places on the borders of the central plateau; some of it is anthracite of remarkable solidity and uniformity. Salt occurs in hills, not in wells as in Sz’chuen; the brine is sometimes obtained by driving tunnels into the hillsides. Metalliferous ores reach from this province into the three neighboring ones. Copper is the most abundant, and the mines in Ningyuen fu, in the southwestern part of Sz’chuen, have supplied both copper and zinc ores during the troubles in Yunnan. The copper at Hwuilí-chau in that prefecture is worked by companies which pay a royalty of two taels a pecul to the government, and furnish the metal to the mine owners for $8 per pecul. The pehtung or argentan ores are mixed with copper, tin, or lead, by the manufacturers according to the uses the alloys are put to. Silver exists in several places in the north, and the exploitation of the mines was successful until within 30 years past; now they cannot be safely or profitably worked, in consequence of political disturbances. Gold is obtained in the sand of some rivers but not to a large extent; lead, iron, tin, and zinc occur in such plenty that they can be exported, but no data are accessible as to the entire product or export.[94]

CHAPTER IV. GEOGRAPHICAL DESCRIPTION OF MANCHURIA, MONGOLIA, ÍLÍ, AND TIBET. — GENERAL VIEW OF THE COLONIES AND THEIR SUBDIVISIONS.

The portions of the Chinese Empire beyond the limits of the Eighteen Provinces, though of far greater extent than China Proper, are comparatively of minor importance. Their vast regions are peopled by different races, whose languages are mutually unintelligible, and whose tribes are held together under the Chinese sway rather by interest and reciprocal hostilities or dislike, than by force. European geographers have vaguely termed all that space lying north of Tibet to Siberia, and east of the Tsung ling to the Pacific, Chinese Tartary; while the countries west of the Tsung ling or Belur tag, to the Aral Sea, have been collectively called Independent Tartary. Both these names have already become nearly obsolete on good maps of those regions; the more accurate knowledge brought home by recent travellers having ascertained that their inhabitants are neither all Tartars (or Mongols) nor Turks, and further that the native names and divisions are preferable to a single comprehensive one. Such names as Manchuria, Mongolia, Songaria, and Turkestan, derived from the leading tribes dwelling in those countries, are more definite, though these are not permanent, owing to the migratory, changeable habits of the people. From their ignorance of scientific geography, the Chinese have no general designations for extensive countries, long chains of mountains, or devious rivers, but apply many names where, if they were better informed, they would be content with one.

The following table presents a general view of these countries, giving their leading divisions and forms of government. They cannot be classed, however, in the same manner as the provinces, nor are the divisions and capitals here given to be regarded as definitely settled. Their united area is 3,951,130 square miles, or a little more than all Europe; their separate areas cannot be precisely given. Manchuria contains about 400,000 square miles; Mongolia between 1,300,000 and 1,500,000 square miles; Ílí about 1,070,000 square miles; and Tibet from 500,000 to 700,000 square miles.

Manchuria is so termed from the leading race who dwell there, the Mandjurs or Manchus; it is a word of foreign origin, the Chinese having no general appellation for the vice-royalty ruled from Mukden. It comprises the eastern portion of the high table land of Central Asia, and lies between latitudes 39° and 52° N., and longitudes 120° to 134° E. These points include the limits in both directions, giving the region a rectangular shape lying in a north-east and south-west direction; roughly speaking, its dimensions are 800 by 500 miles. It is bounded on the south by the Gulf of Pechele, and the highlands of Corea on the north bank of the Yaluh River; on the east by a line running from the Russian town of Possiet northerly to the River Usuri, so as to include Hinka Lake; thence from its headwaters to its junction with the Amur. This river forms the northern frontier; its tributary, the River Argun, together with the large lakes Hurun and Puyur, lie on the west; from the latter lake an artificial line stretching nearly due east for six degrees in lat. 47° strikes the town of Tsitsihar on the River Nonni. The rest of the western border follows the rivers Nonni and Songari to the Palisade. This obsolete boundary commences at Shan-hai kwan on the Gulf of Liatung and runs north-easterly; it nominally separates the Mongols from the Manchus for nearly 300 miles, and really exists only at the passes where the roads are guarded by military.

But a portion of this region has yet been traversed by Europeans, and most of it is a wilderness. The entire population is not stated in the census of 1812, and from the nature of the country and wandering habits of the people, many tribes of whom render no allegiance to the Emperor, it would be impossible to take a regular census. Parts of Manchuria, as here defined, have been known under many names at different periods. Liautung (‘East of the River Liau’) has been applied to the country between that river, Corea, and the Sea of Japan; Tungking (‘Eastern Capital’) referred to the chief town of that region, under the Ming dynasty; and Kwantung (‘East of the Pass’), denoting the same country, is still a common designation for the whole territory.

Manchuria is now chiefly comprised in the valleys between the Usuri and Nonni Rivers, up to the Amur on the north, while the basin of the Liau on the south embraces the rest. There are three principal mountain chains. Beginning nearly a hundred miles east of Mukden, in lat. 43°, are the Long White Mountains[95] (Chang-peh shan of the Chinese, or Kolmin-shang-uin alin of the Manchus), which form the watershed between the Songari and Yaluh Rivers and serve for the northern frontier of Corea as far as Russian territory. There it divides and takes the name of Sih-hih-teh, or Sihoti Mountains, for the eastern spur which runs near the ocean, east of the River Usuri; and the name of Hurkar Mountains for the western and lower spurs between that river and the Hurkar. One noted peak, called Mount Chakoran, rising over 10,000 feet, lies south-east of San-săng on the Amur. On the plain, north of Kirin, numerous buttes occur, sometimes isolated, and often in lines fifteen or twenty miles apart; most of them are wooded.

In the western part of Tsitsihar lies the third great range of mountains in Manchuria, called the Sialkoi Mountains, a continuation of the Inner Hing-an range of Mongolia, and separating the Argun and Nonni basins. The Sialkoi range extends over a great part of Mongolia, commencing near the bend of the Yellow River, and reaching in a north-easterly direction, it forms in Manchuria three sides of the extensive valley of the Nonni, ending between the Amur and Songari Rivers at their junction. These regions are more arid than the eastern portions, and the mountains are rather lower; but our information is vague and scanty. As a whole, Manchuria should be called hilly rather than mountainous, its intervales alone repaying cultivation.

The country north of the Chang-peh shan as far as the Stanovoi Mountains is drained by one river, viz., the Sagalien, Amur, Kwăntung, or Hehlung kiang (for it is known by all these names), and its affluents; Sagalien ula in Manchu and Hehlung kiang in Chinese, each mean ‘Black’ or ‘Black Dragon River.’ The Amur drains the north-eastern slope of Central Asia by a circuitous course, aided by many large tributaries. Its source is in lat. 50° N. and long. 111° E., in a spur of the Daourian Mountains, called Kenteh, where it is called the Onon. After an east and north-east course of nearly five hundred miles, the Onon is joined in long. 115° E. by the Ingoda, a stream coming from the east of Lake Baikal, where it takes its rise by a peak called Tshokondo, the highest of the Yablonsi Khrebet Mountains. Beyond this junction, under the Russian name of Shilka, it flows about two hundred and sixty miles north-east till it meets the Argun. The Argun rises about three degrees south of the Onon, on the south side of the Kenteh, and under the name of Kerlon runs a solitary north-east course for four hundred and thirty miles to Lake Hurun, Kerlon, or Dalai-nur; the Kalka here comes in from Lake Puyur or Pir, and their waters leave Lake Hurun at Ust-Strelotchnoi (the Arrow’s Mouth) under the name of the Argun, flowing north nearly four hundred miles to the union with the Shilka in lat. 53°; from its exit as the Argun and onward to the entrance of the Usuri, it forms the boundary between China and Russia for 1,593 versts, or 1,062 miles.

Beyond this town the united stream takes the name of the Amur (i.e., Great River) or Sagalien of the Manchus, running nearly east about 550 miles beyond Albazin, when its course is south-east till it joins the Songari. Most of the affluents are on the north bank; the main channel grows wider as its size increases, having so many islands and banks as seriously to interfere with navigation. The valley thus watered possesses great natural advantages in soil, climate, and productions, which are now gradually attracting Russian settlers. In lat. 47½° the Songari River (Sung-hwa kiang of the Chinese) unites with the Amur on the right bank, 950 miles from Ust-Strelotchnoi, bringing the drainings of the greater portion of Manchuria, and doubling the main volume of water. The headwaters of this stream issue from the northern slopes of the Chang-peh shan; quickly combined in a single channel, these waters flow past the town of Kirin, scarcely a hundred miles from the mountains, in a river twelve feet deep and 900 wide. Near Petuné the River Nonni joins it from Tsitsihar, and their united stream takes the Chinese name of Kwantung (‘Mingled Union’); it is a mile and a half wide here and only three or four feet deep, a sluggish river full of islands. Then going east by north, growing deeper by its affluents, the Hurka, Mayen, Tunni, Hulan, and other smaller ones, it unites with the Amur at Changchu, a hundred miles west from the Usuri. All accounts agree in giving the Songari the superiority. At Sansing, it is a deep and rapid river, but further down islands and banks interfere with the navigation. The Hurka drains the original country of the Manchus.[96]

The district south-east of the desert, and north of the Great Wall, is drained and fertilized by the Sira-muren, or Liau River, which is nearly valueless for navigation. Its main and western branch divides near the Ín shan Mountains into the Hwang ho and Lahar; the former rises near the Pecha peak, a noted point in those mountains. The Sira-muren runs through a dry region for nearly 400 miles before it turns south, and in a zigzag channel reaches the Gulf of Liautung, a powerful stream carrying its quota of deposit into the ocean; the width at Yingtsz’ is 650 feet. The depth is 16 feet on the bar at high tide. The Yaluh kiang, nearly three hundred miles long, runs in a very crooked channel along the northern frontiers of Corea. But little is known about the two lakes, Hurun and Pir, except that their waters are fresh and full of fish; the River Urshun unites them, and several smaller streams run into the latter.

The larger part of Manchuria is covered by forests, the abode of wild animals, whose capture affords employment, clothing, and food to their hunters. The rivers and coasts abound in fish; among which carp, sturgeon, salmon, pike, and other species, as well as shell-fish, are plenty; the pearl-fishery is sufficiently remunerative to employ many fishermen; the Chinese Government used to take cognizance of their success, and collect a revenue in kind. The argali and jiggetai are found here as well as in Mongolia; bears, wolves, tigers, deer, and numerous fur-bearing animals are hunted for their skins. The troops are required to furnish 2,400 stags annually to the Emperor, who reserves for his own use only the fleshy part of the tail as a delicacy. Larks, pheasants, and crows of various species, with pigeons, thrushes, and grouse, abound. The condor is the largest bird of prey, and for its size and fierceness rivals its congener of the Andes.

The greater half of Shingking and the south of Kirin is cultivated; maize, Setaria wheat, barley, pulse, millet, and buckwheat are the principal crops. Ginseng and rhubarb are collected by troops sent out in detachments under the charge of their proper officers. These sections support, moreover, large herds of various domestic animals. The timber which covers the mountains will prove a source of wealth as soon as a remunerative market stimulates the skill and enterprise of settlers; even now, logs over three feet in diameter find their way up to Peking, brought from the Liau valley.

Manchuria is divided into three provinces, Shingking, Kirin, and Tsitsihar. The province of Shingking includes the ancient Liautung, and is bounded north by Mongolia; north-east and east by Kirin; south by the Gulf of Liautung and Corea, from which latter it is separated by the Yaluh River; and west by Chahar in Chihlí. It contains two departments, viz., Fungtien and Kinchau, subdivided into fifteen districts; there are also twelve garrisoned posts at the twelve gates in the Palisade, whose inmates collect a small tax on travellers and goods. Manchuria is under a strictly military government, every male above eighteen being liable for military service, and being, in fact, enrolled under that one of the eight standards to which by birth he belongs. The administration of Shingking is partly civil and partly military; that of Kirin and Tsitsihar is entirely military.

The population of the province has been estimated by T. T. Meadows[97] at twelve millions, consisting of Manchus and Chinese. The coast districts are now mostly occupied and cultivated by emigrants from Shantung, who are pushing the Manchus toward the Amur, or compelling them to leave their hunting and take to farming if they wish to stay where they were born. The conquerors are being civilized and developed by their subjects, losing the use of their own meagre language, and becoming more comfortable as they learn to be industrious. But few aboriginal settlements now remain who still resist these influences. The inhabitants collect near the river, or along the great roads, where food or a market are easiest found.

The capital of Shingking is usually known on the spot as Shin-yang, an older name than the Manchu Mukden, or the Chinese name Fungtien. As the metropolis of Manchuria, it is also known as Shingking (the ‘Affluent Capital’), distinguished from the name of the province by the addition of pun-ching, or ‘head-garrison.’ It lies in lat. 41° 50½′ N. and long. 123° 30′ E., on the banks of the Shin, a small branch of the Liau, and is reckoned to be five hundred miles north-east from Peking. The town is surrounded by a low mud wall about ten miles in circuit, at least half a mile distant from the main city wall, whose eight gates have double archways so that the crowd may not interfere in passing; this wall is about three miles around, and its towers and bastions are in good condition. It is 35 or 40 feet high, and 15 feet wide at the top, of brick throughout; a crenulated parapet protects the guard. But for its smaller scale, the walls and buildings here are precisely similar to those at Peking. The streets are wide, clean, and the main business avenues lined with large, well built shops, their counters, windows, and other arrangements indicating a great trade. This capital contains a large proportion of governmental establishments, yamuns, and nearly all the officials belong to the ruling race. Main streets run across the city from gate to gate, with narrow roads or hu-tung intersecting them. The palace of the early Manchu sovereigns occupies the centre; while the large warehouses are outside of the inner city. Everywhere marks of prosperity and security indicate an enterprising population, and for its tidy look, industrious and courteous population, Mukden takes high rank among Chinese cities. Its population is estimated to be under 200,000, mostly Chinese. The Manchu monarchs made it the seat of their government in 1631, and the Emperors have since done everything in their power to enlarge and beautify it. The Emperor Kienlung rendered himself celebrated among his subjects, and made the city of Mukden better known abroad, by a poetical eulogy upon the city and province, which was printed in sixty-four different forms of Chinese writing. This curious piece of imperial vanity and literary effort was translated into French by Amyot.

The town of Hingking,[98] sixty miles east of it, is one of the favored places in Shingking, from its being the family residence of the Manchu monarchs, and the burial-ground of their ancestors. It is pleasantly situated in an elevated valley, the tombs being three miles north of it upon a mountain called Tsz’yun shan. The circuit of the walls is about three miles. Hingking lies near the Palisade which separates the province from Kirin, and its officers have the rule over the surrounding country, and the entrances into that province. It has now dwindled to a small hamlet, and the guards connected with the tombs comprise most of the inhabitants.

Kinchau, fifteen leagues from Mukden, carries on considerable trade in cattle, pulse, and drugs. Gutzlaff[99] describes the harbor as shallow, and exposed to southern gales; the houses in the town are built of stone, the environs well cultivated and settled by Chinese from Shantung, while natives of Fuhkien conduct the trade. The Manchus lead an idle life, but keep on good terms with the Chinese. When he was there in 1832, the authorities had ordered all the females to seclude themselves in order to put a stop to debauchery among the native sailors. Horses and camels are numerous and cheap, but the carriages are clumsy. Kaichau, another port lying on the east side of the gulf, possesses a better harbor, but is not so much frequented.

Since the treaty of 1858 opened the port of Niuchwang or Yingtsz’, on the River Liau, to foreign trade, the development of Shingking has rapidly increased. The trade in pulse and bean-cake and oil employs many vessels annually. Opium, silk, and paper are prepared for export through this mart, besides foreign goods. Fung-hwang ting, lying near the Yaluh River, commands all the trade with Corea, which must pass through it. There are many restrictions upon this intercourse by both governments, and the Chinese forbid their subjects passing the frontiers. The trade is conducted at fairs, under the supervision of officers and soldiers; the short time allowed for concluding the bargains, and the great numbers resorting to them, render these bazaars more like the frays of opposing clans than the scenes of peaceable trade. There is a market-town in Corea itself, called Kí-iu wăn, about four leagues from the frontier, where the Chinese “supply the Coreans with dogs, cats, pipes, leather, stags’ horns, copper, horses, mules, and asses; and receive in exchange, baskets, kitchen utensils, rice, corn, swine, paper, mats, oxen, furs, and small horses.” Merchants are allowed not more than four or five hours in which to conduct this fair, and the Corean officers under whose charge it is placed, drive all strangers back to the frontier as soon as the day closes.[100]

The borders of the sea consist of alluvial soil, efflorescing a nitrous white salt near the beach, but very fertile inland, well cultivated and populous. Beyond, the hill-country is extremely picturesque. Ever-changing views, torrents and fountains, varied and abounding vegetation, flocks of black cattle grazing on the hillsides, goats perched on the overhanging crags, horses, asses, and sheep lower down in the intervales, numerous well-built hamlets, everywhere enliven the scene. The department of Kinchau lies along the Gulf of Liautung, between the Palisade and the sea, and contains four small district towns, with forts, around whose garrisons of agricultural troops have collected a few settlers. On the south, toward Chihlí and the Wall, the country is better cultivated.

The climate of Manchuria, as a whole, is healthy and moderate, far removed from the rigor of the plateau on its west, and not so moist as the outlying islands on the east. In summer the ranges are 70° to 90° F., thence down to 10° or 20° below zero. The rivers remain frozen from December nearly to April, and the fall of snow is less than in Eastern America. The seasons are really six weeks of spring, five months of summer, six weeks of autumn and four months of winter; the last is in some respects the enjoyable period, and is used by the farmers to bring produce to market. If the houses were tighter, their inmates would suffer little during the cold season. Huc speaks of hail storms which killed flocks of sheep in Mongolia, near Chahar. Darwin (Naturalist’s Voyage, 2d ed., 1845, p. 115) corroborates the possibility of his statement by a somewhat similar experience near Buenos Ayres. He here saw many deer and other wild animals killed by “hail as large as small apples and extremely hard.” Of the denuded country, near the Liau River, Abbé Huc says: “Although it is uncertain where God placed paradise, we may be sure that he chose some other country than Liautung; for of all savage regions, this takes a distinguished rank for the aridity of the soil and rigor of the climate. On his entrance, the traveller remarks the barren aspect of most of the hills, and the nakedness of the plains, where not a tree nor a thicket, and hardly a slip of a herb is to be seen. The natives are superior to any Europeans I have ever seen for their powers of eating; beef and pork abound on their tables, and I think dogs and horses, too, under some other name; rich people eat rice, the poor are content with boiled millet, or with another grain called hac-bam, about thrice the size of millet and tasting like wheat, which I never saw elsewhere. The vine is cultivated, but must be covered from October to April; the grapes are so watery that a hundred litres of juice produce by distillation only forty of poor spirit. The leaves of an oak are used to rear wild silkworms, and this is a considerable branch of industry. The people relish the worms as food after the cocoons have been boiled, drawing them out with a pin, and sucking the whole until nothing but the pellicle is left.”[101] Another says, the ground freezes seven feet in Kirin, and about three in Shingking; the thermometer in winter is thirty degrees below zero. The snow is raised into the air by the north-east winds, and becomes so fine that it penetrates the clothes, houses, and enters even the lungs. When travelling, the eyebrows become a mass of ice, the beard a large flake, and the eyelashes are frozen together; the wind cuts and pierces the skin like razors or needles. The earth is frozen during eight months, but vegetation in summer is rapid, and the streams are swollen by the thawing drifts of snow.

The province of Kirin, or Girin, comprises the country north-east of Shingking, as far as the Amur and Usuri, which bound it on the north and east, while Corea and Shingking lie on the south-east (better separated by the Chang-peh shan than any political confine) and Mongolia on the west. All signs of the line of palisades have disappeared (save at the Passes) in the entire trajet between the Songari and Shan-hai kwan. The region is mountainous, except in the link of that river after the Nonni joins it till the Usuri comes in, measuring about one-fourth of the whole. This extensive region is thinly inhabited by Manchus settled in garrisons along the bottoms of the rivers, by Goldies, Mangoons, Ghiliaks, and tribes having affinity with them, who subsist principally by hunting and fishing, and acknowledge their fealty by a tribute of peltry, but who have no officers of government placed over them. Du Halde calls them Kíching Tatse, Yupí Tatse, and other names, which seem, indeed, to have been their ancient designations. The Yu-pí Tahtsí, or ‘Fish-skin Tartars,’[102] are said to inhabit the extensive valley of the Usuri, and do not allow the subjects of the Emperor to live among them. In winter they nestle together in kraals like the Bushmen, and subsist upon the products of their summer’s fishing, having cut down fuel enough to last them till warm weather. Shut out, as they have been during the past, from all elevating influences, these people are likely to be ere long amalgamated and lost, as well among Russian and other settlers coming in from the north, as amid the Chinese immigrants who occupy their land in the south. The entire population of this province cannot be reckoned, from present information, as high as three millions, the greater part of which live along the Songari valley.

Kirin is divided into three ruling ting departments or commanderies, viz., Kirin ula, or the garrison of Kirin, Petuné or Pedné, and Changchun ting. Kirin, the largest of the three, is subdivided into eight garrison districts. The town, called Chuen Chwang, or ‘Navy Yard,’ in Chinese, is finely situated on the Songari, in lat. 43° 45′ N., and long. 127° 25′ E., at the foot of encircling hills, where the river is a thousand feet wide. The streets are narrow and irregular, the shops low and small, and much ground in the city is unoccupied. Two great streets cross each other at right angles, one of them running far into the river on the west supported by piles. The highways are paved with wooden blocks, and adorned with flowers, gold fish, and squares; its population is about 50,000.

The four other important places in Kirin are Petuné, Larin, Altchuku, or A-shi-ho, and Sansing, the latter at the confluent of the Songari and Hurka. Altchuku is the largest, and Petuné next in size, each town having not far from 35,000 inhabitants; Larin is perhaps half as large, and like the others steadily increasing in numbers and importance. Ninguta on the river Hurka has wide regions under its sway where ginseng is gathered; near the stockaded town is a subterranean body of water that furnishes large fish. A great and influential portion of the Chinese population is Moslem, but no Manchus reside in the place. The former control trade and travel in every town.

Petuné, in lat. 45° 20′ N., and long. 125° 10′ E., is inhabited by troops and many persons banished from China for their crimes. Its favorable position renders it a place of considerable trade, and during the summer months it is a busy mart for these thinly peopled regions. It consists of two main streets, with the chief market at their crossing. A large mosque attracts attention. The third commandery of Changchun, west of Kirin and south of Petuné, just beyond the Palisade, is a mere post for overseeing the Manchus and Mongols passing to and fro on the edge of the steppe.

The resources of this wide domain in timber, minerals, metals, cattle and grain have not yet been explored or developed. The hills are wooded to the top, the bottoms bring forth two crops annually, and the rivers take down timber and grain to the Russian settlers. Sorghum, millet, barley, maize, pulse, indigo, and tobacco are the chief crops; and latterly opium, which has rapidly extended, because it pays well. Oil and whiskey are extensively manufactured, packed in wicker baskets lined with paper and transported on wheelbarrows. The wild and domestic animals are numerous. Among the latter the hogs and mules, more than any other kind, furnish food and transportation; while tigers, panthers, and leopards, bears, wolves, and foxes reward the hunters for their pains in killing them.

The province of Tsi-tsi-har, or Hehlung kiang, comprises the northwest of Manchuria, extending four hundred miles from east to west, and about five hundred from north to south. It is bounded north by the Amur, from Shilka to its junction with the Songari; east and southeast by Kirin, from which the Songari partly separates it; southwest by Mongolia, and west by the River Argun, dividing it from Russia. The greatest part of it is occupied by the valley of the Nonni, Noun or Nún; its area of about two hundred thousand square miles is mostly an uninhabited, mountainous wilderness. It is divided into six commanderies, viz.: Tsitsihar, Hulan, Putek, Merguen, Sagalien ula, and Hurun-pir, whose officers have control over the tribes within their limits; of these, Sagalien or Igoon is the chief town in the northeast districts, and is used by the government of Peking as a penal settlement. The town stands on a plain but a rood or so above the river, which sweeps off to the mountains in the distance. Here is posted a large force of officers and men, their extensive barracks indicating the importance attached to the place. The garrison has gradually attracted a population of natives and Chinese from the south, who live by fishing and hunting, as well as farming.

Tsitsihar, the capital of the province, lies on the River Nonni, in lat. 47° 20′ N., and long. 124° E., and is a place of some trade, resorted to by the tribes near the river. Merguen, Hurun-pir, and Hulan are situated upon rivers, and accessible when the waters are free from ice. Tsitsihar was built in 1692 by Kanghí to overawe the neighboring tribes. It is inclosed by a stockade and a ditch. The one-storied houses are constructed of logs, or of brick stuccoed, where timber is dear, and warmed by the brick beds; the tall chimneys outside the main buildings give a peculiar appearance to villages. Pulse, maize, tobacco, millet, and wheat, and latterly poppy are common crops. The valley of the Nonni is cultivated by the Taguri Manchus, among whom six thousand six hundred families of Yakutes settled in 1687, when they emigrated from Siberia. The Korchin Mongols occupy the country south and west of this valley. Some of its streams produce large pearls. The region lying between the Sialkoi Mountains and the River Argun is rough and sterile, presenting few inducements to agriculturalists. Fish abound in all the rivers, and furs are sought in the hills. Pasturage is excellent in the bottoms. Fairs, between the natives and Cossacks, are constantly held at convenient places on the Argun and other rivers. The racial distinction between the Mongols and Manchus is here seen in the agricultural labors of the latter, so opposed to the nomadic habits of the former. This region has, within the last half century, attracted Chinese settlers from Shantung and Chihlí. These colonists are fast filling up the vacant lands along the rivers, dispossessing the Manchus by their thrift and industry, and making the country far more valuable. They will in this way secure its possession to the Peking Government, and bring it, by degrees, under Chinese control, greatly to the benefit of all. In early days the policy of the Manchus, like that of the E. I. Company in India towards British immigration, discountenanced the entrance of Chinese settlers, and in both cases to the disadvantage of the ruling power.

The administration of Manchuria consists of a supreme civil government at Mukden, and three provincial military ones, though Shingking is under both civil and military. There are five Boards, each under a president, whose duties are analogous to those at Peking. The oversight of the city itself is under a fuyin or mayor, superior to the prefect. The three provinces are under as many marshals, whose subordinates rule the commanderies, and these last have garrison officers subject to them, whose rank and power correspond to the size and importance of their districts. These delegate part of their power to “assistant directors,” or residents, who are stationed in every town; on the frontier posts, the officers have a higher grade, and report directly to the marshals or their lieutenants. All the officers, both civil and military, are Manchus, and a great portion of them belong to the imperial clan, or are intimately connected with it. By this arrangement, the Manchus are in a measure disconnected with the general government of the provinces, furnished with offices and titles, and induced to recommend themselves for promotion in the Empire by their zeal and fidelity in their distant posts.[103]

Mongolia is the first in order of the colonies, by which are meant those parts of the Empire under the control of the Lí-fan Yuen, or Foreign Office.[104] According to the statistics of the Empire, it comprises the region lying between lats. 35° and 52° N., and from long. 82° to 123° E.; bounded north by the Russian governments of Trans-Baikalia, Irkutsk, Yeniseisk, Tomsk, and Semipolatinsk; northeast and east by Manchuria; south by the provinces of Chihlí and Shansí, and the Yellow River; southwest by Kansuh; and west by Cobdo and Ílí. These limits are not very strictly marked at all points, but the length from east to west is about seventeen hundred miles, and one thousand in its greatest breadth, inclosing an area of 1,400,000 square miles, supporting an estimated population of two millions. This elevated plain is almost destitute of wood or water, inclosed southward by the mountains of Tibet, and northward by offsets from the Altai range. The central part is occupied by the desert of Gobi, a barren steppe having an average height of 4,000 feet above the sea level, and destitute of all running water. Owing to its elevation, extremely variable climate, and the absence of oases, it may be considered quite as terrible as Sahara, although the sand-waste here is, perhaps, hardly as unmitigated.

The climate of Mongolia is excessively cold for the latitude, arising partly from its elevation and dry atmosphere, and, on the steppes, to the want of shelter from the winds. But this has its compensation in an unclouded sky and the genial rays of the sun, which support and cheer the people to exertion when the thermometer is far below zero. The air has been drained of its moisture by the ridges on every side; day after day the sun’s heat reaches the earth with smaller loss than obtains in moister regions in the same latitudes. Otherwise these wastes would support no life at all at such an elevation. In the districts bordering on Chihlí, the people make their houses partly under ground, in order to avoid the inclemency of the season. The soil in and upon the confines of this high land is unfit for agricultural purposes, neither snow nor rain falling in sufficient quantities, except on the acclivities of the mountain ranges; but millet, barley, and wheat might be raised north and south of it. The nomads rejoice in their freedom from tillage, however, and move about with their herds and possessions within the limits marked out by the Chinese for each tribe to occupy.

The space on the north of Gobi to the confines of Russia, about one hundred and fifty miles wide, is warmer than the desert, and supports a greater population than the southern sides. Cattle are numerous on the hilly tracts, but none are found in the desert, where wild animals and birds hold undisputed possession. The thermometer in winter sinks to thirty and forty degrees below zero (Fr.), and sudden and great changes are frequent. No month in the year is free from snow or frost; but on the steppes, the heat in summer is almost intolerable, owing to the radiation from the sandy or stony surface. The snow does not fall very deep, and even in cold weather the cattle find food under it; the flocks and herds are not, however, large.

The principal divisions of Mongolia are four, viz.: 1, Inner Mongolia, lying between the Wall and south of the desert; 2, Outer Mongolia, between the desert and the Altai Mountains, and reaching from the Inner Hing-an to the Tien shan; 3, the country about Koko-nor, between Kansuh, Sz’chuen, and Tibet; and, 4, the dependencies of Uliasutai, lying northwestward of the Kalkas khanates. The whole of this region has been included under the comprehensive name of Tartary, and if the limits of Inner and Outer Mongolia had been the bounds of Tartary, the appellation would have been somewhat appropriate. But when Genghis arose to power, he called his own tribe Kukai Mongöl, ‘Celestial People,’ and designated all the other tribes Tatars, that is ‘tributaries.’[105] The three tribes of Kalkas, Tsakhars, and Sunnites, now constitute the great body of Mongols under Chinese rule.

Inner Mongolia, or Nui Mungku, is bounded north by Tsitsihar, the Tsetsen khanate, and Gobi, their frontiers being almost undefinable; east by Kirin and Shingking; south by Chihlí and Shansí; and west by Kansuh. Wherever it runs the Wall is popularly regarded as the boundary between China and Mongolia. The country is divided into six ming or chalkans, like our corps, and twenty-four aimaks[106] (tribes), which are again placed under forty-nine standards or khochoun, each of which generally includes about two thousand families, commanded by hereditary princes, or dsassaks. The principal tribes are the Kortchin and Ortous. The large tribe of the Tsakhars, which occupies the region north of the Wall, is governed by a tutung, or general, residing at Kalgan, and their pasture grounds are now nominally included in the province of Chihlí. The province of Shansí in like manner includes the lands occupied by the Toumets, who are under the control of a general stationed at Suiyuen, beyond the Yellow River. In the pastures northwest from Kalgan, in the vicinity of Lakes Chazau and Ichí, and reaching more than a hundred miles from the Great Wall, lie the tracts appropriated to raising horses for the “Yellow Banner Corps.” Excepting such grazing lands or the vast hunting grounds near Jeh-ho, reserved in like manner by the government, small settlements of Chinese are continually squatting over the plains of Inner Mongolia, from whence they have already succeeded in driving many of the aboriginal Mongol tribes off to the north. Those natives who will not retire are fain to save themselves from starvation or absorption by cultivating the soil after the fashion of their neighbors, the Chinese immigrants. It was, indeed, this influx of settlers which led Kanghí to erect the southern portion of Inner Mongolia into prefectures and districts like China Proper. This alteration of habits among its population seems destined, ere long, to modify the aspect of the country.

Most of the smaller tribes, except the Ortous, live between the western frontiers of Manchuria, and the steppes reaching north to the Sialkoi range, and south to Chahar. These tribes are peculiarly favored by the Manchus, from their having joined them in their conquest of China, and their leading men are often promoted to high stations in the government of the country.

Outer Mongolia, or Wai Mungku, is the wild tract lying north of the last as far as Russia. It is bounded north by Russia, east by Tsitsihar, southeast and south by Inner Mongolia, southwest by Barkul in Kansuh, west by Tarbagatai, and northwest by Cobdo and Uliasutai. The desert of Gobi occupies the southern half of the region. It is divided into four lu, or circuits, each of which is governed by a khan or prince, claiming direct descent from Genghis, and superintending the internal management of his own khanate. The Tsetsen khanate lies west of Hurun-pir in Tsitsihar, extending from Russia south to Inner Mongolia. West of it, reaching from Siberia across the desert to Inner Mongolia, lies the Tuchétu (or Tusiétu of Klaproth[107]) khanate, the most considerable of the four; the road from Kiakhta to Kalgan lies within its borders. West of the last, and bounded south by Gobi and northeast by Uliasutai, lies the region of the Kalkas of Sainnoin; and on its northwest lies the Dsassaktu khanate, south of Uliasutai, and reaching to Barkul and Cobdo on the south and west. All of them are politically under the control of two Manchu residents stationed at Urga, who direct the mutual interests of the Mongols, Chinese, and Russians.

Urga, or Kuren, the capital, is situated in the Tuchétu khanate, in lat. 48° 20′ N., and long. 107½° E., on the Tola River, a branch of the Selenga. It is the largest and most important place in Mongolia, and is divided into Maimai chin, the Chinese quarter, and Bogdo-Kuren, the Mongol settlement, nearly three miles from the other. Its total population is estimated at 30,000, the Chinese inhabitants of which are forbidden by law to live with their families; of the Mongols here, by far the larger part is composed of lamas. In the estimation of these people Urga stands next to H’lassa in degree of sanctity, being the seat of the third person in the Tibetan patriarchate. According to the Lama doctrine this dignitary—the Kutuktu—is the terrestrial impersonation of the Godhead and never dies, but passes, after his apparent decease, into the body of some newly born boy, who is sought for afterwards according to the prophetic indications of the Dalai-lama in Tibet. This holy potentate, though of limited education and entirely under the control of the attendant lamas, exercises an unbounded influence over the Kalkas. It is, indeed, by means of him that the Chinese officials control the native races of Mongolia. His wealth, owing to contributions of enthusiastic devotees, is enormous; in and about Urga he owns 150,000 slaves, an abundance of worldly goods, and the most pretentious palace in Mongolia. Outside of its religious buildings, Urga is disgustingly dirty; the filth is thrown into the streets, and the habits of the people are loathsome. Decrepid beggars and starving dogs infest the ways; dead bodies, instead of being interred, are flung to birds and beasts of prey; huts and hovels afford shelter for both rich and poor.[108]

The four khanates constitute one aimak or tribe, subdivided into eighty-six standards, each of which is restricted to a certain territory, within which it wanders about at pleasure. There are altogether one hundred and thirty-five standards of the Mongols. The Kalkas chiefly live between the Altai Mountains and Gobi, but do not cultivate the soil to much effect. They are devoted to Buddhism, and the lamas hold most of the power in their hands through the Kutuktu. They render an annual tribute to the Emperor of horses, camels, sheep, and other animals or their skins, and receive presents in return of many times its value, so that they are kept in subjection by constant bribing; the least restiveness on their part is visited by a reduction of presents and other penalties. An energetic government, however, is not wanting in addition. The supreme tribunal is at Urga; it is the yamun, par excellence, and has both civil and military jurisdiction. The decisions are subject to the revision of the two Chinese residents, and sentences are usually carried into execution after their confirmation. The punishments are horribly severe; but only a decided and cruel hand over these wild tribes can keep them from constant strife.

Letters are encouraged among them by the Manchus, but with little success. Many Buddhist books have been translated into Mongolian by order of the Emperors; nor can we wonder at the indifference to literature when this stuff is the aliment provided them. Their tents, or yurts, are made of wooden laths fastened together so as to form a coarse lattice-work; the framework consists of several lengths secured with ropes, leaving a door about three feet square. The average size is twelve feet across and ten feet high; its shape is round and the conical roof admits light where it emits smoke. The poles or rafters are looped to the sides, and fastened to a hoop at the top. Upon this framework sheets of heavy felt are secured according to the season. A hearth in the centre holds the fire which heats the kettle hanging over it, and warms the inmates squatted round, who usually place only felt and sheepskins under them. The felt protects from cold, rain, snow, and heat in a wonderful manner. A first-class yurt is by no means an uncomfortable dwelling, with its furniture, lining, shrine, and hot kettle in the centre. A carpet for sleeping and sitting on is sometimes seen in yurts of the wealthier classes; in these, too, the walls are lined with cotton or silk, and the floors are of wood. The lodges of the rich Kalkas have several apartments, and are elegantly furnished, but destitute of cleanliness, comfort, or airiness. Most of their cloths, utensils, and arms are procured from the Chinese. The Sunnites are fewer than the Kalkas, and roam the wide wastes of Gobi. Both derive some revenue from conducting caravans across their country, but depend for their livelihood chiefly upon the produce of their herds and hunting. Their princes are obliged to reside in Urga, or keep hostages there, in order that the residents may direct and restrain their conduct; but their devotion to the Kutuktu, and the easy life they lead, are the strongest inducements to remain.

The trade with Russia formerly all passed through Kiakhta, a town near the frontier, and was carried on by special agents and officials appointed by each nation. The whole business was managed in the interest of the government, and its ramifications furnished employment, position, and support to so many persons as to form a bond of union and guaranty of peace between them and their subjects. Timkowski’s journey with the decennial mission to Peking in 1820-21 furnishes one of the best accounts of this trade and intercourse now accessible, and with Klaproth’s notes, given in the English translation published in 1827, has long been the chief reliable authority for the divisions and organization of the Mongol tribes. Since the opening of the Suez Canal, through which Russian steamers carry goods to and fro between Odessa and China, the largest portion of the Chinese produce no longer goes to Kiakhta. That which is required for Siberia is sent from Hankow by way of Shansí, or from Kalgan and Tientsin, under the direction of Russian merchants at those places. Furs, which once formed the richest part of this produce, are gradually diminishing in quality and quantity with the increase of settlers. In 1843 the export of black tea for Russian consumption was only eight millions of pounds, besides the brick tea taken by the Mongols. Cottrell states the total value of the trade, annually, at that period, at a hundred millions of rubles, reckoned then to be equal to $20,830,000, on which the Russians paid, in 1836, about $2,500,000 as import duty. The data respecting this trade of forty years ago are not very accurate, probably; the monopoly was upheld mostly for the benefit of the officials, as private traders found it too much burdened.

Kiakhta is a hamlet of no importance apart from the trade. The frontier here is marked by a row of granite columns; a stockade separates it from Maimai chin. Pumpelly says: “One can hardly imagine a sharper line than is here drawn. On the one side of the stockade wall, the houses, churches, and people are European, on the other, Chinese. With one step the traveller passes really from Asia and Asiatic customs and language, into a refined European society.” The goods pay duty at the Russian douane in a suburb of fifty houses, near Kiakhta. The Chinese town is also a small place, numbering between twelve and fifteen hundred men (no women being allowed in the settlement) who lived in idleness most of the year. This curious hamlet has two principal streets crossing at right angles, and gates at the four ends, in the wooden wall which surrounds it. These streets are badly paved, while their narrowness barely allows the passage of two camels abreast. The one-storied houses are constructed of wood, roofed with turf or boards, and consist of two small rooms, one used as a shop and the other as a bedroom. The windows in the rear apartment are made of oiled paper or mica, but the door is the only opening in the shop. The dwellings are kept clean, the furniture is of a superior description, and considerable taste and show are seen in displaying the goods. The traders live luxuriously, and attract a great crowd there during the fair in February, when the goods are exchanged. They are under the control of a Manchu, called the dzarguchí, who is appointed for three years, and superintends the police of the settlement as well as the commercial proceedings. There are two Buddhist temples here served by lamas, and containing five colossal images sitting cross-legged, and numerous smaller idols.[109]

The western portion of Mongolia, between the meridians of 84° and 96° E., extending from near the western extremity of Kansuh province to the confines of Russia, comprising Uliasutai and its dependencies, Cobdo, and the Kalkas and Tourgouths of the Tangnu Mountains, is less known than any other part of it. The residence of the superintending officer of this province is at Uliasutai (i.e., ‘Poplar Grove’), a town lying northwest of the Selenga, in the khanate of Sainnoin, in a well cultivated and pleasant valley.

Cobdo, according to the Chinese maps, lies in the northwest of Mongolia; it is bounded north and west by the government Yeniseisk, northeast by Ulianghai, and southeast by the Dsassaktu khanate, south by Kansuh, and west by Tarbagatai. The part occupied by the Ulianghai or Uriyangkit tribes of the Tangnu Mountains lies northeast of Cobdo, and north of the Sainnoin and Dsassaktu khanates, and separated from Russia by the Altai. These tribes are allied to the Samoyeds, and the rule over them is administered by twenty-five subordinate military officers, subject to the resident at Uliasutai. This city is said to contain about two thousand houses, is regularly built, and carries on some trade with Urga; it lies on the Iro, a tributary of the Jabkan. Cobdo comprises eleven tribes of Kalkas divided into thirty-one standards, whose princes obey an amban at Cobdo City, himself subordinate to the resident at Uliasutai. The Chinese rule over these tribes is conducted on the same principles as that over the other Mongols, and they all render fealty to the Emperor through the chief resident at Uliasutai, but how much obedience is really paid his orders is not known. The Kalkas submitted to the Emperor in 1688 to avoid extinction in their war with the Eleuths, by whom they had been defeated.

Cobdo contains several lakes, many of which receive rivers without having any outlet. The largest is Upsa-nor, which receives from the east the River Tes, and the Íkí-aral-nor into which the Jabkan runs. The River Irtysh falls into Lake Dzaisang. The existence of so many rivers indicates a more fertile country north of the Altai or Ektag Mountains, but no bounties of nature would avail to induce the inhabitants to adopt settled modes of living and cultivate the soil, if such a clannish state of society exists among them as is described by M. Lévchine to be the case among their neighbors, the Kirghís. The tribes in Cobdo resemble the American Indians in their habits, disputes, and modes of life, more than the eastern Kalkas, who approximate in their migratory character to the Arabs.

The province of Tsing hai, or Koko-nor (called Tsok-gum-bam by the Tanguts), is not included in Mongolia by European geographers, nor in the Chinese statistical works is it comprised within its borders; the inhabitants are, however, mostly Mongols, both Buddhist and Moslem, and the government is conducted on the same plan as that over the Kalkas tribes further north. This region is known in the histories of Central Asia under the names of Tangout, Sifan, Turfan, etc. On Chinese maps it is politically called Tsing hai (‘Azure Sea’), but in their books is named Sí Yu or Sí Yih, ‘Western Limits.’ The borders are now limited on the north by Kansuh, southeast by Sz’chuen, south by Anterior Tibet, and west by the desert, comprising about four degrees of latitude and eleven of longitude.

It includes within its limits several large lakes, which receive rivers into their bosoms, and many of them having no outlets. The Azure Sea is the largest, lying at an altitude of 10,500 feet and overlooked by high mountains, which in winter are covered with snow, and in summer form an emerald frame that deepens the blueness of the water. It is over 200 miles in circuit, and its evaporation is replaced by the inflowing waters of eight large streams; one small islet contains a monastery, whose inmates are freed from their solitude only when the ice makes a bridge, as no boat is known to have floated on its salt water. The wide, moist plains on the east and west furnish pasturage for domestic and wild animals, and constant collisions occur between the tribes resorting there for food. The travels of Abbé Huc and Col. Prejevalsky furnish nearly all that is known concerning the productions and inhabitants of Koko-nor. The country is nominally divided into thirty-four banners, and its Chinese rulers reside at Síning, east of the lake; but they have more to do in defending themselves than in protecting their subjects. The whole country is occupied by the Tanguts of Tibetan origin, who are brigands by profession, and roam over the mountains around the headwaters of the Yangtsz’ and Yellow Rivers; by the Mohammedan Dunganis, who have latterly been nearly destroyed in their recent rebellion; and by tribes of Mongols under the various names of Eleuths, Kolos, Kalkas, Surgouths, and Koits. The Chinese maps are filled with names of various tribes, but their statistical accounts are as meagre of information as the maps are deficient in accurate and satisfactory delineations.

The topographical features of this region are still imperfectly known, and its inhospitable climate is rendered more dangerous by man’s barbarity. High mountain masses alternate with narrow valleys and a few large depressions containing lakes; the country lying south of the Azure Sea, as far as Burmah, is exceedingly mountainous. West and southwest of the lake extends the plain of Tsaidam, which at a recent geological age has been the bed of a huge lake; it is now covered with morasses, shaking bogs, small rivers, and sheets of water—the most considerable of the latter being Lake Kara, in the extreme western portion. The saline argillaceous soil of this region is not adapted to vegetation. Large animals are scarce, due in part to the plague of insects which compels even the natives to retreat to the mountains with their herds during certain seasons. Its inhabitants are the same as those of Eastern Koko-nor; they are divided into five banners, and number about 1,000 yurts, or 5,000 souls.

The Burkhan-buddha range forms the southern boundary of this plain, and the northernmost limit of the lofty plateau of Tibet. Its length from east to west is not far from 130 miles, its eastern extremity being near the Yegrai-ula (the near sources of the Yellow River) and Toso-nor. The range has no lofty peaks, and stretches in an unbroken chain at a height of 15,000 to 16,000 feet; it is terribly barren, but does not attain the line of perpetual snow. The southern range, which separates the headwaters of the Yellow and Yangtsz’ Rivers, is called the Bayan-kara Mountains; that northwest of this is called on Chinese maps, Kílien shan and Nan shan, and bounds the desert on the south. On the northern declivities of the Nan shan range are several towns lying on or near the road leading across Central Asia, which leaves the valley of the Yellow River at Lanchau, in Kansuh, and runs N.N.W. over a rough country to Liangchau, a town of some importance situated in a fertile and populous district. From this place it goes northwest to Kanchau, noted for its manufactures of felted cloths which are in demand among the Mongol tribes of Koko-nor, and where large quantities of rhubarb, horses, sheep, and other commodities are procured. Going still northwest, the traveller reaches Suhchau, the last large place before passing the Great Wall, which renders it a mart for provisions and all articles brought from the west in exchange for the manufactures of China. This city was the last stronghold of the Dungani Moslems, and when they were destroyed in 1873 it began to revive out of its ruins. About fifty miles from this town is the pass of Kiayü, beyond which the road to Hami, Urumtsi, and Ílí leads directly across the desert, here about three hundred miles wide. This route has been for ages the line of internal communication between the west of China and the regions lying around and in the basins of the Tarim River and the Caspian.[110] A better idea of the security of traffic and caravans within the Empire, and consequently of the goodness of the Chinese rule, is obtained by comparing the usually safe travel on this route with the hazards, robberies, and poverty formerly met with on the great roads in Bokhara, and the regions south and west of the Belur tag.

The productions of Koko-nor consist of grain and other vegetables raised along the bottoms of the rivers and margins of the lakes; sheep, cattle, horses, camels, and other animals. Alpine hares, wild asses,[111] wild yaks, vultures, lammergeiers, pheasants, antelopes, wolves, mountain sheep, and wild camels are among the denizens of the wilds. The Chinese have settled among the tribes, and Mohammedans of Turkish origin are found in the large towns. There are eight corps between Koko-nor and Uliasutai, comprising all the tribes and banners, and over which are placed as many supreme generals or commanders appointed from Peking. The leading tribes in Koko-nor are Eleuths, Tanguts, and Tourbeths, the former of whom are the remnants of one of the most powerful tribes in Central Asia. Tangout submitted to the Emperor in 1690, and its population since the incorporation has greatly increased. They inhabit the hilly region of Kansuh, Koko-nor, Eastern Tsaidam, and the basin of the Upper Yellow River. They resemble gipsies, being above the average in height, with thick-set features, broad shoulders, hair and whiskers, black, dark eyes, nose straight, lips thick and protruding, face long and never flat, skin tawny. Unlike the Mongols and Chinese they have a strong growth of beard and whiskers which, however, they always shave. They wear no tail, but shave their heads; their dress consists of furs and cloths made into long coats that reach to the knees. Shirts or trowsers are not made use of; their upper legs are generally left bare. Women dress like the men. Their habitations are wooden huts or black cloth tents. The Tangut is cunning, stingy, lazy, and shiftless. His sole occupation that of tending cattle (yaks). He is even more zealous a Buddhist than are the Mongols, and extremely superstitious.[112] The trade at Síning is large, but not equal to that between Yunnan and Burmah at Talí and Bhamo; dates, rhubarb, chowries, precious stones, felts, cloths, etc., are among the commodities seen in the bazaar. It lies about a hundred miles from the sea, at an elevation of 7,800 feet, and near it is the famous lamasary of Kumbum, where MM. Huc and Gabet lived in 1845. The town is well situated upon the Síning ho, and though constructed for the most part of wood, presents a fine appearance owing to the number of official buildings therein. The population numbers some 60,000 souls.[113]

The towns lying between the Great Wall and Ílí, though politically belonging to Kansuh, are more connected with the colonies in their form of government than with the Eighteen Provinces. The first town beyond the Kiayü Pass is Yuhmun, distant about ninety miles, and is the residence of officers, who attend to the caravans going to and from the pass. It is represented as lying near the junction of two streams, which flow northerly into the Purunkí. The other district town of Tunhwang lies across a mountainous country, upwards of two hundred miles distant. The city of Ngansí chau has been built to facilitate the communication across the desert to Hami or Kamil, the first town in Songaria, and the dépôt of troops, arms, and munitions of war. “With the town of Hami,” says an Austrian visitor in these regions, “the traveller comes upon the southern foot-hills of the Tien shan, and the first traces of Siberian civilization. Magnificent mountain scenery accompanies him on his way toward the west to the Russian line. In the government of Semipolatinsk are the express mail-wagons which stand ready at his order to carry him at furious speed to the town of the same name, then to the right bank of the River Irtysh, and so to Omsk.”[114] This route and that stretching towards the southwest bring an important trade to Hami; the country around it is cultivated by poor Mongols.[115] Barkul, or Chinsí fu, in lat. 43° 40′ N., and long. 93° 30′ E., is the most important place in the department; the district is called Ího hien. A thousand Manchus, and three thousand Chinese, guard the post. The town is situated on the south of Lake Barkul, and its vicinity receives some cultivation. Hami and Turfan each form a ting district in the southeast and west of the department. The trade at all these places consists mostly of articles of food and clothing.

Urumtsi, or Tih-hwa chau (the Bich-balik of the Ouigours in 1100[116]), in lat. 43° 45′ N., and long. 89° E., is the westernmost department of Kansuh, divided into three districts, and containing many posts and settlements. In the war with the Eleuths in 1770, the inhabitants around this place were exterminated, and the country afterwards repeopled by upwards of ten thousand troops, with their families, and by exiles; emigrants from Kansuh were also induced to settle there. The Chinese accounts speak of a high mountain near the city, always covered with ice and snow, whose base is wooded, and abounding with pheasants; coal is also obtained in this region. The cold is great, and snow falls as late as July. Many parts produce grain and vegetables. All this department formerly constituted a portion of Songaria. The policy of the Chinese government is to induce the tribes to settle, by placing large bodies of troops with their families at all important points, and sending their exiled criminals to till the soil; the Mongols then find an increasing demand for their cattle and other products, and are induced to become stationary to meet it. So far as is known, this policy had succeeded well in the regions beyond the Wall, and those around Koko-nor; but the rebellion of the Dunganis, who arose in these outlying regions at the moment when the energies of the Peking government were all directed to suppressing the Tai-ping insurrection, destroyed these improvements, and frustrated, for an indefinite period, the promising development of civilization among the inhabitants.

That part of the Empire called Ílí is a vast region lying on each side of the Tien shan, and including a tract nearly as large as Mongolia, and not much more susceptible of cultivation. Its limits may be stated as extending from lat. 36° to 49° N., and from long. 71° to 96° E., and its entire area, although difficult to estimate from its irregularity, can hardly be less than 900,000 square miles, of which Songaria occupies rather more than one-third. It is divided into two Lu, or ‘Circuits,’ viz., the Tien shan Peh Lu, and Tien shan Nan Lu, or the circuits north and south of the Celestial Mountains. The former is commonly designated Songaria, or Dzungaria, from the Songares or Eleuths, who ruled it till a few scores of years past, and the latter used to be known as Little Bokhara, or Eastern Turkestan.

Ílí is bounded north by the Altai range, separating it from the Kirghís; northeast by the Irtysh River and Outer Mongolia; east and southeast by Urumtsi and Barkul in Kansuh; south by the desert and the Kwănlun range; and west by the Belur-tag, dividing it from Badakshan and Russian territory.[117] In length, the Northern Circuit extends about nine hundred miles, and the width, on an average, is three hundred miles. The Southern Circuit reaches nearly twelve hundred and fifty miles from west to east, and varies from three hundred to five hundred in breadth, as it extends to the Kwănlun range on the south. There is probably most arable land in the Northern Circuit.

Ílí, taken north of the Tarim basin, may be regarded as an inland isthmus, extending southwest from the south of Siberia, off between the Gobi and Caspian deserts, till it reaches the Hindu Kush, leading down to the valley of the Indus. The former of these deserts incloses it on the east and south, the other on the west and northwest, separated from each other by the Belur and Muz-tag ranges, which join with the Tien shan, that divide the isthmus itself into two parts. These deserts united are equal in extent to that of Sahara, but are not as arid and tenantless.

This region has some peculiar features, among which its great elevation, its isolation in respect to its water-courses, and the character of its vegetation, are the most remarkable. Songaria is especially noticeable for the many closed river-basins which occur between the Altai and Tien shan, among the various minor ranges of hills, each of which is entirely isolated, and containing a lake, the receptacle of its drainage. The largest of these singular basins is that of the River Ílí, which runs about three hundred miles westward, from its rise in the Tien shan (lat. 85°) till it falls into Lake Balkash, which also receives some other streams; the superficies of the whole basin is about forty thousand square miles. The other lakes lie north-eastward of Balkash; the largest of them are the Dzaisang, which receives the Irtysh, the Kisilbash, into which the Urungu flows, and four or five smaller ones between them, lying north of the city of Ílí. Lake Temurtu, or Issik-kul, lies now just beyond the southwestern part of this Circuit, and was until recently contained therein. This sheet of water is deep and never freezes; it is brackish, but full of fish; the dimensions are about one hundred miles long, and thirty-five wide; its superabundant waters flow off through the Chu ho into the Kirghís steppe.

The Ala-tau range defines the lake on the north shore. Says a Russian traveller in describing this region, “It would be difficult to imagine anything more splendid than the view of the Tien shan from this spot. The dark blue surface of the Issik-kul, like sapphire, may well bear comparison with the equally blue surface of Geneva Lake, but its expanse—five times as great—seeming almost unlimited, and the matchless splendor of its background, gives it a grandeur which the Swiss lake does not possess. The unbroken, snowy chain here stretches away for at least 200 miles of the length of the Issik-kul; the sharp outlines of the spurs and dark valleys in the front range are softened by a thin mist, which hangs over the water and heightens the clear, sharp outlines of the white heads of the Tien shan giants, as they rise and glisten on the azure canopy of a central Asian sky. The line of perpetual snow commences at three-fifths of their slope up, but as one looks, their snowless base seems to sink the deeper in the far east, till the waves of the lake seem to wash the snowy crests of Khan-Tengsè.” Forty small rivers flow into it, but its size is gradually lessening.[118]

Little is known concerning the topography, the productions, or the civilization of the tribes who inhabit a large part of Songaria, but the efforts of the Chinese government have been systematically directed to developing its agricultural resources, by stationing bodies of troops, who cultivate the soil, there, and by banishing criminals thither, who are obliged to work for and assist the troops. It gives one a higher idea of the rulers of China, themselves wandering nomads originally, when they are seen carrying on such a plan for extending the capabilities of these remote parts of their Empire, and teaching, partly by force, partly by bribes, and partly by example, the Mongol tribes under them the advantages of a settled life.

The productions of Songaria are numerous. Wheat, barley, rice and millet, are the chief corn stuffs; tobacco, cotton, melons, and some fruits, are grown; herds of horses, camels, cattle, and sheep, afford means of locomotion and food to the people, while the mountains and lakes supply game and fish. The inhabitants are composed mostly of Eleuths, with a tribe of Tourgouths, and remnants of the Songares, together with Mongols, Manchus, and Chinese troops, settlers and criminals.

Tien-shan Peh Lu is divided by the Chinese into three commanderies, Ílí on the west, Tarbagatai on the north, and Kur-kara usu on the east, between Ílí and the west end of Kansuh. The government of the North and South Circuits is under the control of Manchu military officers residing at Ílí. This city, called by the Chinese Hwuiyuen ching, and Gouldja (or Kuldja) and Kuren by the natives, lies on the north bank of the Ílí River, in lat. 43° 55′ N., and long. 81½° E.; it contains about fifty thousand inhabitants, and carries on considerable trade with China through the towns in Kansuh. The city was defended by six strong fortresses in its neighborhood, and the solidity of the stone walls enabled it to resist a vigorous assault in the Dungani rebellion. Its circuit is nearly four miles, and two wide avenues cross its centre, dividing it into four equal parts, through each of which run many lanes. Its houses indicate the Turkish origin of its builders in their clay or adobe walls and flat roofs, and this impression is increased by the Jumma mosque of the Taranchis, and the Dungan mosque, outside of the walls. The last has a wonderful minaret built of small-roofed pavilions one over another; both of them affect the Chinese architecture in their roofs, and their walls are faced with diamond-shaped tiles. The Buddhist temple has hardly been rebuilt since the city has returned to Chinese rule. The supply of meats and vegetables is constant, and the variety and quality exceed that of most other towns in the region. The population is gradually increasing with the return of peace and trade, but is still under twenty thousand, of which not one-fifth are Chinese and Manchus: the Taranchis constitute half of the whole, and Dunganis are the next in number. The province is the richest and best cultivated of all this region of Ílí; its coal, metals, and fruits are sources of prosperity, and with its return to Chinese sway under new relations in respect to Russian trade, its future is promising.

The destruction of life was dreadful at the capture of Kuldja and other towns, which were then left a heap of ruins.[119] Schuyler estimates that not more than a hundred thousand people remained in the province, out of a third of a million in 1860. It is stated in Chinese works that when Amursana, the discontented chief of the Songares, applied, in 1775, to Kienlung for assistance against his rival Tawats or Davatsi, and was sent back with a Chinese army, in the engagements which ensued, more than a million of people were destroyed, and the whole country depopulated. At that time, Kuldja was built by Kienlung, and soon became a place of note. Outside of the town are the barracks for the troops, which consist of Eleuths and Mohammedans, as well as Manchus and Chinese. Coal is found in this region, and most of the inland rivers produce abundance of fish, while wild animals and birds are numerous. The resources of the country are, however, insufficient to meet the expenses of the military establishment, and the presents made to the begs, and the deficit is supplied from China.[120]

Subordinate to the control of the commandant at Kuldja are nine garrisoned places situated in the same valley, at each of which are bodies of Chinese convicts. The two remaining districts of Tarbagatai and Kur-kara usu are small compared with Ílí; the first lies between Cobdo and the Kirghís steppe, and is inhabited mostly by emigrants from the steppes of the latter, who render merely a nominal subjection to the garrisons placed over them, but are easily governed through their tribal rulers. The Tourgouths, who emigrated from Russia in 1772, into China, are located in this district and Cobdo, as well as in the valleys of the Tekes and Kunges rivers. They have become more or less assimilated with other tribes since they were placed here. In the war with the Songares, many of the people fled from the valley of Ílí to this region, and after that country was settled, they submitted to the Emperor, and partly returned to Ílí. The chief town, called Tuguchuk by the Kirghís, and Suitsing ching by the Chinese, is situated not far from the southern base of the Tarbagatai Mountains, and contains about six hundred houses, half of which belong to the garrison. It is one of the nine fortified towns under the control of the commandant at Kuldja, and a place of some trade with the Kirghís. There are two residents stationed here, with high powers to oversee the trade across the frontier, but their duties are inferior in importance to those of the officials at Urga. 2,500 Manchu and Chinese troops remain at this post, and since the conquest of the country in 1772 by Kienlung, its agricultural products have gradually increased under the industry of the Chinese. The tribes dwelling in this distant province are restricted within certain limits, and their obedience secured by presents. The climate of Tarbagatai is changeable, and the cold weather comprises more than half the year. The basin of Lake Ala-kul, or Alaktu-kul, occupies the southwest, and part of the Irtysh and Lake Dzaisang the northeast, so that it is well watered. The trade consists chiefly of domestic animals and cloths.

The town of Kur-kara usu lies on the River Kur, northeast from Kuldja and on the road between it and Urumtsi; it is called Kingsui ching by the Chinese. The number of troops stationed at all these posts is estimated at sixty thousand, and the total population of Songaria under two millions.

The Tien-shan Nan Lu, or Southern Circuit of Ílí, the territory of ‘the eight Mohammedan cities,’ was named Sin Kiang (‘New Frontier’) by Kienlung. It is less fertile than the Northern Circuit, the greatest part of its area consisting of rugged mountains or barren wastes, barely affording subsistence for herds of cattle and goats. The principal boundaries are the Kwănlun Mountains, and the desert, separating it from Tibet on the south; Cashmere lies on the southwest, and Badakshan and Kokand are separated from it on the west and northwest by the Belur-tag, all of them defined and partitioned by the mountain ranges over which the passes 12,000 to 16,000 feet high furnish both defence and travel according to the season.

The greater part of this Circuit is occupied with the basin of the Tarim or Ergu, which flows from the Belur range in four principal branches[121] (called from the towns lying upon their banks the Yarkand, Kashgar, Aksu, and Khoten Rivers), and running eastward, receives several affluents from the north and south, and falls into Lake Lob in long. 89° E., after a course, including windings, of between 1,100 and 1,300 miles. Of the river system from which this stream flows Baron Richthofen says, “the region which gives birth to this river is on a scale of grandeur such as no other river in the world can boast. It is girt round by a wide semicircular collar of mountains of the loftiest and grandest character, often rising in ridges of 18,000 to 20,000 feet in height, while the peaks shoot up to 25,000 and even 28,000 feet. The basin which fills in the horse-shoe shaped space encompassed by these gigantic elevations, though deeply depressed below them, stands at a height above the sea varying from 6,000 feet at the margin to about 2,000 in the middle, and formed the bed of an ancient sea. From its wall-like sides on the south, west, and north, the waters rush headlong down, and though the winds blowing from all directions deposit most of their moisture on the remoter sides of the surrounding ranges, viz., the southern foot of the Himalayas, the west side of the Pamir, and the northern slope of the Tien shan, the streams formed thereby winding through the cloud-capped lofty cradle-land, and breaking through the mountain chains, reach the old ocean bed only partly well watered. The smallest of them disappear in the sand, others flow some distance before expanding into a level salt basin and are there absorbed. Only the largest, whose number the Chinese estimate at sixty, unite with the Tarim, a river 1,150 miles long, and therefore in length between the Rhine and Danube, but far surpassing both in the massiveness of surrounding mountains, just as it exceeds the Danube in the extent of its basin. Its tributaries form along the foot of the mountains a number of fruitful oases, and these by means of artificial irrigation have been converted into flourishing, cultivated states, and have played an important part in the history of these regions.”[122] Col. Prejevalsky’s explorations in this totally unknown country have brought out a multitude of facts pregnant with interest both for historical and geographical study. Among the most important results of his discoveries is the location of Lob more than a degree to the south of its position on Chinese maps, and a consequent bend of the Tarim from its due eastern course before it reaches its outlet. This lake, consisting of two sheets of water, the Kara-buran and Kara-kurchin (or Chon-kul), lies on the edge of the desert, in an uninhabited region, and surrounded by great swamps, which extend also northwest along the Tarim to its junction with the Kaidu. It is shallow, overgrown with weeds, and is for the most part a morass, the water being fresh, despite the salt marshes in the vicinity. The people living near it speak a language most like that of Khoten; they are Moslems. Lake Lob is elliptical, 90 to 100 versts long and 20 wide, 2,200 feet above the sea. Enormous flocks of birds come from Khoten on the south-west, as they go north, and make Lob-nor their stopping-place. The desert in this region is poor and desolate in the extreme. Its southern side is formed by the Altyn-tag range, a spur of the Kwănlun Mountains that rises about 14,000 feet in a sheer wall. Wild camels are found in its ravines, whose sight, hearing, and smell are marvellously acute. No other river basins of any size are found within the Circuit, except a large tributary called the Kaidu, which, draining a parallel valley north of Lob-nor, two hundred miles long, runs into a lake nearly as large, called Bostang-nor, from which an outlet on the south continues it into the Tarim, about eighty miles from its mouth. The tributaries of this river are represented as much more serviceable for agricultural purposes than the main trunk is for navigation. The plain through which the Tarim flows is about two hundred miles broad and not far from nine hundred miles long, most of it unfit for cultivation or pasturage. The desert extends considerably west of the two lakes. The climate of this region is exceedingly dry, and its barrenness is owing, apparently, more to the want of moisture than to the nature of the soil. The western parts are colder than those toward Kansuh, the river being passable on ice at Yarkand, in lat. 38°, for three months, while frost is hardly known at Hami, in lat. 43°.

The productions of the valley of the Tarim comprise most of the grains and fruits found in Southern Europe; the sesamum is cultivated for oil instead of the olive. Few trees or shrubs cover the mountain acclivities or plains. All the domestic animals abound, except the hog, which is reared in small numbers by the Chinese. The camel and yak are hunted and raised for food and service, their coats affording both skins and hair for garments. The horse, camel, black cattle, ass, and sheep, are found wild on the edge of the desert, where they find a precarious subsistence. The mountains and marshes contain jackals, tigers, bears, wolves, lynxes, and deer, together with some large species of birds of prey. Gold, copper, and iron are brought from this region, but the amount is not large, and as articles of trade they are less important than the sal-ammoniac, saltpetre, sulphur, and asbestos obtained from the volcanic region in the east of the Celestial Mountains. The best specimens of the yuh or nephrite, so highly prized by the Chinese, are obtained in the Southern Circuit.

The present divisions of this Circuit are regulated by the position of the eight Mohammedan cities. The western departments of Kansuh naturally belong to the same region, and the cities now pertaining to that province are inhabited by entirely similar races, and governed in the same feudal manner, with some advantages in consideration of their early submission to Kienlung. The first town on the road, of note, is Hami; Turfan and Pidshan are less important as trading posts than as garrisons. The eight cities are named in the Statistics of the Empire in the following order, beginning at the east: Harashar, Kuché, Ushí (including Sairim and Bai), Aksu, Khoten, Yarkand, Kashgar, and Yingkeshar or Yangi Hissar. The superior officers live at Yarkand, but the Southern Circuit is divided into four minor governments at Harashar, Ushí, Yarkand, and Khoten, each of whose residents reports both to Kuldja and Peking. There is constant restiveness on the part of the subject races, who are all Moslems, arising from their clannish habits and feuds; they have not the elements of substantial progress and national growth, either under their own rulers or Chinese. They have lately thrown off the Peking Government, but they have generally regretted the rapines and waste caused by the strifes and change, and would probably receive the Kitai (so they term the Chinese) back again. The latter are not hard masters, and bring trade and wealth the longer they remain. One of the Usbek chiefs under Yakub khan gave the pith of the situation between the two, when he replied to Dr. Bellew’s remark that he talked like a Chinese himself, “No, I hate them. But they were not bad rulers. We had everything then; we have nothing now. We never see any signs of the Kitai trade, nor of the wealth they brought here.”

Harashar (or Karashar) lies on the Kaidu River, not far from Lake Bagarash or Bostang, about two hundred and ninety miles west of Turfan, in lat. 42° 15′ N., and long. 87° E. It is a large district, and has two towns of some note within the jurisdiction of its officers—namely, Korla and Bukur. Harashar is fortified, and from its being a secure position, and the seat of the chief resident, attracts considerable trade. The embroidery is superior; but the tribes living in the district are more addicted to hunting than disposed to sedentary trades. Korla lies southwest of Harashar on the Kaidu, between lakes Bostang and Lob, and the productions of the town and its vicinity indicate a fertile soil; the Chinese say the Mohammedans who live here are fond of singing, but have no ideas of ceremony or urbanity. Bukur lies two hundred miles west of Korla and “might be a rich and delicious country,” says the Chinese account, “but those idle, vagrant Mohammedans only use their strength in theft and plunder; the women blush at nothing.” The town formerly contained upward of ten thousand inhabitants, but Kienlung nearly destroyed it; the district has been since resettled by Hoshoits, Tourbeths, and Turks, and the people carry on some trade in the produce of their herds, skins, copper, and agates.

Kuché, about eighty miles west from Bukur, lat. 41° 37′ N., and long. 83° 20′ E., is a larger and more important city than that of Harashar, for the road which crosses the Tien shan by the pass Muz-daban to Ílí, here joins that coming from Aksu on the west and Hami on the east. It is three miles in circuit, and is defended by ten forts and three hundred troops. The bazaars contain grain, fruits, and vegetables, raised in the vicinity by great labor, for the land requires to be irrigated by hand from wells, pools, and streams. Copper, sulphur, and saltpetre are carried across to Ílí, for use of government as well as traffic, being partly levied from the inhabitants as taxes; linen is manufactured in the town, and sal ammoniac, cinnabar, and quicksilver are procured from the mountains. Kuché is considered the gate of Turkestan, and is the chief town, politically speaking, between Hami and Yarkand. The district and town of Shayar lie south of Kuché, in a marshy valley producing abundance of rice, melons, and fruit; the pears are particularly good. Two small lakes, Baba-kul and Sary-kamysch, lie to the east of this town, and are the only bodies of water between Bostang-nor and Issik-kul. The population is about four thousand, ruled by begs subordinate to the general at Kuché.

The valley of the Aksu contains two large towns, Aksu and Ushí or Ush-turfan, besides several posts and villages. Between the former and Kuché, lie the small garrisons and districts of Bai and Sairim. The first contains from four to five hundred families, ruled by their own chiefs. Sairim or Hanlemuh is subordinate to Ushí in some degree, but its productions, climate, and inhabitants are like those of Kuché. “Their manners are simple,” remarks a Chinese writer, speaking of the people; “they are neither cowards nor rogues like the other Mohammedans; they are fond of singing, drinking, and dancing, like those of Kuché.” Aksu is a large commercial and manufacturing town, containing twenty thousand inhabitants, situated, like Kuché, at the termination of a road leading across the Tien shan to Ílí, and attracting to its market traders from Siberia, Bokhara, and Kokand, as well as along the great road. Its manufactures of cotton, silk, leather, harnesses, crockery, precious stones, and metals are good, and sent abroad in great numbers. The country produces grain, fruits, vegetables, and cattle in perfection, and the people are more civilized than those on the east and north; “they are generous and noble, and both sing and ridicule the oddities and niggardliness of the other Mohammedans.” The Chinese garrison consists of three thousand soldiers, and the officers are accountable to those at Ushí.

Ushí lies about 70 miles due west of Aksu, in lat. 41° 15′ N. and long. 79° 40′ E., and is stated to contain ten thousand inhabitants. The Chinese name is Yung-ning ching (i.e. ‘City of Eternal Tranquillity’). The officers stationed here report to the commandant at Ílí, but they communicate directly with Peking, and receive the Emperor’s sanction to their choice of begs, and to the envoys forwarded to the capital with tribute. Copper money is cast here in ingots, somewhat like the ingots of sycee in the provinces. There are six forts attached to Ushí, to keep in order the wandering tribes of the Kirghís, called Pruth Kirghís,[123] which roam over the frontier regions between Ushí and Yarkand. They pay homage to the officers at Ushí, but give no tribute. Those who do pay tribute are taxed a tenth, but the Kirghís on this frontier are usually allowed to roam where they like, provided they keep the peace. This region was nearly depopulated by Kienlung’s generals, and at present supports a sparse population compared with its fertility and resources.

The government of Kashgar, known, at the time of the Arab conquest, as Kichik Bukhara, presents a vast, undulating plain, of which the slope is very gradual toward the east, and of which the general elevation may be reckoned at from three to four thousand feet above the sea. The aspect of its surface is mostly one of unmitigated waste—a vast spread of bare sand and gloomy salts, traversed in all directions by dunes and banks of gravel, with the scantiest vegetation, and all but absence of animal life. Such is the view that meets the eye and joins the horizon everywhere on the plain immediately beyond the river courses and the settlements planted on their banks.[124] The population of this whole district is considerably less than a million and a half. The natural mineral productions here are of great value, and it is a knowledge of this fact which has induced the Chinese to persevere in retaining so expensive and turbulent a frontier province. The gold and jade of Khoten, silver and lead of Cosharab, and copper of Khalistan, have given abundant employment to Chinese settlers; while coal, iron, sulphur, alum, sal ammoniac, and zinc, though worked in unimportant quantities before the insurrection of Yakub khan (Atalik Ghazi), furnished the inhabitants with supplies for domestic use. An important hinderance to building villages in many sections of this territory is the prevalence of sand dunes here. Solitary houses and even whole settlements lying in the path of these moving hills are suddenly overwhelmed and oftentimes totally effaced.

The town of Kashgar is situated at the northwestern angle of the Southern Circuit, on the Kashgar River, a branch of the Tarim, in lat. 39° 25′ N., and long. 76° 5′ E., at the extreme west of the Empire. Several roads meet here. Going in a northwest direction, one leads over the Tien shan to Kokand; a second passes south, through Yarkand and Khoten, to Leh and Cashmere; a third, the great caravan route, from China through Ushí, may be said to end here; and the fourth and most frequented, leads off northwest over the Tien shan through the Rowat Pass, and along the western banks of Lake Issik-kul to Ílí. Kashgar was the capital of the Ouigours for a long time, and its ruler forced his people, as far east as Hami, to accept Islamism about the year 1000. They then came under Genghis’ sway, and this city increased its importance, but when Abubahr Miza took Yarkand, he razed Kashgar to the ground. Under Chinese rule it became one of the richest marts in Central Asia, and its future importance is secured by its position. The city is enclosed with high and massive walls, supported by buttress bastions, and protected by a deep ditch on three sides, the river flowing under the fourth. There are but two gates; the area within is about fifty acres. Around it are populous suburbs.

In the middle of the town is a large square, and four bazaars branch from it through to the gates; the garrison is placed without the walls. The manufactures of Kashgar excel those of any other town in the two Circuits, especially in jade, gold, silk, cotton, gold and silver cloths, and carpets. The country around produces fruit and grain in abundance; “the manners of the people have an appearance of elegance and politeness,” says the Chinese geographer; “the women dance and sing in family parties; they fear and respect the officers, and have not the wild, uncultivated aspect of those in Ushí.” This judgment is in a measure confirmed by Bellew, who credits the people with being singularly free from prejudice against the foreigners, quite indifferent on any score of his nationality or religion, and content so long as he pays his way and does not offend the customs of the natives. Several towns are subordinate to Kashgar, because of its oversight of their rulers, and consumption of their products. Southwest lies Tash-balig, and on the road leading to Yarkand is Yangi Hissar, both of them towns of some importance; the whole distance from Kashgar presents a succession of sandy or saline tracts, alternating with fertile bottoms wherever water runs. Small villages and post houses serve to connect the larger towns, but the soil does not reward the cultivators with much produce.

Yarkand, or Yerkiang, is the political capital of the Southern Circuit, as the highest military officers and strongest force are stationed here. It is situated on the Yarkand River, in lat. 36° 30′ N., and long. 77° 15′ E., in the midst of a sand-girt oasis of great fertility. The environs are abundantly supplied with water by canals. The stone walls are three miles in circumference, but its suburbs are much larger; the houses are built of dried bricks, and the town has a more substantial appearance than others in Ílí. There are many mosques and colleges, which, with the public buildings occupied by the government and troops, add to its consideration. Yarkand is one of the ancient cities of Tartary, and was, in remote times, a royal residence of Turk princes of the Afrasyab dynasty. In modern times it owes its rank as a well-built city chiefly to Abubahr Miza, whose short-lived sway from Aksu to Wakhan left its chief results in the mosques and bazaars erected or enlarged by him. By means of quarrying jade in the Karakash valley, and working the bangles, ear-rings and other articles in the city, thousands of families found employment under Chinese rule.

With the overthrow of that sway and then of Yakub khan in its restoration, all this industry disappeared. In the destruction ensuing on these long struggles for supremacy, one learns the explanation of the barbarism which has succeeded the downfall of mighty empires all over Western Asia. The city has no important manufactures; it enjoys a local reputation for its leather, and boots and shoes made here are esteemed all over the province. Among other articles of trade are horses, silk, and wool, and fabrics made from them; but everything found at Kashgar is sold also at this market. In a Chinese notice of the city, the customs at Yarkand are stated to have yielded over $45,000 annually; the taxes are 35,400 sacks of grain, 57,569 pieces of linen, 15,000 lbs. of copper, besides gold, silk, varnish, and hemp, part of which are carried to Ílí. Jade is obtained from the river in large pieces, yellow, white, black, and reddish, and the articles made from it are carried to China. The Chinese authorities have no objection to the resorting thither of natives of Kokand, Badakshan, and other neighboring states, many of whom settle and marry.

Khoten is situated on the southern side of the desert, and the district embraces all the country south of Aksu and Yarkand, along the northern base of the Kwănlun Mountains, for more than three hundred miles from east to west. The capital is called Ílchí on Chinese maps, and lies in an extensive plain on the Khoten River in lat. 37° N., and long. 80° E. The town of Karakash (meaning ‘Black Jade’)[125] lies in lat. 37° 10′, long. 80° 13′ 30″, a few miles northwest in the same valley, and is said by traders to be the capital rather than Ílchí; it is located on the road to Yarkand, distant twelve days’ journey. On this road the town of Gummí is also placed, whose chief had in his possession a stone supposed to have the power of causing rain. Kirrea lies five days’ journey east of Ílchí, near the pass across the mountains into Tibet and Ladak; a gold mine is worked near this place, the produce of which is monopolized by the Chinese. The three towns of Karakash, Ílchí, and Kirrea, are the only places of importance between the valley of the Tarim and Tibet, but none of them have been visited for a long time by Europeans.[126] The population of the town or district is unknown; one notice[127] gives it a very large number, approaching three millions and even more, which at any rate indicates a more fertile soil and genial climate than the regions north and south of it. Dr. Morrison, in his View of China, puts it at 44,630 inhabitants; and although the former includes the whole district, and is probably too large, the second seems to be much too small.

Khoten is known, in Chinese books, by the names of Yu-tien, Hwan-na, Kieu-tan, and Kiu-sa-tan-na—the last meaning, in Sanscrit, “Breast of the Earth.”[128] Its eastern part is marshy, but that the country must have a considerable elevation is manifest from the fact that the river which drains and connects it with the Tarim runs quite across the desert in its course. The country is governed by two high officers and a detachment of troops; there are six towns under their jurisdiction, the inhabitants of which are ruled in the same manner as the other Mohammedan cities. The people, however, are said to be mostly of the Buddhist faith, and the Chinese give a good account of their peacefulness and industry. The trade with Leh and H’lassa is carried on by a road crossing the Kwănlun over the Kirrea Pass, beyond which it divides. The productions of Khoten are fine linen and cotton stuffs, jade ornaments, amber, copper, grain, fruits, and vegetables; the former for exportation, the latter for use. It was in this region that Col. Prejevalsky discovered (in 1879) a new variety of wild horse, a specimen of which has been stuffed and exhibited in St. Petersburg. The animal in question, though belonging undoubtedly to the genus Equus, presents, in many respects, an intermediate form between the domestic horse and the wild ass.

Rémusat published, in 1820, an account of this country, drawn from Chinese books, in which the principal events in its history are stated, commencing with the Han dynasty, before the Christian era, down to the Manchu conquest. In the early part of its history, Khoten was the resort of many priests from India, and the Buddhist faith was early established there. It was an independent kingdom most of the time, from its earliest mention to the era of Genghis khan, the princes sometimes extending their sway from the Kiayü pass and Koko-nor to the Tsung ling, and then being obliged to contract to the valley now designated as Khoten. After the expulsion of the Mongols from China, Khoten asserted its independence, but afterward fell under the sway of the Songares and Eleuths, and lost many of its inhabitants. The Manchus conquered it in 1770, when the rest of the region between the Tien shan and Kwănlun fell under their sway, but neither have they settled in it to the same extent, nor made thereof a penal settlement, as in other parts of Ílí.[129]

The government of Ílí differs in some respects from that of Mongolia, where religion is partly called in to aid the state. In the Northern Circuit, the authority is strictly military, exercised by means of residents and generals, with bodies of troops under their control. The supreme command of all Ílí is intrusted by the colonial office to a Manchu tsiangkiun, or military governor-general at Kuldja, who has under him two councillors to take cognizance of civil cases, and thirty-four residents scattered about in both Circuits. This governor has also the control of the troops stationed in the three western departments of Kansuh, but has nothing to do with the civil jurisdiction of those towns. The entire number of soldiers under his hand is stated at 60,000, most of whom have families, and add agricultural, mechanical, or other labors to the profession of arms. The councillors are not altogether subordinate to the general, but report to the Colonial Office.

In the Northern Circuit, there is a deputy appointed for every village and town, invested with military powers over the troops and convicts, and civil supervision over the native píko or chieftains, who are the real rulers acknowledged by the clans. The character of the inhabitants north of the Tien shan is rendered unlike that of those dwelling in the Southern Circuit, not more by the diversity in their language and nomadic habits, than by the sway religious rites and allegiance have over them. Through this latter motive, the government of Mongolia and the Northern Circuit is rendered far easier and more effectual for the distant court of Peking than it otherwise would be. The appointment of the native chieftains is first announced to the general at Kuldja and the Colonial Office, and they succeed to their post when confirmed, which, as the station is in a measure hereditary, usually follows in course.

The inhabitants of the Southern Circuit are Mohammedans and acknowledge a less willing subjection to the Emperor than those in the Northern, the differences in race, religion, and language being probably the leading reasons. The government of the whole region is divided among the Manchu residents or ambans at the eight cities, who are nominally responsible to the general at Ílí, and independent of each other, but there is a gradation in rank and power, the one at Yarkand having the priority. The begs are chosen by the tribes themselves, and exercise authority in all petty cases arising among the people, without the interference of the Chinese. The troops are all Manchu or Chinese, none of the Turks being enrolled in separate bodies, though individuals are employed with safety. There is considerable difference in the rank and influence of the begs, which is upheld and respected by the ambans. The allowances and style granted them are regulated in a measure by their feudal importance. The revenue is derived from a monthly capitation tax on each man of about half a dollar, and tithes on the produce; there are no transit duties as in China, but custom-houses are established at the frontier trading towns. The language generally used in the Southern Circuit is the Jaghatai Turki of the Kalmucks; the Usbecks constitute the majority of the people, but Eleuths and Kalmucks are everywhere intermixed. The Tibetans have settled in Khoten, or more probably, remnants still exist there of the former inhabitants.

The history of the vast region constituting the present government of Ílí early attracted the attention of oriental scholars, and few portions of the world have had a more exciting history. After the expulsion of the Mongols from China by Hungwu, A.D. 1366, they found that they, as a tribe, were inferior in power to the western tribes, but it was not till about 1680 that the Eleuths, north of the Tien shan under the Galdan,[130] began to attack the Kalkas, and drive them eastward. The Sunnites, Tsakhars, and Solons, portions of the Eastern Mongols, had already joined the Manchus; and the Kalkas, to avoid extermination, submitted to them also, and besought their assistance against the Eleuths. Kanghí received their allegiance, and tried to settle the difficulties peaceably, but was obliged to send his troops against the Galdan, and drive him from the territory of the Kalkas to the westward of Lob-nor and Barkul. The Emperor was materially aided in this enterprise by the secession from the Eleuths of the Songares, whose khan had taken offence, and drawn his hordes off to the south. The khans of the Kalkas and their vast territory thus became subject to the Chinese. The Galdan lost all his forces, and expired by poison, in 1697, his power dying with him, and his tribe having already become too weak to resist.

Upon the ruins of his power arose that of Arabdan, the khan of the Songares. He subjugated the Northern Circuit, passed over into Turkestan, Tangout, and Khoten, and gradually reduced to his sway nearly all the elevated region of Central Asia west of Kansuh. He expelled the Tourgouths from their possessions in Cobdo, and compelled them to retreat to the banks of the Volga. Kanghí expelled the Songares from the districts about Koko-nor, but made no impression upon their authority in Songaria. After the death of Arabdan, about 1720, his throne was disputed, and the power weakened by dissensions among his sons, so that it was seized by two usurpers, Amursana and Tawats, who also fell out after their object was gained. Amursana repaired to Peking for assistance, and with the aid of a Chinese army expelled Tawats, and took possession of the throne of Arabdan. But he had no intention of becoming a vassal to Kienlung, and was no sooner reinstated than he resisted him; he defeated two Chinese armies sent against him, but succumbed on the third attack, and fled to Tobolsk, where he died in 1757.

The territory of Arabdan then fell to Kienlung, and he pursued his successes with such cruelty that the Northern Circuit was nearly depopulated, and the Songares and Eleuths became almost extinct as distinct tribes. The banished tribe of Tourgouths was then invited by the Emperor to return from Russian sway to their ancient possessions, which they accepted in 1772; the history of the Chinese embassy to them, and their disastrous journey back to Cobdo over the Kirghís steppe and through the midst of their enemies, is one of the most remarkable instances of nomadic wanderings and unexampled suffering in modern times.[131] Chinese troops, emigrants, exiles, and nomadic tribes and families, were sent and encouraged to come into the vacant territory, so that erelong it began to resume its former importance. In the period which has since elapsed, the Manchus have been enabled to prevent any combination among the clans, and maintain their own authority by a mixed system of coercion and coaxing which they well know how to practise. The agricultural and mineral resources of the country have been developed, many of the nomads induced to attend to agriculture by making their chieftains emulous of each other’s prosperity, and by exciting a spirit of traffic among all.

There have been some disturbances from time to time, but no master spirit has arisen who has been able to unite the tribes against the Chinese. In 1825, there was an attempt made from Kokand by Jehangír, grandson of the kojeh or prince of Kashgar, to regain possession of Turkestan; the khan of Kokand assisted him with a small army, and such was their dislike of the Chinese, that as soon as Jehangír appeared, the Mohammedans arose and drove the Chinese troops away or put them to death, opening the gates to the invader. He took possession of Yarkand and Kashgar, and advanced to Aksu, where the winter put a stop to the campaign. In the next year, the khan of Kokand, seeing the disposition of the people, thought he would embark himself in the same cause, and made an incursion as far as Aksu and Khoten, reducing more than half the Southern Circuit to himself, but ostensibly in aid of Jehangír. The kojeh, beginning to fear his aid, withdrew; and the khan, having suffered some reverses from the Chinese troops, made his peace on very favorable terms, and returned to his own country. Jehangír went to Khoten from Yarkand, but his conduct there displeasing the people, the Chinese troops, about 60,000 in number, had no difficulty in dispersing his force, and resuming their sway. The adherents of the kojeh fled toward Badakshan, while he himself repaired to Isaac, the newly appointed kojeh of Kashgar, by whom he was delivered up to the Chinese with his family, and all of them most barbarously destroyed.

The kojeh was rewarded with the office of prince of Kashgar, but having been accused of treasonable designs he was ordered to come to Peking for trial; the charges were all disproved, and he returned to Kashgar after several years’ residence at the capital of the Empire. The country was gradually reduced by Changling, the general at Ílí, but Kashgar suffered so much by the war and removal of the chief authority to Yarkand, that it has not since regained its importance. During this war, the dislike of the Mohammedans to the Chinese sway was exhibited in the large forces Jehangír brought into the field; and if he had been a popular spirited leader, there is reason for supposing he might have finally wrested these cities from the Chinese. The joy of Taukwang at the successful termination of the expedition and capture of the rebel, was so extravagant as to appear childish; and when Jehangír was executed at Peking, he ordered the sons of two officers who had been reported killed, “to witness his execution, in order to give expansion to the indignation which had accumulated in their breasts; and let the rebel’s heart be torn out and given to them to sacrifice it at the tombs of their fathers, and thus console their faithful spirits.” Honors were heaped upon Changling at his return to Peking, and rewards and titles showered upon all the troops engaged in the war.

Since this insurrection, the frontiers of Kashgar and Kokand have been passed and repassed by the Pruth Kirghís; in 1830, they excited so much trouble because their trade was restricted, that a large force was called out to restrain them, and many lives were lost before the rising was subdued. The causes of the dispute were then examined, and the trade allowed to go on as before. The oppressions of the residents sometimes goad on the Mohammedans to rise against the Chinese, but the policy of the Emperor is conciliatory, and the complaints of the people are in general listened to. The visits of the begs and princes to Peking with tribute affords them an opportunity to state their grievances, while it also prevents them from caballing among themselves. In 1871 the Russians took possession of nearly the whole of Tien-Shan Peh Lu during an insurrection of the Dunganis against Chinese control. The Tarantchis having attacked a Russian outpost, and Yakub Beg being on suspiciously good terms with the rebels, it was determined to occupy Kuldja—which was effected after a campaign of less than a month, led by Gen. Kolpakofsky. The Chinese government was immediately informed that the place should be restored whenever a sufficient force could be brought there to hold it against attacks, and preserve order. After the final conquest of the Dungan tribes in 1879-80, this territory was returned by the Russians upon conclusion of their last treaty with China, exactly ten years from the date of possession. The old manner of government is now resumed and the country slowly recovering from the frightful devastation of the insurrection. The salaries of the governor-general and his councillors, and the residents, are small, and they are all obliged to resort to illegal means to reimburse their outlays. The highest officer receives about $5,200 annually, and his councillors about $2,000; the residents from $2,300 down to $500 and less. These sums do not, probably, constitute one-tenth of the receipts of their situations.[132]

The third great division of the colonial part of the Chinese empire, that of Tibet, is less known than Ílí, though its area is hardly less extensive. It constitutes the most southern of the three great table lands of Central Asia, and is surrounded with high mountains which separate it from all the contiguous regions. The word Tibet or Tubet is unknown among the inhabitants as the name of their country; it is a corruption by the Mongols of Tu po,[133] the country of the Tu, a race which overran it in the sixth century; Turner gives another name, Pue-koa-chim, signifying the ‘snowy country of the north,’ doubtless a local or ancient term. The general appellation by the people is Pot or Bod, or Bod yul—“the land of Bod.”[134] It is roughly bounded northeast by Koko-nor; east by Sz’chuen and Yunnan; south by Assam, Butan, Nípal, and Gurhwal; west by Cashmere; and north by the unknown ranges of the Kwănlun Mountains. The southern frontier curves considerably in its course, but is not less than 1,500 miles from the western extremity of Nípal to the province of Yunnan; the northern border is about 1,300 miles; the western frontiers cannot be accurately defined, and depend more upon the possession of the passes through which trade is carried on than any political separation. Beltistan, Little Tibet, and Ladak, although included in its limits on Chinese maps, have too little subjection or connection with the court of Peking, to be reckoned among its dependencies.

Tibet, in its largest limits, is a table land, the highest plains of which have a mean elevation of 11,510 feet, or about 1,300 feet lower than the plateau of Bolivia, near Lake Titicaca. The snow-line on the north side of the Himalaya is at an altitude of 16,630 feet; on the southern slope it is at 12,982 feet. Several striking analogies may be traced between this country and Peru: the tripartite divisions caused by lofty ranges; their common staples of wool, from alpacas and vicunas in one, and sheep and goats in the other; the abundance of precious metals, and many specific customs. The entire province of Tibet is divided by mountain chains into three distinct parts; its western portion consists of the basin of the Indus, until it breaks through into Cashmere at Makpon-i-Shagaron. It begins near Mount Kailasa, and stretches northwest between the Hindu Kush and Himalaya, comprising the whole of Beltistan and Ladak; the Kara-korum, Mus-tag, or Tsung ling range defines it on the northeast. The second part consists of an extensive desert land, commencing at Mount Kailasa, and having the Tsung ling on the west, the Kwănlun on the north (which separates it from Khoten, and the high watershed of the Yangtsz’, Salween, and other rivers), and Lake Tengkiri, on the east; the Himalaya constitutes its southern boundary. This high region, called Katshe or Kor-kache, has not been traversed by intelligent travellers and is one of the few yet unknown regions of the earth, and is nearly uninhabitable, owing to the extreme rigor of its climate.[135]

The eastern part, consisting of the basin of the Yaru-tsangbu, contains, in its plains, most of the towns in Tibet, until it reaches the Alpine region which lies between the River Yaru and the Yangtsz’, a space extending from long. 95° to 99° E. This district is described as a succession of ridges and gorges, over which the road takes the traveller on narrow and steep paths, crossing the valleys by ropes and bridges enveloped in the clouds. Mount Kailasa, a notable peak lying in the northeastern part of Nari, is not far from 26,000 feet high. The number of summits covered with perpetual snow exceeds that of any other part of the world of the same extent.

The road from Sz’chuen to H’lassa strikes the Yalung kiang, in the district of Ta tsien lu, and then goes southwesterly to Batang on the Yangtsz’ kiang; crossing the river it proceeds up the narrow valley a short distance, and then crosses the mountains northwest to the Lantsan kiang or River Meikon, by a series of pathways leading over the gorges, till it reaches Tsiamdo; from this point the road turns gradually southwest, following the valleys when practicable, till it ends at H’lassa.

The largest river in Tibet is the Erechumbu, or Yaru-tsangbu; tsangbu means river, and is often alone used for this whole name. It rises in the Tamchuk range, at the Mariam-la pass in Nari, 60 miles east of Lake Manasarowa, the source of the Sutlej; it flows a little south of east for about seven hundred miles, through the whole of Southern Tibet, between the first and second ranges of the Himalayas, as far as long. 90° E. Its tributaries on the north are numerous, and among them the Nauk-tsangbu and Dzangtsu are the largest. The volume of water which flows through the mountains into Assam by this river, is equal to that by the Indus into Scinde. The disputed question, whether the Yaru-tsangbu joins the Brahmaputra or Irrawadi, has been settled by presumptive evidence in favor of the former, but a distance of about 400 miles is still unexplored;[136] the fall in this part is about 11,000 feet, to where the river Dihong has been traced in Assam. This makes the Brahmaputra the largest and longest river in Southern Asia; its passage into Assam is near 95° E. longitude.

The eastern part of Tibet, beyond this meridian, is traversed by numerous ranges of lofty mountains, having no separate names, the direction of which is from west to east, and from northwest to southeast. From these ranges, lateral branches run out in different directions, containing deep valleys between them. In proportion as the principal chains advance towards the southeast they converge towards one another, and thus the valleys between them gradually become narrower, until at last, on the frontiers of Yunnan and Burmah, they are mere mountain passes, whose entire breadth does not much exceed a hundred miles, having four streams flowing through them. In fact, Tibet incloses the fountain heads of all the large rivers of Southern and Eastern Asia. The names and courses of those in Eastern Tibet are known only imperfectly from Chinese maps, but others have described them after their entrance into the lowlands.

Tibet, especially the central part, is a country of lakes, in this respect resembling Cobdo. The largest, Tengkiri-nor, situated in the midst of stupendous mountains, about one hundred and ten miles northwest of H’lassa, is over a hundred miles long and about thirty wide. The region north of it contains many isolated lakes, most of them salt. Two of the largest, the Bouka and Kara, are represented as connected with the River Nu. Lake Khamba-la, Yamoruk or Yarbrokyu, sometimes called Palti, from a town on its northern shore, is a large lake south of H’lassa, remarkable for its ring shape, the centre being filled by a large island, around which its waters flow in a channel thirty miles or more in width. On the island is a nunnery, called the Palace of the Holy Sow, said to be the finest in the country. In Balti or Little Tibet are many sheets of water, the largest of which, the Yik and Paha, are connected by a river flowing through a marshy country. A long succession of lakes fill one of the basins in Katsche, suggesting the former existence of another Aral Sea. The sacred lakes of Manasarowa and Ravan-hrad (Mapam-dalai and Langga-nor, of the Chinese) form the headwaters of the Sutlej.

The climate of Tibet is characterized by its purity and excessive dryness. The valleys are hot, notwithstanding their proximity to snow-capped mountains; from May to October the sky is clear in the table-lands, and in the valleys the moisture and temperature are favorable to vegetation, the harvest being gathered before the gales and snows set in, after October. The effects of the air resemble or are worse than those of the kamsín in Egypt. The trees wither, and their leaves may be ground to powder between the fingers; planks and beams break, and the inhabitants cover the timbers and wood-work of their houses with coarse cotton, in order to preserve them against the destructive saccidity. The timber neither rots nor is worm-eaten. Mutton, exposed to the open air, becomes so dry that it may be powdered like bread; when once dried it is preserved during years. This flesh-bread is a common food in Tibet. The carcass of the animal, divested of its skin and viscera, is placed where the frosty air will have free access to it, until all the juices of the body dry up, and the whole becomes one stiffened mass. No salt is used, nor does it ever become tainted, and is eaten without any further dressing or cooking; the natives eat it at all periods after it is frozen, and prefer the fresh to that which has been kept some months. The food called jamba is prepared by cooking brick tea during several hours, then adding butter and salt, and stirring the mixture until it becomes a thick broth. When eaten the stuff is served in wooden bowls, and a plentiful supply of roasted barley-meal poured in, the whole being kneaded by the hands and devoured in the shape of dough pellets.

Domesticated Yak.

The productions of Tibet consist of domestic animals, cattle, horses, pigs; some wild animals, such as the white-breasted argali, orongo-antelope, ata-dzeren, wolf, and steppe-fox; and few plants or forests, presenting a strong contrast with Nípal and Butan, where vegetable life flourishes more luxuriantly. Sheep and goats are reared in immense flocks, for beasts of burden over the passes, and for their flesh, hair, and coats. Chiefest among the animals of this mountain land is the yak.[137] The domesticated variety, or long-haired yak, is the inseparable companion and most trusty servant not only of the Tibetans, but of tribes in Cashmere, Ladak, Tangout, and Mongolia, even as far north as Urga. It is a cross-breed, or mule from the yak bull and native cow, which alone is hardy enough for these elevated regions.[138] These creatures are of the same size as our cattle, strong, sure-footed and possessed of extraordinary endurance; they retain, however, something of their wild nature, even after long domestication, and must be carefully treated, especially when being loaded and unloaded. They thrive best in hilly countries, well watered and covered with grass—the two last being indispensable. The hair is black or black and white, seldom entirely white. One sort is without horns, and when crossed with the cow bears sterile males, or females which are fertile for one generation. As to the wild yak of Tibet, a traveller says: “This handsome animal is of extraordinary size and beauty, measuring, when grown, eleven feet in length, exclusive of its bushy tail, which is three feet long; its height at the hump is six feet; girth around the body eleven feet, and its weight ten or eleven hundred weight. The head is adorned with ponderous horns, two feet nine inches long, and one foot four inches in circumference at the root. The body is covered with thick, black hair, which in the old males assumes a chestnut color on the back and upper parts of the sides, and a deep fringe of black hair hangs down from the flanks. The muzzle is partly gray, and the younger males have marks of the same color on the upper part of the body, whilst a narrow, silvery-gray stripe runs down the centre of the back. The hair of young yaks is much softer than that of older ones; they are also distinguishable by their smaller size, and by handsomer horns, with the points turned up. The females are much smaller than the males, and not nearly so striking in appearance; their horns are shorter and lighter, the hump smaller, and the tail and flanks not nearly as hairy.”[139] This animal is useful for its milk, flesh, and wool, as well as for agricultural purposes and travel.

There is comparatively little agriculture. The variety of wild animals, birds, and fishes, is very great; among them the musk deer, feline animals, eagles, and wild sheep, are objects of the chase. The brute creation are generally clothed with an abundance of fine hair or wool; even the horses have a shaggier coat than is granted to bears in more genial climes. The Tibetan mastiff is one of the largest and fiercest of its race, almost untamable, and unknown out of its native country. The musk deer is clothed with a thick covering of hair two or three inches long, standing erect over the whole body; the animal resembles a hog in size and form, having, however, slender legs. The Tibetan goat affords the shawl wool, so highly prized for the manufacture of garments.[140]

Fruits are common; small peaches, grapes, apples, and nuts, constitute the limited variety. Barley is raised more than any other grain, the principal part of agricultural labors being performed by the women. Pulse and wheat are cultivated, but no rice west of H’lassa. Rhubarb, asafœtida, ginger, madder, and safflower are collected or prepared, but most of the medicines come from China and Butan. Turnips, rape, garlic, onions, and melons are raised in small quantities. The mineral productions are exceedingly rich. Gold occurs in mines and placer diggings, and forms a constant article of export; lead, silver, copper, and cinnabar are also dug out of the ground, but iron has not been found to much extent. The great difficulty in the way of the inhabitants availing themselves of their metallic wealth, apart from their ignorance of the best modes of mining, is the want of fuel with which to smelt the ore. Tincal, or crude borax, is gathered on the borders of a small lake in the neighborhood of Tengkiri-nor, where also any quantity of rock salt can be obtained. Precious stones are met with, most of which find their way to China.

The present divisions of Tibet, by the Chinese, are Tsien Tsang, or Anterior Tibet, and Hau Tsang, or Ulterior Tibet. Anterior Tibet is also called U (Wei) and U-tsang, and includes the central part of Bod-yur where H’lassa is; east of this lies Kham (Kăng) or Khamyul, and northeast toward Koko-nor is Khamsok, i.e., Kham on the River Sok. Near the bend of the Brahmaputra is the district of Kongbo, where rice can be raised; going westward are Takpo, doUs and gTsang on the borders of Nari, ending in a line nearly continuous with the eastern border of Nípal. The Chinese books mention eight cantons in Anterior Tibet, five of them lying east of H’lassa, added to which are thirty-nine feudal townships in Khamsok called tu-sz’, all of them chiefly nominal or at present antiquated. Csoma de Körös speaks of several small principalities in Kham, and describes the inhabitants as differing from the rest of the Tibetans in appearance and language; they assimilate probably with the tribes on the Burman and Chinese frontiers. Nari (A-li in Chinese) is divided into Mangyul, Khorsum, and Maryul. The first of these districts lies nearly conterminous with Nípal, and its area is probably about the same, but its cold, dry, and elevated regions, support only a few shepherds; Khorsum and Maryul lie north and northwest in a still more inhospitable clime; the latter adjoins Ladak and Balti and is the reservoir of hundreds of lakes situated from 12,000 to 15,000 feet above the sea. A ridge separates the valley of the Indus from the Sutlej, crossed at the Bogola Pass, 19,220 feet high, and then over the Gugtila Pass, 19,500 feet into Gartok. The people throughout this elevated region are forced to live in tents, wood being almost unknown for building.

H’lassa, the gyalsa or capital of Tibet, is situated on the Kichu River, about twelve leagues from its junction with the Yaru, in lat. 29° 39′ N., and long. 91° 05′ E.; the name signifies God’s ground, and it is the largest town in this part of Asia. It is famous for the convents near it, composing the ecclesiastical establishments of the Dalai (or ‘Ocean’)-lama, whose residence is in the monastery of Pobrang-marbu (i.e., ‘Red town’) on Mount Putala. The principal building of this establishment is three hundred and sixty-seven feet high, and it contains, as the Chinese expression is, “a myriad of rooms.” This city is the head-quarters of Buddhism, and the hierarchy of lamas, who, by means of the Dalai-lama, and his subordinate the Kutuktu, exercise priestly control over wellnigh all Mongolia as well as Tibet. The city lies in a fertile plain nearly 12,000 feet high, about twelve miles wide, and one hundred and twenty-five from north to south, producing harvests of barley and millet, with abundant pasturage and some fruit trees. Mountains and hills encircle it; of these the westernmost is Putala, the river running so near its base that a wall has been built to preserve the buildings from the rise of the waters. The Chinese garrison is quartered about two miles north of this mount, and two large temples, called H’lassa tso-kang and Ramotsie tso-kang, resplendent with gold and precious stones, stand very near it. The four monasteries, Séra, Brebung, Samyé, and Galdan, constitute as many separate establishments.[141] During the sway of the Songares in Ílí, their prince Arabdan made a descent upon H’lassa, and the Lama was killed. Kanghí placed a new one upon the see, in 1720, appointing six leading officers of the old Lama to assist him in the government. Three of these joined in an insurrection, and in the conflicts which succeeded, H’lassa suffered considerably. The population of the town is conjectured to be 24,000; that of the province is reckoned by Csoma at about 650,000.

The town was visited in the year 1811 by Mr. Manning, whose description of its dirty and miserable streets swarming with dogs and beggars, and the meanness of its buildings, corresponds with what Huc and Gabet found in 1846. Mr. Manning remained there nearly five months, and had several interviews with the Dalai-lama; he was much impeded in his observations by a Cantonese munshí or teacher, and exposed to danger of illness from insufficient shelter and clothing. His reception by the chief of the Buddhist faith on the 17th of December, was equally remarkable with that by the Teshu-lama of Bogle in 1774, and of Turner in 1783. Mr. Manning was alone and unprotected and had very few presents, but his offering was accepted; it consisted of a piece of fine broadcloth, two brass candlesticks, twenty new dollars, and two vials of lavender water. He rode to the foot of the mountain Putala, and dismounted on the first platform to ascend by a long stairway of four hundred steps, part of them cut in the rock, and the rest ladder steps from story to story in the palace, till he reached a large platform roof off which was the reception hall. Upon entering this he found that the Tí-mu-fu or Gesub Rimboché, the highest civil functionary in Tibet, was also present, which caused him some confusion: “I did not know how much ceremony to go through with one before I began with the other. I made the due obeisance, touching the ground three times with my head to the Grand Lama, and once to the Tí-mu-fu. I presented my gifts, delivering the coins with a handsome silk scarf with my own hands to them both. While I was kotowing, the awkward servants let one of the bottles of lavender water fall and break. Having delivered the scarf to the Grand Lama, I took off my hat, and humbly gave him my clean shaven head to lay his hands upon.... The Lama’s beautiful and interesting face and manner engrossed all my attention. He was about seven years old; had the simple manners of a well educated princely child. His face was, I thought, poetically and affectingly beautiful. He was of a cheerful disposition, his beautiful mouth perpetually unbending into a graceful smile, which illuminated his whole countenance. No doubt my grim beard and spectacles excited his risibility. We had not been seated long before he put questions which we rose to receive and answer. He inquired whether I had met with difficulties on the road; to which I replied that I had had troubles, but now that I had the happiness of being in his presence they were amply compensated. I could see that this answer pleased both him and his people, for they found that I was not a mere rustic, but had some tincture of civility in me.”[142]

The capital of Tsang or Ulterior Tibet is Shigatsé, situated 126 miles west of H’lassa, and under its control. The monastery where the Teshu-lama and his court resides is a few miles distant, and constitutes a town of about 4,000 priests, named Teshu-Lumbo. He is styled Panchen Rimboché, and is the incarnation of Amitabha Buddha. His palace is built of dark brick and has a roof of gilded copper; the houses rise one above another and the gilt ornaments on the temples combine to give a princely appearance to the town. The fortress of Shigatsé stands so as to command both places. The plain between this town and H’lassa is a fertile tract, and judging from the number of towns in the valleys of the basin of the Yaru, its productive powers are comparatively great. Ulterior Tibet is divided into six other cantons, besides the territory under the jurisdiction of the chief town, most of their fortified capitals lying westward of Shigatsé.

The degree of skill the Tibetans have attained in manufactures, mechanical arts, and general civilization, is less than that of the Chinese, but superior to the Mongols. They appear to be a mild and humane people, possessing a religious sense and enjoying an easy life compared with their southern neighbors. They are well-bred and affable, fond of gossiping and festivities, which soften the heart and cheer the temper. Women are treated with care and are not often compelled to work out of doors. No two people or countries widely separated present a stronger contrast than do the stout, tall, muscular, and florid Butías, upon their fertile fields and wooded hills, with the squat, puny, sluggish, and swarthy Tibetans in their rugged, barren mountains. They distinguish five sorts of people among themselves, the last of whom are the Butías; the others are the inhabitants of Kham, or Anterior Tibet, those in Tsang, the nomads of Kor-kache, and the people of Little Tibet. All of them speak Tibetan with some variations. The Tibetans are clad with woollens and furs to such a degree that they appear to emulate the animals they derive them from in their weight and warmth; and with this clothing is found no small quantity of dirt. The dress of the sexes varies slightly in its shape; yellow and red are the predominant colors. Large bulgar boots of hide are worn by all persons; the remainder of the dress consists of woollen robes and furs like those of the Chinese. The women wear many jewels, and adorn their hair as do the Mongols with pearls, coral, and turquoises. Girls braid their hair in three tresses, married women in two. The head is protected by high velvet caps; the men wear broad-brimmed coverings of various materials.

The two religious sects are distinguished by yellow and red caps; the latter are comparatively few, allow marriage to the lamas, but do not differ materially in their ritual or tenets. There is no country where so large a proportion of the people are devoted to religious service as in Tibet, nor one where the secular part of the inhabitants pays such implicit deference to the clergy. The food of the Tibetans is taken at all hours, mutton, barley, and tea constituting the staple articles. On all visits tea is presented, and the cup replenished as often as it is drained. Spirits and beer, both made from barley, are common beverages. On every visit of ceremony, and whenever a letter is sent from one person to another, it is necessary to connect a silk scarf with it, the size and texture being proportioned to the rank and condition of the parties. The sentence Om mani padmí hum is woven upon each end.

The following note by Col. Yule, condensed from Koeppen’s Lamaische Hierarchie und Kirche, contains the most satisfactory explanation of this puzzling mystic formula: “Om mani padmí hûm!—the primeval six syllables, as the lamas say, among all prayers on earth form that which is most abundantly recited, written, printed, and even spun by machines for the good of the faithful. These syllables form the only prayer known to the ordinary Tibetans and Mongols; they are the first words that the child learns to stammer, and the last gasping utterance of the dying. The wanderer murmurs them on his way, the herdsman beside his cattle, the matron at her household tasks, the monk in all the stages of contemplation (i.e., of far niente); they form at once a cry of battle and a shout of victory! They are to be read wherever the Lama church hath spread, upon banners, upon rocks, upon trees, upon walls, upon monuments of stone, upon household utensils, upon strips of paper, upon human skulls and skeletons! They form, according to the idea of the believers, the utmost conception of all religion, of all wisdom, of all revelation, the path of rescue and the gate of salvation!... Properly and literally these four words, a single utterance of which is sufficient of itself to purchase an inestimable salvation, signify nothing more than: “O the Jewel in the Lotus! Amen!” In this interpretation, most probably, the Jewel stands for the Bodhisatva Avalokiteçvara, so often born from the bud of a lotus flower. According to this the whole formula is simply a salutation to the mighty saint who has taken under his especial charge the conversion of the North, and with him who first employed it the mystic formula meant no more than Ave Avalokiteçvara! But this simple explanation of course does not satisfy the Lama schoolmen, who revel in glorifications and multitudinous glossifications of this formula. The six syllables are the heart of hearts, the root of all knowledge, the ladder to re-birth in higher forms of being, the conquerors of the five evils, the flame that burns up sin, the hammer that breaks up torment, and so on. Om saves the gods, ma the Asuras, ni the men, pad the animals, mí the spectre world of pretâs, hûm the inhabitants of hell! Om is ‘the blessing of self-renunciation, ma of mercy, ni of chastity, etc.’ ‘Truly monstrous,’ says Koeppen, ‘is the number of padmís which in the great festivals hum and buzz through the air like flies.’ In some places each worshipper reports to the highest Lama how many om manis he has uttered, and the total number emitted by the congregation is counted by the billion.”

Grueber and Dorville describe Manipe as an idol, before which stulta gens insolitis gesticulationibus sacra sua facit, identiden verba haec repetens:—‘O Manipe, mi hum, O Manipe, mi hum; id est Manipe, salva nos!’ Rémusat (Mélanges Posthumes, Paris, 1843, p. 99) translates this phrase by: “Adoration, O thou precious stone who art in the lotus!” and observes that it illustrates the fundamental dogma of Buddhism, viz.: the production of the material universe by an absolute being; all things which exist are shut up in the breast of the divine substance; the ‘precious stone’ signifying that the world is in God. Mr. Jameson says that the sentence Om mani padmí hung is formed of the initial letters of various deities, all of whom are supposed to be implored in the prayer.[143]

In reverential salutations, the cap is removed by the inferior, and the arms hang by the side. The bodies of the dead are placed in an open inclosure, in the same manner as practised by the Parsees, where birds and beasts of prey devour them, or they are dismembered in an exposed place. Lamas are burned, and their ashes collected into urns. As soon as the breath has departed, the body is seated in the same attitude as Buddha is represented, with the legs bent before, and the soles of the feet turned upwards. The right hand rests upon the thigh, the left turns up near the body, the thumb touching the shoulder. In this attitude of contemplation, the corpse is burned.

In Tibet, as in Butan, the custom of polyandry prevails. The choice of a wife lies with the eldest son, who having made known his intentions to his parents sends a matchmaker to propose the matter to the parents of the girl. The consent of the parents being obtained, the matchmaker places an ornament of a jewel set in gold, called sedzia upon the head of the damsel, and gives her presents of jewels, dresses, cattle, etc., according to the means of the young man. The guests invited on the day of the marriage bring presents of such things as they choose, which augments the dowry. A tent is set up before the bride’s house, in which are placed three or four square cushions, and the ground around sprinkled with wheat; the bride is seated on the highest cushion, her parents and friends standing near her according to their rank, and the assembled party there partake of a feast. The bride is then conducted to the house of her lover by the friends present, her person being sprinkled with wheat or barley as she goes along, and there placed by his side, and both of them served with tea and spirits. Soon after, the groom seats himself apart, and every one present gives a scarf, those of superior rank binding them around their necks, equals and inferiors laying them by their sides. The next day, a procession is formed of the relatives of the newly married pair, which visits all the friends, and the marriage is completed. The girl thus becomes the wife of all the brothers, and manages the domestic concerns of their household. The number of her husbands is sometimes indicated by as many points in her cap. This custom is strengthened by the desire, on the part of the family, to keep the property intact among its members; but it does not prevent one of the husbands leaving the roof and marrying another woman, nor is the usage universal. Rémusat speaks of a novel in Tibetan, in which the author admirably portrays the love of his heroine, Triharticha, for her four lovers, and brings their marriage in at the end in the happiest manner.

The dwellings of the poor are built of unhewn stones, rudely piled upon each other without cement, two stories high, and resembling brick-kilns in shape and size; the windows are small, in order not to weaken the structure; the roof is flat, defended by a brushwood parapet, and protected from the molestation of evil spirits by flags, strips of paper tied to strings, or branches of trees. Timber is costly and little used; the floors are of marble or tiles, and the furniture consists of little else than mats and cushions. The temples and convents are more imposing and commodious structures; some of those at H’lassa are among the noblest specimens of architecture in Central Asia.

The mausoleum of the Teshu-lama at Teshu Lumbu resembles a plain square watch-tower surmounted by a double Chinese canopy roof, the eaves of which are hung with bells, on which the breeze plays a ceaseless dirge. The body of the lama reposes in a coffin of gold, and his effigy, also of gold, is placed within the concavity of a large shell upon the top of the pyramidal structure which contains it. The sides of the pyramid are silver plates, and on the steps are deposited the jewels and other costly articles which once appertained to him. An altar in front receives the oblations and incense daily presented before the tomb, and near by is a second statue of the deceased as large as life in the attitude of reading. Scrolls and pennons of silk hang from the ceiling, and the walls are adorned with paintings of priests engaged in prayer. The whole structure is substantially built, and its rich ornaments are placed there not less for security than to do honor to the revered person deposited beneath. The windows are closed with mohair curtains, and a skylight in the upper story serves for lighting the room, and for passing out upon the roof. The roof or parapet is ornamented with cylinders of copper or other materials, which imparts a brilliant appearance to the edifices.

The manufactures of Tibet consist of woollens, cloth, blankets, yarn, goat-hair shawls, musk, paper, metals, and jewelry. Their lapidaries cut every kind of ornament in superior style, and gold and silverware forms a considerable article of trade to China. These and other crafts must necessarily languish, however, from the immense proportion of men who are withdrawn from labor into monasteries, compelling the residue to devote most of their strength to tillage. The most important exports to China consist of gold dust, precious stones, bezoars, asafœtida, musk, woollens, and skins; for which the people receive silks, teas, chinaware, tobacco, musical instruments, and metals. The trade is carried on through Síning fu in Kansuh, and Batang in Sz’chuen. Tincal, rock-salt, and shawl wool, are additional articles sent to Ladak, Butan, and India.

Music is studied by the priesthood for their ceremonies, and with much better effect than among the Chinese priests. Their amusements consist in archery, dancing, and observance of many festivals connected with the worship of the dead or of the living. Dram-drinking is common, but the people cannot be called a drunken race, nor does the habit of opium eating or smoking, so fatally general in Assam, prevail, inasmuch as the poppy cannot well be cultivated among the mountains.

Education is confined to the priesthood, but the women, who conduct much of the traffic, also learn arithmetic and writing. The language is alphabetical, and reads from left to right; there are two forms of the character, the uchen used for books, and the umin employed in writing, which do not differ more than the Roman and the running-hand in English. The form of the characters shows their Sanscrit origin, but there are many consonants in the language not found in that tongue, and silent letters are not unfrequent in the written words. There are thirty consonants in the alphabet, distributed into eight classes, with four additional vowel signs; each of them ends in a short a, as ka, nga, cha, which can be lengthened by a diacritical mark placed underneath. The syllables are separated from each other by a point; the accented consonant is that which follows the vowel, and the others, whether before or after it, are pronounced as rapidly as possible, and not unfrequently omitted altogether in speaking. The variations in this respect constitute the chief features of the patois found in different parts where Tibetan is spoken. A dictionary and grammar[144] of this language were printed in 1834 in Calcutta by Csoma de Körös, a Hungarian who resided among the priests near Ladak. The literature is almost wholly theological, as far as it has been examined, and such works as are not of this character, have probably been introduced from China. Their divisions of time, numeration, chronology, and weights, have also been adopted from that country with a few alterations. An Englishman, Mr. Brian Hodgson, who lived in Nípal from 1820 to 1843, has added more than any one else to our knowledge of the literature of this country. This gentleman procured complete copies of the original documents of the Buddhist canon preserved in Sanscrit in Nípalese monasteries, as well as (by a present from the Dalai-lama) the whole of the existing literary remains of the once flourishing Christian mission at H’lassa. His more important essays on these lands have now been brought together in a single volume.[145]

The history of Tibet has been made partially known to Europe through the Mongol author, Sanang Setsen,[146] but if free access could be had to their annals, it is probable that a methodical history could be extracted, reaching back at least three centuries before Christ. Tibet was ruled by its own princes till the rise of Genghis; the first monarch, who united the various tribes under his sway B.C. 313, was Seger-Sandilutu-Kagan-Tül-Esen,[147] and from the fact that Buddhism was introduced during his reign, it might be inferred that he came from the south. H’lassa was founded by Srongzan-Gambo, or Srongbdzan sgambouo,[148] about A.D. 630, after which time Tibetan history becomes more authentic, inasmuch as this king introduced the alphabet. The Tang dynasty carried their arms into Tibet from Khoten, but the people threw off their yoke during the decline of that family. Mohammedanism also disturbed the supremacy of the Buddhist faith, and severe persecutions followed about the beginning of the tenth century by an Islam prince Darma, but it was repelled at his death, and has never since made the least impression upon the people. Genghis reduced Tangout, one of the principalities, northeast of Koko-nor, and soon after brought the whole country under his sway; this Kublai still further settled as a dependency of his empire. The people recovered their independence on the expulsion of the Mongols, and under the Ming dynasty formed several small kingdoms, among which were Ladak and Rodok, both of them still existing.

From a short résumé of letters written from Tibet in 1626, by Romish missionaries living there, it appears that the kingdom of Sopo was the most powerful in the north, and Cogué, U-tsang, and Maryul were three southern principalities. The king of Cogué allowed these missionaries to reside in his territories, and took pleasure in hearing them converse and dispute with the lamas. The Dalai-lama at this time was the king’s brother, and possessed subordinate influence in the state, but the priests were numerous and influential. The conquest of Mongolia and Tangout opened the way for Kanghí to enter Tibet, but the intercourse between the Emperor and Dalai-lama was chiefly connected with religion and carrying tribute. An index of the freedom of communication between Tibet and the west is found in the passports issued to the traders visiting H’lassa in 1688. The lamas held the supreme power until towards the end of his reign, when Chinese influence became paramount. The country had already been conquered by the Songar chieftain, so that on his defeat it could offer little resistance. Kanghí appointed six of the highest princes or gialbo over the provinces; but soon after his death, in 1727, three of them conspired against Yungching, and were not subdued without considerable resistance. The Emperor then appointed the loyal prince or gialbo as governor-general, and he remained in his vice-regal office till his death, about 1750. Kienlung, finding that his son was endeavoring to make himself fully independent, executed him as a rebel, suppressed the office, and appointed two Chinese generals to be associated with the Dalai-lama and his coadjutor, in the administration of the country. The troops were increased and forts erected in all parts of the country to awe the people and facilitate trade.

The present government of Tibet is superintended by two ta chin, or ‘great ministers,’ residing at H’lassa, who act conjointly, while they serve as checks upon each other; they do not hold their office for a long time. They have absolute control over all the troops in the country, and the military are generally confined to the garrisons, and do not cultivate the soil. The collection of revenue, transmission of tribute to Peking, and direction of the persons who carry it, and those who conduct the trade at Batang and Síning fu, are all under their control. The Dalai-lama, and the Teshu-lama are the high religious officers of the country, each of them independent in his own province, but the former holding the highest place in the hierarchy. The Chinese residents confer with each concerning the direction of his own province. All their appointments to office or nobility must be sanctioned by the residents before they are valid, but merely religious officers are not under this surveillance. In the villages, the authority is administered by secular deputy lamas called deba, and by commandants called karpon, who are sent from the capital. Each deba is assisted by a native vazir of the place, who, with the chief lama, form the local government, amenable to the supreme magistracy. The western province of Nari is peopled by nomads, who wander over the regions north of Ravan-hrad, and are under the authority of karpons sent from H’lassa, without the assistance of lamas. The two high-priests themselves are likewise assisted by councillors. One of these, called Soopoon Choomboo, who held the office of sadeek or adviser when Turner visited Teshu-Lumbo, was a Manchu by birth, but had long lived in Tibet.

The nomadic clans of Dam Mongols and other tribes occupying the thirty-nine feudal townships or tu-sz’ in Anterior Tibet, are governed by the residents without the intervention of the lamas. The disturbances in Ulterior Tibet in 1792, resulting from the irruption of the Nípalese and sack of Teshu-Lumbo, were speedily quelled by the energy of Kienlung’s government, and the invaders forced to sue for mercy. The southern frontier was, in consequence of this inroad, strongly fortified by a chain of posts, and the communication with the states between Tibet and India strictly forbidden and watched. It gave the Chinese an opportunity to strengthen their rule and extend their influence north to Khoten and into Ladak. The natural mildness of character of the Tibetans, and similarity of religion renders them much easier under the Chinese yoke, than the Mohammedans.[149]

CHAPTER V. POPULATION AND STATISTICS. — TABLE OF THE DIFFERENT CENSUSES OF THE EIGHTEEN PROVINCES.

Much of the interest appertaining to the country and people here treated of, in the minds of philanthropic and intelligent men, has arisen from the impression they have received of its vast population. A country twice the size of the Chinese empire would present few attractions to the Christian, the merchant, or the ethnologist, if it were no better inhabited than Sahara, or Arizona: a people might possess most admirable institutions, and a matchless form of government, yet these excellencies would lose their interest, did we hear that it is the republic of San Marino or the kingdom of Muscat, where they are found. The population of few countries in the world has been accurately ascertained, and probably that of China is less satisfactory than any European or American state of the present day. It is far easier to take a census among a people who understand its object, and will honestly assist in its execution, than in a despotic, half-civilized country, where the mass of the inhabitants are afraid of contact or intercourse with their rulers; in most of such states, as Abyssinia, Turkey, Persia, etc., there is either no regular enumeration at all, or merely a general estimate for the purposes of revenue or conscription.

The subject of the population of China has engaged the attention of the monarchs of the present dynasty, and their censuses have been the best sources of information in making up an intelligent opinion upon the matter. Whatever may be our views of the actual population, it is plain that these censuses, with all their discrepancies and inaccuracies, are the only reliable sources of information. The conflicting opinions and conclusions of foreign writers neither give any additional weight to them, nor detract at all from their credibility. As the question stands at present, they can be doubted, but cannot be denied; it is impossible to prove them, while there are many grounds for believing them; the enormous total which they exhibit can be declared to be improbable, but not shown to be impossible.

No one who has been in China can hesitate to acknowledge that there are some strong grounds for giving credit to them, but the total goes so far beyond his calculations, that entire belief must, indeed, be deferred till some new data have been furnished. There are, perhaps, more peculiar encouragements to the increase of population there than in any other country, mostly arising from a salubrious climate, semi-annual crops, unceasing industry, early marriages, and an equable taxation, involving reasonable security of life and property. Turning to other countries of Asia, we soon observe that in Japan and Persia these causes have less influence; in Siam and Burmah they are weak; in Tibet they are almost powerless.

At this point every one must rest, as the result of an examination into the population of the Chinese Empire; though, from the survey of its principal divisions, made in the preceding chapters, its capability of maintaining a dense population needs no additional evidence. The mind, however, is bewildered in some degree by the contemplation of millions upon millions of human beings thus collected under one government; and it almost wishes there might be grounds for disbelieving the enormous total, from the dreadful results that might follow the tyrannical caprice or unrestrained fury of their rulers, or the still more shocking scenes of rapine and the hideous extremities of want which a bad harvest would necessarily cause.

Chinese literature contains many documents describing classes of society comprised in censuses in the various dynasties. The results of those enumerations have been digested by Ma Twan-lin in a judicious and intelligent manner in the chapters treating on population, from which M. Ed. Biot has elaborated many important data.[150] The early records show that the census was designed to contain only the number of taxable people, excluding all persons bound to give personal service, who were under the control of others. Moreover, all officials and slaves, all persons over 60 or 66 years of age, the weak or sick, those needing help, and sometimes such as were newly placed on state lands, were likewise omitted. Deducting these classes, Ma Twan-lin gives one census taken in the ninth century, B.C., as 13,704,923 persons, between the ages of 15 and 65, living within the frontiers north of the Yangtsz’ River. This figure would be worth, according to the tables of modern statistics, about 65 per cent. of the entire population, or as representing 21,753,528 inhabitants.

The mighty conqueror, Tsin Chí Hwangtí, changed the personal corvée to scutage, and introduced a kind of poll-tax, by accepting the money from many who could not be forced to do the work required. This practice was followed in the Han dynasty, and in B.C. 194, the poll-tax was legalized, to include all men between 15 and 66, while a lighter impost was levied on those between 7 and 14. During the four centuries of this family’s régime, the object and modes of a census were well understood. Ma Twan-lin gives the results of ten taken between A.D. 2 and 155. His details show that it was done simply for revenue, and was omitted in bad years, when drought or freshets destroyed the harvests; they show, too, an increase in the number of slaves, that women were now enumerated, and that girls between 15 and 30 paid a poll-tax. In B.C. 30, the limits of age were placed between 7 and 56. The average of these ten censuses is 63,500,600, the first one being as high as 83,640,000, while the next and lowest, taken fifty-five years afterwards, is only 29,180,000, and the third is 47,396,000. These great variations are explained by the disturbances arising in consequence of the usurpation of Wangmang, A.D. 9-27, and subsequent change of the capital, and the impossibility, during this troubled period, of canvassing all parts of the Empire. The inference from these data, that the real population of the Chinese Empire north of the Nan ling at the time of Christ was at least eighty millions, is as well grounded as almost any fact in its history.[151]

After the downfall of the Han dynasty, a long period of civil war ensued, in which the destruction of life and property was so enormous that the population was reduced to one-sixth of the amount set down in A.D. 230, when disease, epidemics, and earthquakes increased the losses caused by war and the cessation of agriculture, according to Ma Twan-lin; and it is not till A.D. 280, when the Tsin dynasty had subjected all to its sway, that the country began to revive. In that year an enumeration was made which stated the free people between 12 and 66 years in the land at 14,163,863, or 23,180,000 in all. From this period till the Sui dynasty came into power, in 589, China was torn by dissensions and rival monarchs, and the recorded censuses covered only a portion of the land, the figures including even fewer of the people, owing to the great number of serfs or bondmen who had sought safety under the protection of landowners. At this time a new mode of taking the census was ordered, in which the people were classified into those from 1 to 3 years, then 3 to 10, then 10 to 17, and 17 to 60, after which age they were not taxed; the ratio of the land tax was also fixed. A census taken in 606 in this way gives an estimated population of 46,019,956 in all China; the frontiers, at this period, hardly reached to the Nan ling Mountains, and the author’s explanation of the manner of carrying on some public works shows that even this sum did not include persons who were liable to be called on for personal service, while all officials, slaves, and beggars were omitted. Troubles arose again from these enforced works, and it was not till the advent to power of the Tang dynasty, in 618, that a regular enumeration was possible.

This family reigned 287 years, and Ma Twan-lin gives fifteen returns of the population up to 841. They show great variations, some of them difficult to explain even by omitting or supplying large classes of the inhabitants. The one most carefully taken was in A.D. 754, and gives an estimated total of about seventy millions for the whole Empire, which, though nearly the same as that in the Han dynasty in A.D. 2, extended over a far greater area, even to the whole southern seaboard. In addition to former enumerated classes, many thousands of priests were passed by in this census.

The years of anarchy following the Tang, till A.D. 976, when the Sung dynasty obtained possession, caused their usual effect. Its first census gives only about sixteen millions of taxable population that year, when its authority was not firmly assured; but in 1021 the returns rise to 43,388,380, and thence gradually increase to 100,095,250 in 1102, just before the provinces north of the Yellow River, by far the most fertile and loyal, were lost. The last enumeration, in 1223, while Ma Twan-lin was living, places the returns in the southern provinces at 63,304,000; this was fifty years before Kublai khan conquered the Empire. Our author gives some details concerning the classes included in the census during his own lifetime, which prove to a reasonable mind that the real number of mouths living on the land was, if anything, higher than the estimates. In 1290, the Mongol Emperor published his enumeration, placing the taxable population at 58,834,711, “not counting those who had fled to the mountains and lakes, or who had joined the rebels.” This was not long after his ruthless hand had almost depopulated vast regions in the northern provinces, before he could quiet them.

In the continuation of Ma Twan-lin’s Researches, there are sixteen censuses given for the Ming dynasty between 1381 and 1580; the lowest figure is 46,800,000, in 1506, and the highest, 66,590,000, in 1412, the average for the two centuries being 56,715,360 inhabitants. One of its compilers declares that he cannot reconcile their great discrepancies, and throws doubts on their totals from his inability to learn the mode of enumeration. Three are given for three consecutive years (1402-1404), the difference between the extremes of which amounts to sixteen millions, but they were all taken when Yungloh was fighting Kienwăn, his nephew, at Nanking, and settling himself at Peking as Emperor, during which years large districts could not possibly have been counted.

Before entering upon a careful examination of this question, it will be well to bring together the various estimates taken of the population during the present dynasty. The details given in the table on page 264 have been taken from the best sources, and are as good as the people themselves possess.

Besides these detailed accounts, there have been several aggregates of the whole country given by other native writers than Ma Twan-lin, and some by foreigners, professedly drawn from original sources, but who have not stated their authorities. The most trustworthy, together with those given in the other table, are here placed in chronological order.

Seven of these censuses, viz., the 7th, 8th, 12th, 13th, 17th, 20th, 21st and 23d, are given in detail in the following table. The first three belong to the Ming dynasty, and are taken from a continuation of Ma Twan-lin’s Researches, whence they were quoted in the Mirror of History, without their details. During the Ming dynasty, a portion of the country now called the Eighteen Provinces, was not under the control of Hungwu and his descendants. The wars with the Japanese, and with tribes on the north and west, together with the civil wars and struggles between the Chinese themselves, and with the Nü-chí in Manchuria, must have somewhat decreased the population.

The first census of 1662 (No. 4), is incidentally mentioned by Kienlung in 1791, as having been taken at that time, from his making some observations upon the increase of the population and comparing the early censuses with the one he had recently ordered. This sum of 21,068,600 does not, however, include all the inhabitants of China at that date; for the Manchus commenced their sway in 1644, and did not exercise full authority over all the provinces much before 1700; Canton was taken in 1650, Formosa in 1683.

The census of 1668 (No. 5), shows a little increase over that of 1662, but is likewise confined to the conquered portions; and in those provinces which had been subdued, there were extensive tracts which had been almost depopulated at the conquest. Any one who reads the recitals of Semedo, Martini, Trigautius, and others, concerning the massacres and destruction of life both by the Manchus and by Chinese bandits, between 1630 and 1650, will feel no loss in accounting for the diminution of numbers, down to 1710. But the chief explanation of the decrease from sixty to twenty-seven millions is to be found in the object of taking the census, viz., to levy a poll-tax, and get at the number of men fit for the army—two reasons for most men to avoid the registration.

The census of 1711 (No. 8), is the first one on record which bears the appearance of credibility, when its several parts are compared with each other. The dates of the preceding (Nos. 6 and 7), are rather uncertain; the last was extracted by Dr. Morrison from a book published in 1790, and he thought it was probably taken as early as 1650, though that is unlikely. The other is given by Dr. Medhurst without any explanation, and their great disparity leads us to think that both are dated wrongly. The census of 1711 is much more consistent in itself, though there are some reasons for supposing that neither did it include all the population then in China. The census was still taken for enrolment in the army, and to levy a capitation tax upon all males between the ages of sixteen and sixty. But this tax and registration were evaded and resisted by the indignant Chinese, who had never been chronicled in this fashion by their own princes; the Emperor Kanghí, therefore, abolished the capitation tax. It was not till about this time that the Manchus had subdued and pacified the southern provinces, and it is not improbable that this census, and the survey taken by the Jesuits, were among their acts of sovereignty. Finding the people unwilling to be registered, the poll tax was merged in the land tax, and no census ordered during the reign of Yungching, till Kienlung revived it in order to have some guide in apportioning relief during seasons of distress and scarcity, establishing granaries, and aiding the police in their duties. Many, therefore, who would do all in their power to prevent their names being taken, when they were liable to be taxed or called on to do military service, could have no objection to come forward, when the design of the census was to benefit themselves. It matters very little, however, for what object the census was taken, if there is reason to believe it to have been accurate. It might indeed act as a stimulus to multiply names and figures whom there were no people to represent, as the principle of paying the marshals a percentage on the numbers they reported did in some parts of New York State in 1840.

The three next numbers (9, 10, and 11), are taken from De Guignes, who quotes Amiot, but gives no Chinese authorities. The last is given in full by De Guignes, and both this and that of Allerstein, dated twenty years after, are introduced into the table. There are some discrepancies between these two and the census of 1753, taken from the General Statistics, which cannot easily be reconciled. The internal evidence is in favor of the latter, over the census of 1743; it is taken from a new edition of the Ta Tsing Hwui Tien, or ‘General Statistics of the Empire,’ and the increase during the forty-two years which had elapsed since the last census is regular in all the provinces, with the exception of Shantung and Kiangnan. The extraordinary fertility of these provinces would easily induce immigration, while in the war of conquest, their populousness and wealth attracted the armies of the Manchus, and the destruction of life was disproportionably great. The smaller numbers given to the western and southern provinces correspond moreover to the opposition experienced in those regions. On the whole, the census taken in 1753 compares very well with that of 1711, and both of them bear an aspect of verity, which does not belong to the table of 1743 quoted by De Guignes.

From 1711 to 1753, the population doubled itself in about twenty-two years, premising that the whole country was faithfully registered at the first census. For instance, the province of Kweichau, in 1711, presents on the average a mere fraction of a little more than a single person to two square miles; while in 1753 it had increased in the unexampled ratio of three to a square mile, which is doubling its population every seven years; Kwangtung, Kwangsí, and Kansuh (all of them containing to this day, partially subdued tribes), had also multiplied their numbers in nearly the same proportion, owing in great measure, probably, to the more extended census than to the mere increase of population.

The amounts for 1736, three of 1743, and those of 1760, 1761, and 1762 (Nos. 9, 10, 11, 12, 15, 16, and 17), are all extracted from De Guignes, who took them from the Mémoires sur les Chinois. The last, that of 1762, is given in detail in the table. The discrepancy of sixty millions between that given by Amiot for 1760, and that by Dr. Morrison for the same year, is owing, there can be little doubt, to foreigners, and not to an error of the Chinese. The work from which Dr. Morrison extracted his estimate for that year was published in 1790, but the census was taken between 1760 and 1765. The same work contains the census of 1711 (No. 8), quoted by him, and there is good cause for believing that Amiot’s or Grosier’s estimate of 157,343,975 for 1743, is the very same census, he having multiplied the number 28,605,716 by five, supposing them to have been families and not individuals. The three ascribed to the year 1743, are probably all derived from the same native authorities by different individuals.

The three dated in 1760, 1761, and 1762, are harmonious with each other; but if they are taken, those of 1753 and 1760, extracted from the Yih Tung Chí by Dr. Morrison, must be rejected, which are far more reasonable, and correspond better with the preceding one of 1711. It may be remarked, that by reckoning five persons to a family in calculating the census of 1753, as Amiot does for 1743, the population would be 189,223,820 instead of 103,050,060, as given in the table. This explains the apparent decrease of fifty millions. All the discrepancies between these various tables and censuses must not be charged upon the Chinese, since it is by no means easy to ascertain their modes of taking the census and their use of terms. In the tables, for example, they employ the phrase jin-ting, for a male over 15 years of age, as the integer; this has, then, to be multiplied by some factor of increase to get at the total population; and this last figure must be obtained elsewhere. It must not be overlooked that the object in taking a census being to calculate the probable revenue by enumerating the taxable persons, the margin of error and deficiency depends on the peace of the state at the time, and not chiefly on the estimate of five or more to a household.

The amount for 1736 corresponds sufficiently closely with that for 1743; and reckoning the same number of persons in a family in 1753, that tallies well enough with those for 1760, 1761, and 1762, the whole showing a gradual increase for twenty-five years. But all of them, except that of 1753, are probably rated too high. That for 1762 (No. 17), has been justly considered as one of the most authentic.

The amount given by “Z.” of Berlin (No. 18), of 155⅓ millions for 1790 is quoted in the Chinese Repository, but the writer states no authorities, was probably never in China, and as it appears at present, is undeserving the least notice. That given by Dr. Morrison for 1792 (No. 19), the year before Lord Macartney’s embassy, is quoted from an edition of that date, but probably was really taken in 1765 or thereabouts, but he did not publish it in detail.[152] It is probably much nearer the truth than the amount of 333 millions by the commissioner Chau to the English ambassador. This estimate has had much more respect paid to it as an authentic document than it deserved. The Chinese commissioner would naturally wish to exalt his country in the eyes of its far-travelled visitors, and not having the official returns to refer to, would not be likely to state them less than they were. He gave the population of the provinces in round numbers, perhaps altogether from his own memory, aided by those of his attendant clerks, with the impression that his hearers would never be able to refer to the original native authorities.

The next one quoted (No. 21) is the most satisfactory of all the censuses in Chinese works, and was considered by both the Morrisons and by Dr. Bridgman, editor of the Chinese Repository, as “the most accurate that has yet been given of the population.”

In questions of this nature, one well authenticated table is worth a score of doubtful origin. It has been shown how apocryphal are many of the statements given in foreign books, but with the census of 1812, the source of error which is chiefly to be guarded against is the average given to a family. This is done by the Chinese themselves on no uniform plan, and it may be the case that the estimate of individuals from the number of families is made in separate towns, from an intimate acquaintance with the particular district, which would be less liable to error than a general average. The number of families given in the census of 1753, is 37,785,552, which is more than one-third of the population.

The four censuses which deserve the most credit, so far as the sources are considered, are those of 1711, 1753, 1792, and 1812 (i.e., Nos. 8, 13, 19, and 21); these, when compared, show the following rate of increase:

From 1711 to 1753, the population increased 74,222,602, which was an annual advance of 1,764,824 inhabitants, or a little more than six per cent. per annum for forty-two years. This high rate, it must be remembered, does not take into account the more thorough subjugation of the south and west at the later date, when the Manchus could safely enrol large districts, where in 1711 they would have found so much difficulty that they would not have attempted it.

From 1753 to 1792, the increase was 104,636,882, or an annual advance of 2,682,997 inhabitants, or about 2½ per cent. per annum for thirty-nine years. During this period, the country enjoyed almost uninterrupted peace under the vigorous sway of Kienlung, and the unsettled regions of the south and west rapidly filled up.

From 1792 to 1812, the increase was 54,126,679, or an annual advance of 2,706,333—not quite one per cent. per annum—for twenty years. At the same rate of progress the present population would amount to over 450,000,000, and this might have been the case had not the Tai-ping rebellion reduced the numbers. An enumeration (No. 22), was published by the Russian Professor of Chinese Vassilivitch in 1868 as a translation from official documents. Foreigners have had greater opportunities for travel through the country, between the years 1840 to 1880, and have ascertained the enormous depopulation in some places caused by wars, short supplies of food in consequence of scarcity of laborers, famines, or brigandage, each adding its own power of destruction at different places and times. The conclusion will not completely satisfy any inquirer, but the population of the Empire cannot now reasonably be estimated as high as the census of 1812, by at least twenty-five millions. The last in the list of these censuses (No. 23), is added as an example of the efforts of intelligent persons residing in China to come to a definite and independent conclusion on this point from such data as they can obtain. The Imperial Customs’ Service has been able to command the best native assistance in their researches, and the table of population given above from the Gotha Almanac is the summary of what has been ascertained. The population of extra-provincial China is really unknown at present. Manchuria is put down at twelve millions by one author, and three or four millions, by another, without any official authority for either; and all those vast regions in Ílí and Tibet may easily be set down at from twelve to fifteen millions. To sum up, one must confess that if the Chinese censuses are worth but little, compared with those taken in European states, they are better than the guesses of foreigners who have never been in the country, or who have travelled only partially in it.

The Chinese are doubtless one of the most conceited nations on the earth, but with all their vanity, they have never bethought themselves of rating their population twenty-five or thirty per cent. higher than they suppose it to be, for the purpose of exalting themselves in the eyes of foreigners or in their own. Except in one case none of the estimates were presented to, or intended to be known by foreigners. The distances in li between places given in Chinese itineraries correspond very well with the real distances; the number of districts, towns, and villages in the departments and provinces, as stated in their local and general topographical works, agree with the actual examination, so far as it can be made: why should their censuses be charged with gross error, when, however much we may doubt them, we cannot disprove them, and the weight of evidence derived from actual observation rather confirms them than otherwise; and while their account of towns, villages, distances, etc., are unhesitatingly adopted until better can be obtained? Some discrepancies in the various tables are ascribable to foreigners, and some of the censuses are incomplete, or the year cannot be precisely fixed, both of which vitiate the deductions made from them as to the rate of increase. Some reasons for believing that the highest population ascribed to the Chinese Empire is not greater than the country can support, will first be stated, and the objections against receiving the censuses then considered.[153]

The area of the Eighteen Provinces is rather imperfectly given at 1,348,870 square miles, and the average population, therefore, for the whole, in 1812, was 268 persons on every square mile; that of the nine eastern provinces in and near the Great Plain, comprising 502,192 square miles, or two-fifths of the whole, is 458 persons, and the nine southern and western provinces, constituting the other three-fifths, is 154 to a square mile. The surface and fertility of the country in these two portions differ so greatly, as to lead one to look for results like these. The areas of some European states and their population, are added to assist in making a comparison with China, and coming to a clearer idea about their relative density.

All these are regarded as well settled countries, but England and Bengal are the only ones which exceed that of China, taken as a whole, while none of them come up to the average of the eastern provinces. All of them, China included, fall far short, however, of the average population on a square mile of the kingdoms of Judah and Israel, in the reigns of Abijah and Jeroboam, if the 1,200,000 men brought into the field by them can be taken as a ratio of the whole number of inhabitants; or if the accounts given by Josephus of the density in his day are trustworthy. In estimating the capabilities of these European countries to support a dense population, allowances must be made for roads, pasture-lands, and parks of noblemen, all of which afford little or no food.

In England and Wales, there are nearly twenty-nine millions of acres under cultivation, seventeen millions of which are pasture-lands, and only ten millions devoted to grain and vegetables; the other two millions consist of fallow-ground, hop-beds, etc. One author estimates that in England 42 acres in a hundred, and in Ireland 64, are pastures—a little more than half of the whole. There are, then, on the average about two acres of land for the support of each individual, or rather less than this, if the land required for the food of horses be subtracted. It has been calculated that eight men can be fed on the same amount of land that one horse requires; and that four acres of pasture-land will furnish no more food for man than one of ploughed land. The introduction of railroads has superseded the use of horses to such an extent that it is estimated there are only 200,000 horses now in England, instead of a million in 1830. If, therefore, one-half the land appropriated to pasture should be devoted to grain, and no more horses and dogs raised than a million of acres could support, England and Wales could easily maintain a population of more than four hundred to a square mile, supposing them to be willing to live on what the land and water can furnish.

The Irish consume a greater proportion of vegetables than the English, even since the improvement by emigration after 1851; many of these live a beggarly life upon half an acre, and even less, and seldom taste animal food. The quantity of land under cultivation in Belgium is about fifteen-seventeenths of the whole, which gives an average of about two acres to each person, or the same as in England. In these two countries, the people consume more meat than in Ireland, and the amount of land occupied for pasturage is in nearly equal proportions in Belgium and England. In France, the average of cultivated land is 1⅔ acre; in Holland, 1⅘ acre to each person.

If the same proportion between the arable and uncultivated land exists in China as in England, namely one-fourth, there are about six hundred and fifty millions of acres under cultivation in China; and we are not left altogether to conjecture, for by a report made to Kienlung in 1745, it appears that the area of the land under cultivation was 595,598,221 acres; a subsequent calculation places it at 640,579,381 acres, which is almost the same proportion as in England. Estimating it at six hundred and fifty millions—for it has since increased rather than diminished—it gives one acre and four-fifths to every person, which is by no means a small supply for the Chinese, considering that there are no cultivated pastures or meadows.

In comparing the population of different countries, the manner of living and the articles of food in use, form such important elements of the calculation, in ascertaining whether the country be overstocked or not, that a mere tabular view of the number of persons on a square mile is an imperfect criterion of the amount of inhabitants the land would maintain if they consumed the same food, and lived in the same manner in all of them. Living as the Chinese, Hindus, Japanese, and other Asiatics do, chiefly upon vegetables, the country can hardly be said to maintain more than one-half or one-third as many people on a square mile as it might do, if their energies were developed to the same extent with those of the English or Belgians. The population of these eastern regions has been repressed by the combined influences of ignorance, insecurity of life and property, religious prejudices, vice, and wars, so that the land has never maintained as many inhabitants as one would have otherwise reasonably expected therefrom.

Nearly all the cultivated soil in China is employed in raising food for man. Woollen garments and leather are little used, while cotton and mulberry cultivation take up only a small proportion of the soil. There is not, so far as is known, a single acre of land sown with grass-seed, and therefore almost no human labor is devoted to raising food for animals, which will not also serve to sustain man. Horses are seldom used for pomp or war, for travelling or carrying burdens, but mules, camels, asses, and goats are employed for transportation and other purposes north of the Yangtsz’ River. Horses are fed on cooked rice, bran, sorghum seed, pulse, oats, and grass cut along the banks of streams, or on hillsides. In the southern and eastern provinces, all animals are rare, the transport of goods and passengers being done by boats or by men. The natives make no use of butter, cheese, or milk, and the few cattle employed in agriculture easily gather a living on the waste ground around the villages. In the south, the buffalo is applied more than the ox to plough the rice fields, and the habits of this animal make it cheaper to keep him in good condition, while he can also do more work. The winter stock is grass cut upon the hills, straw, bean stalks, and vegetables. No wool being wanted for making cloth, flocks of sheep and goats are seldom seen—it may almost be said are unknown in the east and south.

No animal is reared cheaper than the hog; hatching and raising ducks affords employment to thousands of people; hundreds of these fowl gather their own food along the river shore, being easily attended by a single keeper. Geese and poultry are also cheaply reared. In fishing, which is carried on to an enormous extent, no pasture-grounds, no manuring, no barns, are needed, nor are taxes paid by the cultivator and consumer.

While the people get their animal food in these ways, its preparation takes away the least possible amount of cultivated soil. The space occupied for roads and pleasure-grounds is insignificant, but there is perhaps an amount appropriated for burial places quite equal to the area used for those purposes in European countries; it is, however, less valuable land, and much of it would be useless for culture, even if otherwise unoccupied. Graves are dug on hills, in ravines and copses, and wherever they will be retired and dry; or if in the ancestral field, they do not hinder the crop growing close around them. Moreover, it is very common to preserve the coffin in temples and cemeteries until it is decayed, partly in order to save the expense of a grave, and partly to worship the remains, or preserve them until gathered to their fathers, in their distant native places. They are often placed in the corners of the fields, or under precipices where they remain till dust returns to dust, and bones and wood both moulder away. These and other customs limit the consumption of land for graves much more than would be supposed, when one sees, as at Macao, almost as much space taken up by the dead for a grave as by the living for a hut. The necropolis of Canton occupies the hills north of the city, of which not one-fiftieth part could ever have been used for agriculture, but where cattle are allowed to graze, as much as if there were no tombs.

Under its genial and equable climate, more than three-fourths of the area of China Proper produces two crops annually. In Kwangtung, Kwangsí, and Fuhkien, two crops of rice are taken year after year from the low lands; while in the loess regions of the northwest, a three-fold return from the grain fields is annually looked for, if the rain-fall is not withheld. In the winter season, in the neighborhood of towns, a third crop of sweet potatoes, cabbages, turnips, or some other vegetable is grown. De Guignes estimates the returns of a rice crop at ten for one, which, with the vegetables, will give full twenty-five fold from an acre in a year; few parts, however, yield this increase. Little or no land lies fallow, for constant manuring and turning of the soil prevents the necessity of repose. The diligence exhibited in collecting and applying manure is well known, and if all this industry result in the production of two crops instead of one, it really doubles the area under cultivation, when its superficies are compared with those of other countries. If the amount of land which produces two crops be estimated at one-fourth of the whole (and it is perhaps as near one-third), the area of arable land in the provinces may be considered as representing a total of 812 millions of acres, or 2¾ acres to an individual. The land is not, however, cut up into such small farms as to prevent its being managed as well as the people know how to stock and cultivate it; manual labor is the chief dependence of the farmer, fewer cattle, carts, ploughs, and machines being employed than in other countries. In rice fields no animals are used after the wet land has received the shoots, transplanting, weeding, and reaping being done by men.

In no other country besides Japan is so much food derived from the water. Not only are the coasts, estuaries, rivers, and lakes, covered with fishing-boats of various sizes, which are provided with everything fitted for the capture of whatever lives in the waters, but the spawn of fish is collected and reared. Rice fields are often converted into pools in the winter season, and stocked with fish; and the tanks dug for irrigation usually contain fish. By all these means, an immense supply of food is obtained at a cheap rate, which is eaten fresh or preserved with or without salt, and sent over the Empire, at a cost which places it within the reach of all above beggary. Other articles of food, both animal and vegetable, such as dogs, game, worms, spring greens, tripang, leaves, etc., do indeed compose part of their meals, but it is comparatively an inconsiderable fraction, and need not enter into the calculation. Enough has been stated to show that the land is abundantly able to support the population ascribed to it, even with all the drawbacks known to exist; and that, taking the highest estimate to be true, and considering the mode of living, the average population on a square mile in China is less than in several European countries.

The political and social causes which tend to multiply the inhabitants are numerous and powerful. The failure of male posterity to continue the succession of the family, and worship at the tombs of parents, is considered by all classes as one of the most afflictive misfortunes of life; the laws allow unlimited facilities of adoption, and secure the rights of those taken into the family in this way. The custom of betrothing children, and the obligation society imposes upon the youth when arrived at maturity, to fulfil the contracts entered into by their parents, acts favorably to the establishment of families and the nurture of children, and restricts polygamy. Parents desire children for a support in old age, as there is no legal or benevolent provision for aged poverty, and public opinion stigmatizes the man who allows his aged or infirm parents to suffer when he can help them. The law requires the owners of domestic slaves to provide husbands for their females, and prohibits the involuntary or forcible separation of husband and wife, or parents and children, when the latter are of tender age. All these causes and influences tend to increase population, and equalize the consumption and use of property more, perhaps, than in any other land.

The custom of families remaining together tends to the same result. The local importance of a large family in the country is weakened by its male members removing to town, or emigrating; consequently, the patriarch of three or four generations endeavors to retain his sons and grandsons around him, their houses joining his, and they and their families forming a social, united company. Such cases as those mentioned in the Sacred Commands are of course rare, where nine generations of the family of Chang Kung-í inhabited one house, or of Chin, at whose table seven hundred mouths were daily fed,[154] but it is the tendency of society. This remark does not indicate that great landed proprietors exist, whose hereditary estates are secured by entail to the great injury of the state, as in Great Britain, for the farms are generally small and cultivated by the owner or on the metayer system. Families are supported on a more economical plan, the claims of kindred are better enforced, the land is cultivated with more care, and the local importance of the family perpetuated. This is, however, a very different system from that advocated by Fourier in France, or Greeley in America, for these little communities are placed under one natural head, whose authority is acknowledged and upheld, and his indignation feared. Workmen of the same profession form unions, each person contributing a certain sum on the promise of assistance when sick or disabled, and this custom prevents and alleviates a vast amount of poverty.

The obstacles put in the way of emigrating beyond sea, both in law and prejudice, operate to deter respectable persons from leaving their native land. Necessity has made the law a dead letter, and thousands annually leave their homes. No better evidence of the dense population can be offered to those acquainted with Chinese feelings and character, than the extent of emigration. “What stronger proof,” observes Medhurst, “of the dense population of China could be afforded than the fact, that emigration is going on in spite of restrictions and disabilities, from a country where learning and civilization reign, and where all the dearest interests and prejudices of the emigrants are found, to lands like Burmah, Siam, Cambodia, Tibet, Manchuria, and the Indian Archipelago, where comparative ignorance and barbarity prevail, and where the extremes of a tropical or frozen region are to be exchanged for a mild and temperate climate? Added to this consideration, that not a single female is permitted or ventures to leave the country, when consequently, all the tender attachments that bind heart to heart must be burst asunder, and, perhaps, forever.”[155]

Moreover, if they return with wealth enough to live upon, they are liable to the vexatious extortions of needy relatives, sharpers, and police, who have a handle for their fleecing whip in the law against leaving the country;[156] although this clause has been neutralized by subsequent acts, and is not in force, the power of public opinion is against going. A case occurred in 1832, at Canton, where the son of a Chinese living in Calcutta, who had been sent home by his parent with his mother, to perform the usual ceremonies in the ancestral hall, was seized by his uncle as he was about to be married, on the pretext that his father had unequally divided the paternal inheritance; he was obliged to pay a thousand dollars to free himself. Soon after his marriage, a few sharpers laid hold of him and bore him away in a sedan, as he was walking near his house, but his cries attracted the police, who carried them all to the magistrates, where he was liberated—after being obliged to fee his deliverers.[157] Another case occurred in Macao in 1838. A man had been living several years in Singapore as a merchant, and when he settled in Macao still kept up an interest in the trade with that place. Accounts of his great wealth became rumored abroad, and he was seriously annoyed by relatives. One night, a number of thieves, dressed like police-runners, came to his house to search for opium, and their boisterous manner terrified him to such a degree, that in order to escape them he jumped from the terrace upon the hard gravelled court-yard, and broke his leg, of which he shortly afterward died. A third case is mentioned, where the returned emigrants, consisting of a man and his wife, who was a Malay, and two children, were rescued from extortion, when before the magistrate, by the kindness of his wife and mother, who wished to see the foreign woman.[158] Such instances are now unknown, owing to the increase of emigration; they were, indeed, never numerically great, on account of the small number of those who came back.

The anxiety of the government to provide stores of food for times of scarcity, shows rather its fear of the disastrous results following a short crop—such as the gathering of clamorous crowds of starving poor, the increase of bandits and disorganization of society—than any peculiar care of the rulers, or that these storehouses really supply deficiencies. The evil consequences resulting from an overgrown population are experienced in one or another part of the provinces almost every year; and drought, inundations, locusts, mildew, or other natural causes, often give rise to insurrections and disturbances. There can be no doubt, however, that, without adding a single acre to the area of arable land, these evils would be materially alleviated, if the intercommunication of traders and their goods, between distant parts of the country, were more frequent, speedy, and safe; but this is not likely to be the case until both rulers and ruled make greater advances in just government, science, obedience, and regard for each other’s right.

It would be a satisfaction if foreigners could verify any part of the census. But this is, at present, impossible. They cannot examine the records in the office of the Board of Revenue, nor can they ascertain the population in a given district from the archives in the hands of the local authorities, or the mode of taking it. Neither can they go through a village or town to count the number of houses and their inhabitants, and calculate from actual examination of a few parts what the whole would be. Wherever foreigners have journeyed, there has appeared much the same succession of waste land, hilly regions, cultivated plains, and wooded heights, as in other countries, with an abundance of people, but not more than the land could support, if properly tilled.

The people are grouped into hamlets and villages, under the control of village elders and officers. In the district of Nanhai, which forms the western part of the city of Canton, and the surrounding country for more than a hundred square miles, there are one hundred and eighty hiang or villages; the population of each hiang varies from two hundred and upwards to one hundred thousand, but ordinarily ranges between three hundred and thirty-five hundred. If each of the eighty-eight districts in the province of Kwangtung contains the same number of hiang, there will be, including the district towns, 15,928 villages, towns, and cities in all, with an average population of twelve hundred inhabitants to each. From the top of the hills on Dane’s Island, at Whampoa, thirty-six towns and villages can be counted, of which Canton is one; and four of these contain from twelve to fifteen hundred houses. The whole district of Hiangshan, in which Macao lies, is also well covered with villages, though their exact number is not known. The island of Amoy contains more than fourscore villages and towns, and this island forms only a part of the district of Tung-ngan. The banks of the river leading from Amoy up to Changchau fu, are likewise well peopled. The environs of Ningpo and Shanghai are closely settled, though that is no more than one always expects near large cities, where the demand for food in the city itself causes the vicinity to be well peopled and tilled. In a notice of an irruption of the sea in 1819, along the coast of Shantung, it was reported that a hundred and forty villages were laid under water.

Marco Polo describes the mode followed in the days of Kublai khan: “It is the custom for every burgess of the city, and in fact for every description of person in it, to write over his door his own name, the name of his wife, and those of his children, his slaves, and all the inmates of his house, and also the number of animals that he keeps. And if any one dies in the house, then the name of that person is erased, and if a child is born its name is added. So in this way the sovereign is able to know exactly the population of the city. And this is the practice throughout all Manzi and Cathay.”[159] This custom was observed long before the Mongol conquest, and is followed at present; so that it is perhaps easier to take a census in China than in most European countries.

The law upon this subject is contained in Secs. LXXV. and LXXVI. of the statutes. It enacts various penalties for not registering the members of a family, and its provisions all go to show that the people are desirous rather of evading the census than of exaggerating it. When a family has omitted to make any entry, the head of it is liable to be punished with one hundred blows if he is a freeholder, and with eighty if he is not. If the master of a family has among his household another distinct family whom he omits to register, the punishment is the same as in the last clause, with a modification, according as the unregistered persons and family are relatives or strangers. Persons in government employ omitting to register their families, are less severely punished. A master of family failing to register all the males in his household who are liable to public service, shall be punished with from sixty to one hundred blows, according to the demerits of the offence; this clause was in effect repealed, when the land tax was substituted for the capitation tax. Omissions, from neglect or inadvertency to register all the individuals and families in a village or town, on the part of the headmen or government clerks, are punishable with different degrees of severity. All persons whatsoever are to be registered according to their accustomed occupations or professions, whether civil or military, whether couriers, artisans, physicians, astrologers, laborers, musicians, or of any other denomination whatever; and subterfuges in representing one’s self as belonging to a profession not liable to public service, are visited as usual with the bamboo; persons falsely describing themselves as belonging to the army, in order to evade public service, are banished as well as beaten.[160] From these clauses it is seen that the Manchus have extended the enumeration to classes which were exempted in the Han, Tang, and other dynasties, and thus come nearer to the actual population.

“In the Chinese government,” observes Dr. Morrison, “there appears great regularity and system. Every district has its appropriate officers, every street its constable, and every ten houses their tything man. Thus they have all the requisite means of ascertaining the population with considerable accuracy. Every family is required to have a board always hanging up in the house, and ready for the inspection of authorized officers, on which the names of all persons, men, women, and children, in the house are inscribed. This board is called mun-pai or ‘door-tablet,’ because when there are women and children within, the officers are expected to take the account from the board at the door. Were all the inmates of a family faithfully inserted, the amount of the population would, of course, be ascertained with great accuracy. But it is said that names are sometimes omitted through neglect or design; others think that the account of persons given in is generally correct.” The door-tablets are sometimes pasted on the door, thus serving as a kind of door-plate; in these cases correctness of enumeration is readily secured, for the neighbors are likely to know if the record is below the truth, and the householder is not likely to exaggerate the taxable inmates under his roof. I have read these mun-pai on the doors of a long row of houses; they were printed blanks filled in, and then pasted outside for the pao-kiah or tithing man to examine. Both Dr. Morrison and his son, than whom no one has had better opportunities to know the true state of the case, or been more desirous of dealing fairly with the Chinese, regarded the censuses given in the General Statistics as more trustworthy than any other documents available.

In conclusion, it may be asked, are the results of the enumeration of the people, as contained in the statistical works published by the government, to be rejected or doubted, therefore, because the Chinese officers do not wish to ascertain the exact population; or because they are not capable of doing it; or, lastly, because they wish to impose upon foreign powers by an arithmetical array of millions they do not possess? The question seems to hang upon this trilemma. It is acknowledged that they falsify or garble statements in a manner calculated to throw doubt upon everything they write, as in the reports of victories and battles sent to the Emperor, in the memorials upon the opium trade, in their descriptions of natural objects in books of medicine, and in many other things. But the question is as applicable to China as to France: is the estimated population of France in 1801 to be called in question, because the Moniteur gave false accounts of Napoleon’s battles in 1813? It would be a strange combination of conceit and folly, for a ministry composed of men able to carry on all the details of a complicated government like that of China, to systematically exaggerate the population, and then proceed, for more than a century, with taxation, disbursements, and official appointments, founded upon these censuses. Somebody at least must know them to be worthless, and the proof that they were so, must, one would think, ere long be apparent. The provinces and departments have been divided and subdivided since the Jesuits made their survey, because they were becoming too densely settled for the same officers to rule over them.

Still less will any one assert that the Chinese are not capable of taking as accurate a census as they are of measuring distances, or laying out districts and townships. Errors may be found in the former as well as in the latter, and doubtless are so; for it is not contended that the four censuses of 1711, 1753, 1792, and 1812 are as accurate as those now taken in England, France, or the United States, but that they are the best data extant, and that if they are rejected we leave tolerable evidence and take up with that which is doubtful and suppositive. The censuses taken in China since the Christian era are, on the whole, more satisfactory than those of all other nations put together up to the Reformation, and further careful research will no doubt increase our respect for them.

Ere long we may be able to traverse a census in its details of record and deduction, and thus satisfy a reasonable curiosity, especially as to the last reported total after the carnage of the rebellion. On the other hand, it may be stated that in the last census, the entire population of Manchuria, Koko-nor, Ílí, and Mongolia, is estimated at only 2,167,286 persons, and nearly all the inhabitants of those vast regions are subject to the Emperor. The population of Tibet is not included in any census, its people not being taxable. It is doubtful if an enumeration of any part of the extra provincial territory has ever been taken, inasmuch as the Mongol tribes, and still less the Usbeck or other Moslem races, are unused to such a thing, and would not be numbered. Yet, the Chinese cannot be charged with exaggeration, when good judges, as Klaproth and others, reckon the whole at between six and seven millions; and Khoten alone, one author states, has three and a half millions. No writer of importance estimates the inhabitants of these regions as high as thirty millions—as does R. Mont. Martin—which would be more than ten to a square mile, excluding Gobi; while Siberia (though not so well peopled) has only 3,611,300 persons on an area of 2,649,600 square miles, or 1⅓ to each square mile.

The reasons just given why the Chinese desire posterity are not all those which have favored national increase. The uninterrupted peace which the country enjoyed between the years 1700 and 1850 operated to greatly develop its resources. Every encouragement has been given to all classes to multiply and fill the land. Polygamy, slavery, and prostitution, three social evils which check increase, have been circumscribed in their effects. Early betrothment and poverty do much to prevent the first; female slaves can be and are usually married; while public prostitution is reduced by a separation of the sexes and early marriages. No fears of overpassing the supply of food restrain the people from rearing families, though the Emperor Kienlung issued a proclamation in 1793, calling upon all ranks of his subjects to economize the gifts of heaven, lest, erelong, the people exceed the means of subsistence.

It is difficult to see what this or that reason or objection has to do with the subject, except where the laws of population are set at defiance, which is not the case in China. Food and work, peace and security, climate and fertile soil, not universities or steamboats, are the encouragements needed for the multiplication of mankind; though they do not have that effect in all countries (as in Mexico and Brazil), it is no reason why they should not in others. There are grounds for believing that not more than two-thirds of the whole population of China were included in the census of 1711, but that allowance cannot be made for Ireland in 1785; and consequently, her annual percentage of increase, up to 1841, would then be greater than China, during the forty-two years ending with 1753. McCulloch quotes De Guignes approvingly, but the Frenchman takes the rough estimate of 333,000,000 given to Macartney, which is less trustworthy than that of 307,467,200, and compares it with Grosier’s of 157,343,975, which is certainly wrong through his misinterpretation. De Guignes proceeds from the data in his possession in 1802 (which were less than those now available), and from his own observations in travelling through the country in 1796, to show the improbability of the estimated population. But the observations made in journeys, taken as were those of the English and Dutch embassies, though they passed through some of the best provinces, cannot be regarded as good evidence against official statistics.

Would any one suppose, in travelling from Boston to Chatham, and then from Albany to Buffalo, along the railroad, that Massachusetts contained, in 1870, exactly double the population on a square mile of New York? So, in going from Peking to Canton, the judgment which six intelligent travellers might form of the population of China could easily be found to differ by one-half. De Guignes says, after comparing China with Holland and France, “All these reasons clearly demonstrate that the population of China does not exceed that of other countries;” and such is in truth the case, if the kind of food, number of crops, and materials of dress be taken into account. His remarks on the population and productiveness of the country are, like his whole work, replete with good sense and candor; but some of his deductions would have been different, had he been in possession of all the data since obtained.[161] The discrepancies between the different censuses have been usually considered a strong internal evidence against them, and they should receive due consideration. The really difficult point is to fix the percentage that must be allowed for the classes not included as taxable, and the power of the government to enumerate those who wished to avoid a census and the subsequent taxation.

After all these reasons for receiving the total of 1812 as the best one, there are, on the other hand, two principal objections against taking the Chinese census as altogether trustworthy. The first is the enormous averages of 850, 705, and 671 inhabitants on a square mile, severally apportioned to Kiangsu, Nganhwui, and Chehkiang, or, what is perhaps a fairer calculation, of 458 persons to the nine eastern provinces. Whatever amount of circumstantial evidence may be brought forward in confirmation of the census as a whole, and explanation of the mode of taking it, a more positive proof seems to be necessary before giving implicit credence to this result. Such a population on such an extensive area is marvellous, notwithstanding the fertility of the soil, facilities of navigation, and salubrity of the climate of these regions, although acknowledged to be almost unequalled. While we admit the full force of all that has been urged in support of the census, and are willing to take it as the best document on the subject extant, it is desirable to have proofs derived from personal observation, and to defer the settlement of this question until better opportunities are afforded. So high an average is, indeed, not without example. Captain Wilkes ascertained, in 1840, that one of the islands of the Fiji group supported a population of over a thousand on a square mile. On Lord North’s Island, in the Pelew group, the crew of the American whaler Mentor ascertained there were four hundred inhabitants living on half a square mile. These, and many other islands in that genial clime, contain a population far exceeding that of any large country, and each separate community is obliged to depend wholly on its own labor. They cannot, however, be cited as altogether parallel cases, though if it be true, as Barrow says, “that an acre of cotton will clothe two or three hundred persons,” not much more land need be occupied with cotton or mulberry plants, for clothing in China, than in the South Sea Islands.

The second objection against receiving the result of the census is, that we are not well informed as to the mode of enumerating the people by families, and the manner of taking the account, when the patriarch of two or three generations lives in a hamlet, with all his children and domestics around him. Two of the provisions in Sec. XXV. of the Code, seem to be designed for some such state of society; and the liability to underrate the males fit for public service, when a capitation tax was ordered, and to overrate the inmates of such a house, when the head of it might suppose he would thereby receive increased aid from government when calamity overtook him, are equally apparent. The door-tablet is also liable to mistake, and in shops and workhouses, where the clerks and workmen live and sleep on the premises, it is not known what kind of report of families the assessors make. On these important points our present information is imperfect, while the evident liability to serious error in the ultimate results makes one hesitate. The Chinese may have taken a census satisfactory for their purposes, showing the number of families, and the average in each; but the point of this objection is, that we do not know how the families are enumerated, and therefore are at fault in reckoning the individuals. The average of persons in a household is set down at five by the Chinese, and in England, in 1831, it was 4.7, but it is probably less than that in a thickly settled country, if every married couple and their children be taken as a family, whether living by themselves, or grouped in patriarchal hamlets.

No one doubts that the population is enormous, constituting by far the greatest assemblage of human beings using one speech ever congregated under one monarch. To the merchants and manufacturers of the West, the determination of this question is of some importance, and through them to their governments. The political economist and philologist, the naturalist and geographer, have also greater or less degrees of interest in the contemplation of such a people, inhabiting so beautiful and fertile a country. But the Christian philanthropist turns to the consideration of this subject with the liveliest solicitude; for if the weight of evidence is in favor of the highest estimate, he feels his responsibility increase to a painful degree. The danger to this people is furthermore greatly enhanced by the opium traffic—a trade which, as if the Rivers Phlegethon and Lethe were united in it, carries fire and destruction wherever it flows, and leaves a deadly forgetfulness wherever it has passed. Let these facts appeal to all calling themselves Christians, to send the antidote to this baleful drug, and diffuse a knowledge of the principles of the Gospel among them, thereby placing life as well as death before them.

If the population of the Empire is not easily ascertained, a satisfactory account of the public revenue and expenditures is still more difficult to obtain; it possesses far less interest, of course, in itself, and in such a country as China is subject to many variations. The market value of the grain, silk, and other products in which a large proportion of the taxes are paid, varies from year to year; and although this does not materially affect the government which receives these articles, it complicates the subject very much when attempting to ascertain the real taxation. Statistics on these subjects are only of recent date in Europe, and should not yet be looked for in China, drawn up with much regard to truth. The central government requires each province to support itself, and furnish a certain surplusage for the maintenance of the Emperor and his court; but it is well known that his Majesty is continually embarrassed for the want of funds, and that the provinces do not all supply enough revenue to meet their own outlays.

The amounts given by various authors as the revenue of China at different times, are so discordant, that a single glance shows that they were obtained from partial or incomplete returns, or else refer only to the surplusage sent to the capital. De Guignes remarks very truly, that the Chinese are so fully persuaded of the riches, power, and resources of their country, that a foreigner is likely to receive different accounts from every native he asks; but there appears to be no good reason why the government should falsify or abridge their fiscal accounts. In 1587, Trigault, one of the French missionaries, stated the revenue at only tls. 20,000,000. In 1655, Nieuhoff reckoned it at tls. 108,000,000. About twelve years after, Magalhaens gave the treasures of the Emperor at $20,423,962; and Le Comte, about the same time, placed the revenue at $22,000,000, and both of them estimated the receipts from rice, silk, etc, at $30,000,000, making the whole revenue previous to Kanghí’s death, in 1721, between fifty and seventy millions of dollars. Barrow reckoned the receipts from all sources in 1796 at tls. 198,000,000, derived from a rough estimate given by the commissioner who accompanied the embassy. Sir George Staunton places the total sum at $330,000,000; of which $60,000,000 only were transmitted to Peking. Medhurst, drawing his information from original sources, thus states the principal items of the receipts:

The shih of rice is estimated at $3, but this does not include the cost of transportation to the capital.[162] At $200,000,000, the tax received by government from each person on an average is about sixty cents; Barrow estimates the capitation at about ninety cents. The account of the revenue in taels from each province given in the table of population on page 264, is extracted from the Red Book for 1840;[163] the account of the revenue in rice, as stated in the official documents for that year, is 4,114,000 shih, or about five hundred and fifty millions of pounds, calling each shih a pecul. The manner in which the various items of the revenue are divided is thus stated for Kwangtung, in the Red Book for 1842:

This is evidently only the sum sent to the capital from this province, ostensibly as the revenue, and which the provincial treasury must collect. The real receipts from this province or any other cannot well be ascertained by foreigners; it is, however, known, that in former years, the collector of customs at Canton was obliged to remit annually from eight hundred thousand to one million three hundred thousand taels, and the gross receipts of his office were not far from three millions of taels.[164] This was then the richest collectorate in the Empire; but since the foreign trade at the open ports has been placed under foreign supervision, the resources of the Empire have been better reported. A recent analysis of the sources of revenue in the Eighteen Provinces has been furnished by the customs service; it places them under different headings from the preceding list, though the total does not materially differ. Out of this whole amount the sum derived from the trade in foreign shipping goes most directly to the central exchequer.

De Guignes has examined the subject of the revenue with his usual caution, and bases his calculations on a proclamation of Kienlung in 1777, in which it was stated that the total income in bullion at that period was tls. 27,967,000.

The difference of about eighty millions of dollars between this amount and that given by Medhurst, will not surprise one who has looked into this perplexing matter. All these calculations are based on approximations, which, although easily made up, cannot be verified to our satisfaction; but all agree in placing the total amount of revenue below that of any European government in proportion to the population. In 1823, a paper was published by a graduate upon the fiscal condition of the country, in which he gave a careful analysis of the receipts and disbursements. P. P. Thoms translated it in detail, and summarized the former under three heads of taxes reckoned at tls. 33,327,056, rice sent to Peking 6,346,438, and supplies to army 7,227,360—in all tls. 46,900,854. Out of the first sum tls. 24,507,933 went to civilians and the army, leaving tls. 5,819,123 for the Peking government, and tls. 3,000,000 for the Yellow River repairs and Yuen-ming Palace. The resources of the Empire this writer foots up at tls. 74,461,633, or just one-half of what Medhurst gives. The extraordinary sources of revenue which are resorted to in time of war or bad harvests, are sale of office and honors, temporary increase of duties, and demands for contributions from wealthy merchants and landholders. The first is the most fruitful source, and may be regarded rather as a permanent than a temporary expediency employed to make up deficiencies. The mines of gold and silver, pearl fisheries in Manchuria and elsewhere, precious stones brought from Ílí and Khoten, and other localities, furnish several millions.

The expenditures, almost every year, exceed the revenue, but how the deficit is supplied does not clearly appear; it has been sometimes drawn from the rich by force, at other times made good by paltering with the currency, as in 1852-55, and again by reducing rations and salaries. In 1832, the Emperor said the excess of disbursements was tls. 28,000,000;[165] and, in 1836, the defalcation was still greater, and offices and titles to the amount of tls. 10,000,000 were put up for sale to supply it. This deficiency has become more and more alarming since the drain of specie annually sent abroad in payment for opium has been increased by military exactions for suppressing the rebellion up to 1867. At that date the Empire began to recuperate. The principal items of the expenditure are thus stated by De Guignes:

This, according to his calculation, shows a surplus of nearly twenty millions of taels every year. But the outlays for quelling insurrections and transporting troops, deficiency from bad harvests, defalcation of officers, payments to the tribes and princes in Mongolia and Ílí, and other unusual demands, more than exceed this surplus. In 1833, the Peking Gazette contained an elaborate paper on the revenue, proposing various ways and means for increasing it. The author, named Na, says the income from land tax, the gabel, customs and transit duty, does not in all exceed forty millions of taels, while the expenditures should not much transcend thirty in years of peace.[166] This places the budget much lower than other authorities, but the censor perhaps includes only the imperial resources, though the estimate would then be too high. The pay and equipment of the troops is the largest item of expenditure, and it is probable that here the apparent force and pay are far too great, and that reductions are constantly made in this department by compelling the soldiers to depend more and more for support upon the plats of land belonging to them. It is considered the best evidence of good government on the part of an officer to render his account of the revenue satisfactorily, but from the injudicious system which exists of combining fiscal, legislative, and judicial functions and control in the same person, the temptations to defraud are strong, and the peculations proportionably great.

The salaries of officers, for some reasons, are placed so low as to prove that the legal allowances were really the nominal incomes, and the sums set against their names in the Red Book as yang tien, or anti-extortion perquisites (lit., ‘nourishing frugality’), are the salaries. That of a governor-general is from 15,000 to 25,000 taels for the latter, and only 180 or 200 taels for the legal salary; a governor gets 15,000 when he is alone, and 10,000 or 12,000 when under a governor-general; a treasurer from 4,500 to 10,000; a judge from 3,000 to 8,000; a prefect from 2,000 to 4,500; district magistrates from 700 to 1,000, according to the onerousness of the post; an intendant from 3,000 to 4,500; a literary chancellor from 2,000 to 5,000; and military men from 4,000 taels down to 100 or 150 per annum. The perquisites of the highest and lowest officers are disproportionate, for the people prefer to lay their important cases before the highest courts at once, in order to avoid the expense of passing through those of a lower grade. The personal disposition of the functionary modifies the exactions he makes upon the people so much, that no guess can be made as to the amount.

The land tax is the principal resource for the revenue in rural districts, and this is well understood by all parties, so that there is less room for exactions. The land tax is from 1½ to 10 cents a mao (or from 10 to 66 cents an acre), according to the quality of the land, and difficulty of tillage; taking the average at 25 cents an acre, the income from this source would be upward of 150 millions of dollars. The clerks, constables, lictors, and underlings of the courts and prisons, are the “claws” of their superiors, as the Chinese aptly call them, and perform most of their extortions, and are correspondingly odious to the people. In towns and trading places, it is easier for the officers to exact in various ways from wealthy people, than in the country, where rich people often hire bodies of retainers to defy the police, and practise extortion and robbery themselves. Like other Asiatic governments, China suffers from the consequences of bribery, peculation, extortion, and poorly paid officers, but she has no powerful aristocracy to retain the money thus squeezed out of the people, and ere long it finds its way out of the hands of emperors and ministers back into the mass of the people. The Chinese believe, however, that the Emperor annually remits such amounts as he is able to collect into Mukden, in time of extremity; but latterly he has not been able to do so at all, and probably never sent as much to that city as the popular ideas imagine. The sum applied to filling the granaries is much larger, but this popular provision in case of need is really a light draft upon the resources of the country, as it is usually managed. In Canton, there are only fourteen buildings appropriated to this purpose, few of them more than thirty feet square, and none of them full.

CHAPTER VI. NATURAL HISTORY OF CHINA.

The succinct account of the natural history of China given by Sir John Davis in 1836, contained nearly all the popular notices of much value then known, and need not be repeated, while summarizing the items derived from other and later sources. Malte-Brun observed long ago, “That of even the more general, and, according to the usual estimate, the more important features of that vast sovereignty, we owe whatever knowledge we have obtained to some ambassadors who have seen the courts and the great roads—to certain merchants who have inhabited a suburb of a frontier town—and to several missionaries who, generally more credulous than discriminating, have contrived to penetrate in various directions into the interior.” The volumes upon China in the Edinburgh Cabinet Library contain the best digest of what was known forty years since on this subject. The botanical collections of Robert Fortune in 1844-1849, and those of Col. Champion at Hongkong, have been studied by Bentham, while the later researches of Hance, Bunge and Maximowitch have brought many new forms to notice. In geology, Pumpelly, Kingsmill, Bickmore, and Baron Richthofen have greatly enlarged and certified our knowledge by their travels and memoirs; while Père David, Col. Prejevalsky, Swinhoe, Stimpson, and Sir John Richardson have added hundreds of new species to the scientific fauna of the Empire.

Personal investigation is particularly necessary in all that relates to the geology and fossils of a country, and the knowledge possessed on these heads is, it must be conceded, still meagre, though now sufficient to convey a general idea of the formations, deposits, and contents of the mountains and mines, as well as the agencies at work in modifying the surface of this land. The descriptions and observed facts recorded in native books may furnish valuable hints when they can be compared with the places and productions, for at present the difficulty of explaining terms used, and understanding the processes described, render these treatises hard to translate. The empirical character of Chinese science compels a careful sifting of all its facts and speculations by comparisons with nature, while the amount of real information contained in medical, topographical, and itinerant works render them always worth examining. Large regions still await careful examination in every part of the Empire; and it will be well for the Chinese Government if no tempting metallic deposits are found to test its strength to protect and work them for its own benefit. But in mere science it cannot be doubted that so peculiar a part of the world as the plateau of Central Asia will, when thoroughly examined, solve many problems relating to geology, and disclose many important facts to illustrate the obscure phenomena of other parts of the world.

A few notices of geological formations furnished in the writings of travellers, have already been given in the geographical account of the provinces. The summary published by Davis is a well digested survey of the observations collected by the gentlemen attached to the embassies.[167]

The loess-beds, covering a great portion of Northern China, are among the most peculiar natural phenomena and interesting fields for geological investigation on the world’s surface. Since attention was first directed to this deposit by Pumpelly, in 1864, its formation and extent have been more carefully examined by other geologists, whose hypotheses are now pretty generally discarded for that of Baron von Richthofen. The loess territory begins, at its eastern limit, with the foot hills of the great alluvial plane. From this rises a terrace of from 90 to 250 feet in height, consisting entirely of loess, and westward of it, in a nearly north and south line, stretches the Tai-hang shan, or dividing range between the alluvial land and the hill country of Shansí. An almost uninterrupted loess-covered country extends west of this line to the Koko-nor and head-waters of the Yellow River. On the north the formation can be traced from the vicinity of Kalgan, along the water-shed of the Mongolian steppes, and into the desert beyond the Ala shan. Toward the south its limits are less sharply defined; though covering all the country of the Wei basin (in Shensí), none is found in Sz’chuen, due south of this valley, but it appears in parts of Honan and Eastern Shantung. Excepting occasional spurs and isolated spots—as at Nanking and the Lakes Poyang and Tungting—loess may be considered as ending everywhere on the north side of the Yangtsz’ valley, and, roughly speaking, to cover the parallelogram between longs. 99° and 115°, and lats. 33° and 41°. The district within China Proper represents a territory half as large again as that of the German Empire, while outside of the Provinces there is reason to believe that loess spreads far toward the east and north. In the Wu-tai shan (Shansí), Richthofen observed this deposit to a height of 7,200 feet above the sea, and supposes that it may occur at higher levels.

The term loess, now generally accepted, has been used to designate a tertiary deposit appearing in the Rhine valley and several isolated sections of Europe; its formation has heretofore been ascribed to glaciers, but its enormous extent and thickness in China demand some other origin. The substance is a brownish colored earth, extremely porous, and when dry easily powdered between the fingers, when it becomes an impalpable dust that may be rubbed into the pores of the skin. Its particles are somewhat angular in shape, the lumps varying from the size of a peanut to a foot in length, whose appearance warrants the peculiarly appropriate Chinese name meaning ‘ginger stones.’ After washing, the stuff is readily disintegrated, and spread far and wide by rivers during their freshets; Kingsmill[168] states that a number of specimens which crumbled in the moist air of a Shanghai summer, rearranged themselves afterward in the bottom of a drawer in which they had been placed. Every atom of loess is perforated by small tubes, usually very minute, circulating after the manner of root-fibres, and lined with a thin coating of carbonate of lime. The direction of these little canals being always from above downward, cleavage in the loess mass, irrespective of its size, is invariably vertical, while from the same cause surface water never collects in the form of rain puddles or lakes, but sinks at once to the local water level.

One of the most striking, as well as important phenomena of this formation is the perpendicular splitting of its mass into sudden and multitudinous clefts that cut up the country in every direction, and render observation, as well as travel, often exceedingly difficult. The cliffs, caused by erosion, vary from cracks measured by inches to cañons half a mile wide and hundreds of feet deep; they branch out in every direction, ramifying through the country after the manner of tree-roots in the soil—from each root a rootlet, and from these other small fibres—until the system of passages develops into a labyrinth of far-reaching and intermingling lanes. Were the loess throughout of the uniform structure seen in single clefts, such a region would indeed be absolutely impassable, the vertical banks becoming precipices of often more than a thousand feet. The fact, however, that loess exhibits all over a terrace formation, renders its surface not only habitable, but highly convenient for agricultural purposes; it has given rise, moreover, to the theory advanced by Kingsmill and some others, of its stratification, and from this a proof of its origin as a marine deposit. Richthofen argues that these apparent layers of loess are due to external conditions, as of rocks and débris sliding from surrounding hillsides upon the loess as it sifted into the basin or valley, thus interrupting the homogeneity of the gradually rising deposit. In the sides of gorges near the mountains are seen layers of coarse débris which, in going toward the valley, become finer, while the layers themselves are thinner and separated by an increasing vertical distance; along these rubble beds are numerous calcareous concretions which stand upright. These are then the terrace-forming layers which, by their resistance to the action of water, cause the broken chasms and step-like contour of the loess regions. Each bank does indeed cleave vertically, sometimes—since the erosion works from below—leaving an overhanging bank; but meeting with this horizontal layer of marl stones, the abrasion is interrupted, and a ledge is made. Falling clods upon such spaces are gradually spread over their surfaces by natural action, converting them into rich fields. When seen from a height in good seasons, these systems of terraces present an endless succession of green fields and growing crops; viewed from the deep cut of a road below, the traveller sees nothing but yellow walls of loam and dusty tiers of loess ridges. As may be readily imagined, a country of this nature exhibits many landscapes of unrivalled picturesqueness, especially when lofty crags, which some variation in the water-course has left as giant guardsmen in fertile river valleys, stand out in bold relief against the green background of neighboring hills and a fruitful alluvial bottom, or when an opening of some ascending pass allows the eye to range over leagues of sharp-cut ridges and teaming crops, the work of the careful cultivator.

The extreme ease with which loess is cut away tends at times to seriously embarrass traffic. Dust made by the cart-wheels on a highway is taken up by strong winds during the dry season and blown over the surrounding lands, much after the manner in which it was originally deposited here. This action continued over centuries, and assisted by occasional deluges of rain, which find a ready channel in the road-bed, has hollowed the country routes into depressions of often 50 or 100 feet, where the passenger may ride for miles without obtaining a glimpse of the surrounding scenery. Lieutenant Kreitner, of the Széchenyí exploring expedition, illustrates,[169] in a personal experience in Shansí, the difficulty and danger of leaving these deep cuts; after scrambling for miles along the broken loess above the road, he only regained it when a further passage was cut off by a precipice on the one side, while a jump of some 30 feet into the beaten track below awaited him on the other. Difficult as may be such a territory for roads and the purposes of trade, the advantages to a farmer are manifold. Wherever this deposit extends, there the husbandman has an assured harvest, two and even three times in a year. It is easily worked, exceedingly fertile, and submits to constant tillage, with no other manure than a sprinkling of its own loam dug from the nearest bank. But loess performs still another service to its inhabitants. Caves made at the base of its straight clefts afford homes to millions of people in the northern provinces. Choosing an escarpment where the consistency of the earth is greatest, the natives cut for themselves rooms and houses, whose partition walls, cement, bed and furniture are made from the same loess. Whole villages cluster together in a series of adjoining or superimposed chambers, some of which pierce the soil to a depth of often more than 200 feet. In more costly dwellings the terrace or succession of terraces thus perforated are faced with brick, as well as the arching of rooms within. The advantages of such habitations consist as well in imperviousness to changes of temperature without, as in their durability when constructed in properly selected places, many loess dwellings outlasting six or seven generations. The capabilities of defence in a country such as this, where an invading army must inevitably become lost in the tangle of interlacing ways, and where the defenders may always remain concealed, is very suggestive.

Facade of Dwelling in Loess Cliffs, Ling-shí hien. (From Richthofen.)

There remains, lastly, a peculiar property of loess which is perhaps more important than all other features when measured by its man-serving efficiency. This is the manner in which it brings forth crops without the aid of manure. From a period more than 2,000 years before Christ, to the present day, the province of Shansí has borne the name of Grainery of the Empire, while its fertile soil, hwang-tu, or ‘yellow earth,’ is the origin of the imperial color. Spite of this productiveness, which, in the fourteenth century, caused the Friar Odoric to class it as the second country in the world, its present capacity for raising crops seems to be as great as ever. In the nature of this substance lies the reason for this apparently inexhaustible fecundity. Its remarkably porous structure must indeed cause it to absorb the gases necessary to plant life to a much greater degree than other soils, but the stable production of those mineral substances needful to the yearly succession of crops is in the ground itself. The salts contained more or less in solution at the water level of the region are freed by the capillary action of the loess when rain-water sinks through the spongy mass from above. Surface moisture following the downward direction of the tiny loess tubes establishes a connection with the waters compressed below, when, owing to the law of diffusion, the ingredients, being released, mix with the moisture of the little canals, and are taken from the lowest to the topmost levels, permeating the ground and furnishing nourishment to the plant roots at the surface. It is on account of this curious action of loess that a copious rain-fall is more necessary in North China than elsewhere, for with a dearth of rain the capillary communication from above, below, and vice versa, is interrupted, and vegetation loses both its manure and moisture. Drought and famine are consequently synonymous terms here.

As to the formation and origin of loess, Richthofen’s theory is substantially as follows:[170] The uniform composition of this material over extended areas, coupled with the absence of stratification and of marine or fresh-water organic remains, renders impossible the hypothesis that it is a water deposit. On the other hand, it contains vast quantities of land-shells and the vestiges of animals (mammalia) at every level, both in remarkably perfect condition. Concluding, also, that from the conformation of the neighboring mountain chains and their peculiar weathering, the glacial theory is inadmissible, he advances the supposition that loess is a sub-aërial deposit, and that its fields are the drained analogues of the steppe-basins of Central Asia. They date from a geological era of great dryness, before the existence of the Yellow and other rivers of the northern provinces. As the rocks and hills of the highlands disintegrated, the sand was removed, not by water-courses seaward, but by the high winds ranging over a treeless desert landward, until the dust settled in the grass-covered districts of what is at present China Proper. New vegetation was at once nourished, while its roots were raised by the constantly arriving deposit; the decay of old roots produced the lime-lined canals which impart to this material its peculiar characteristics. Any one who has observed the terrible dust-storms of North China, when the air is filled with an impalpable yellow powder, which leaves its coating upon everything, and often extends, in a fog-like cloud, hundreds of miles to sea, will understand the power of this action during many thousand years. This deposition received the shells and bones of innumerable animals, while the dissolved solutions contained in its bulk stayed therein, or saturated the water of small lakes. By the sinking of mountain chains in the south, rain-clouds emptied themselves over this region with much greater frequency, and gradually the system became drained, the erosion working backward from the coast, slowly cutting into one basin after another. With the sinking of its salts to lower levels, unexampled richness was added to the wonderful topography of this peculiar formation.[171]

Pumpelly, while accepting this ingenious theory in place of his own (that of a fresh-water lake deposit), adds that the supply of loess might have been materially increased by the vast mers-de-glace of High Asia and the Tien shan, whose streams have for ages transported the products of glacial attrition into Central Asia and Northwest China. Again, he insists that Richthofen has not given importance enough to the parting planes, wrongly considered by his predecessors as planes of stratification. “These,” he says, “account for the marginal layers of débris brought down from the mountains. And the continuous and more abundant growth of grasses at one plane would produce a modification of the soil structurally and chemically, which superincumbent accumulations could never efface. It should seem probable that we have herein, also, the explanation of the calcareous concretions which abound along these planes; for the greater amount of carbonic acid generated by the slow decay of this vegetation would, by forming a bicarbonate, give to the lime the mobility necessary to produce the concretions.”

The metallic and mineral productions used in the arts comprise nearly everything found in other countries, and the common ones are furnished in such abundance, and at such rates, as conclusively prove them to be plenty and easily worked. The careful digest of observations published by Pumpelly through the Smithsonian Institution, carries out this remark, and indicates the vast field still to be explored. Coal exists in every province in China, and Pumpelly enumerates seventy-four localities which have been ascertained. Marco Polo’s well-known notice of its use shows that the people had long employed it: “It is a fact that all over the country of Cathay there is a kind of black stone existing in beds in the mountains, which they dig out and burn like firewood. It is true that they have plenty of wood also, but they do not burn it, because those stones burn better and cost less.”[172] This mineral seems to have been unknown in Europe till after the return of the Venetian to his native land, while it was employed before the Christian era in China, and probably in very ancient times, if the accessible deposits in Shensí then cropped out in its eroded gorges, as represented by Richthofen. The few fossil plants hitherto examined indicate that the mass of these deposits are of the Mesozoic age. The mode of working the coal mines is described by Pumpelly,[173] and was probably no worse two thousand five hundred years ago. Want of machinery for draining them prevents the miners from going much below the water-level, and a rain-storm will sometimes flood and ruin a shaft. An inclined plane seldom takes the workmen more than a hundred feet below the level of the mouth, and then a horizontal gallery conducts him to the end of the mine. Some water is bailed out by buckets handed from one level up to another at the top, and the coal is carried out in baskets on the miners’ backs, or dragged in sleds over smooth, round sticks along passages too low for the coolies to do better than crawl as they work. Mr. Pumpelly found the gallery of one mine near Peking so low that he had to crawl the whole distance (six thousand feet) to see its construction, and when he emerged into daylight, with his knees nearly skinned, ascertained that the workmen padded theirs. The timbering is very expensive, yet, with all drawbacks, the coal sells, at the pit’s mouth, for $2.00 down to 50 cents a ton. The mines, lying on the slopes of the plateau reaching from near Corea to the Yellow River, supply the plain with cheap and excellent fuel.

Blakiston gives an account of the manner in which coal is worked on the Upper Yangtsz’, near the town of Süchau: “Having to be got out at a great height up in the cliff, very thick hawsers, made of plaited bamboo, are tightly stretched from the mouth, or near the mouth, of the working gallery, to a space near the water where the coal can be deposited. These ropes are in pairs, and large pannier-shaped baskets are made to traverse on them, a rope passing from one over a large wheel at the upper landing, and down again to the other, so that the full basket going down pulls the empty one up, the velocity being regulated by a kind of brake on the wheel at the top. At some places the height at which the coal is worked is so great that two or more of these contrivances are used, one taking to a landing half way down, and another from thence to the river. The hawsers are kept taut by a windlass for that purpose at the bottom.”[174] This useful mineral appears to be abundant throughout Sz’chuen Province, and is used here much less sparingly than in the east. With such inexpensive methods of getting coal to the water-courses, foreign machinery can hardly be expected to reduce its price very materially.

COAL GORGE ON THE YANGTSZ’. (FROM BLAKISTON.)

The economical use of coal in the household and the arts has been carried to great perfection. Anthracite is powdered and mixed with wet clay, earth, sawdust or dung, according to the exigencies of the case, in the proportion of about seven to one; the balls thus made are dried in the sun. The brick-beds (kang) are effective means of warming the house, and the hand furnaces enable the poor to cook with these balls—aided by a little charcoal or kindlings—at a trifling expense. This form of consumption is common north of the Yellow River, and brings coal within reach of multitudes who otherwise would suffer and starve. Bituminous, brown, and other varieties of coal occur in the same abundance and extent as in other great areas, giving promise of adequate supplies for future ages. The coal worked on the Peh kiang, in Kwangtung, contains sulphur, and is employed in the manufacture of copperas.[175]

Crystallized gypsum is brought from the northwest of the province to Canton, and is ground to powder in mills; plaster of Paris and other forms of this sulphate are common all over China. It is not used as a manure, but the flour is mixed with wood-oil to form a cement for paying the seams of boats after they have been caulked. The powder is employed as a dentifrice, a cosmetic, and a medicine, and sometimes, also, is boiled to make a gruel in fevers, under the idea that it is cooling. The bakers who supplied the English troops at Amoy, in 1843, occasionally put it into the bread to make it heavier, but not, as was erroneously charged upon them, with any design of poisoning their customers, for they do not think it noxious; its employment in coloring green tea, and adulterating powdered sugar, is also explainable by other motives than a wish to injure the consumers.

Limestone is abundant at Canton, both common clouded marble and blue limestone; the last is extensively used in the artificial rockwork of gardens. Even if the Cantonese knew of the existence of lime in limestone, which they generally do not, the expense of fuel for calcining it would prevent their burning it while oyster-shells are so abundant in that region. In other provinces stone-lime is burned, by the aid of coal, in small kilns. The fine marble quarried near Peking is regarded as fit alone for imperial uses, and is seen only in such places as the Altar of Heaven and palace grounds. The marble used for floors is a fissile crystallized limestone, unsusceptible of polish; no statues or ornaments are sculptured from this mineral, but slabs are sometimes wrought out, and the surfaces curiously stained and corroded with acids, forming rude representations of animals or other figures, so as to convey the appearance of natural markings. Some of these simulated petrifactions are exceedingly well done. Slabs of argillaceous slate are also chosen with reference to their layers, and treated in the same manner. An excellent granite is used about Canton and Amoy for building, and no people exceed the Chinese in cutting it. Large slabs are split out by wooden wedges, cut for basements and foundations, and laid in a beautiful manner; pillars are also hewn from single stones of different shapes, though of no extraordinary dimensions, and their shafts embellished with inscriptions. Ornamental walls are frequently formed of large slabs set in posts, like panels, the outer faces of which are beautifully carved with figures representing a landscape or procession. Red and gray sandstone, gneiss, mica slate, and other species of rock, are also worked for pavements and walls.

Nitre is cheap and common enough in the northern provinces to obviate any fear of its being smuggled into the country from abroad; it is obtained in Chihlí by lixiviating the soil, and furnishes material for the manufacture of gunpowder. A lye is obtained from ashes, which partially serves the purposes of soap; but the people are still ignorant of the processes necessary for manufacturing it. Fourteen localities of alum are given in Pumpelly’s list, but the greatest supply for the eastern provinces comes from deposits of shale, in Ping-yang hien, in Chehkiang, which produces about six thousand tons annually. It is used mostly by the dyers, also to purify turbid water, and whiten paper. Other earthy salts are known and used, as borax, sal-ammoniac (which is collected in Mongolia and Ílí from lakes and the vicinity of extinct volcanoes), and blue and white vitriol, obtained by roasting pyrites. Common salt is procured along the eastern and southern coasts by evaporating sea-water, rock-salt not having been noticed; in the western provinces and Shansí, it is obtained from artesian wells and lakes as cheaply as from the ocean; in Tsing-yen hien, in Central Sz’chuen, two hundred and thirty-seven wells are worked. At Chusan the sea-water is so turbid that the inhabitants filter it through clay, afterward evaporating the water.

The minerals heretofore found in China have, for the most part, been such as have attracted the attention of the natives, and collected by them for curiosity or sale. The skilful manner in which their lapidaries cut crystal, agate, and other quartzose minerals, is well known.[176] The corundum used for polishing and finishing these carvings occurs in China, but a good deal of emery in powder is obtained from Borneo. A composition of granular corundum and gum-lac is usually employed by workmen in order to produce the highest lustre of which the stones are capable. The three varieties of the silicate of alumina, called jade, nephrite, and jadeite by mineralogists, are all named yuh by the Chinese, a word which is applied to a vast variety of stones—white marble, ruby, and cornelian all coming under it—and therefore not easy to define. Jade has long been known in Europe as a variety of jasper, its separation from that stone into a species by itself being of comparatively recent origin. Since the third edition of Boetius, in 1647, the two minerals have been regarded as entirely distinct. Its value in the eyes of the Chinese depends chiefly upon its sonorousness and color. The costliest specimens are brought from Yunnan and Khoten; a greenish-white color is the most highly prized, a plain color of any shade being of less value. A cargo of this mineral was once imported into Canton from New Holland, but the Chinese would not purchase it, owing to a fancy taken against its origin and color. The patient toil of the workers in this hard mineral is only equalled by the prodigious admiration with which it is regarded; both fairly exhibit the singular taste and skill of the Chinese. Its color is usually a greenish-white, or grayish-green and dark grass-green; internally it is scarcely glimmering. Its fracture is splintery; splinters white; mass semi-transparent and cloudy; it scratches glass strongly, and can itself generally be scratched by flint or quartz, but while not excessively hard it is remarkable for toughness. The stone when freshly broken is less hard than after a short exposure. Specific gravity from 2.9 to 3.1.[177] Fischer (pp. 314-318) gives some one hundred and fifty names as occurring in various authors—ancient and modern—for jade or nephrite.[178] An interesting testimony to the esteem in which this stone was held in China during the middle ages comes from Benedict Goës (1602), who says: “There is no article of traffic more valuable than lumps of a certain transparent kind of marble, which we, from poverty of language, usually call jasper.... Out of this marble they fashion a variety of articles, such as vases, brooches for mantles and girdles, which, when artistically sculptured in flowers and foliage, certainly have an effect of no small magnificence. These marbles (with which the Empire is now overflowing) are called by the Chinese Iusce. There are two kinds of it; the first and more valuable is got out of the river at Cotan, almost in the same way in which divers fish for gems, and this is usually extracted in pieces about as big as large flints. The other and inferior kind is excavated from the mountains.” The ruby, diamond, amethyst, sapphire, topaz, pink tourmaline, lapis-lazuli,[179] turquoises, beryl, garnet, opal, agate, and other stones, are known and most of them used in jewelry. A ruby brought from Peking is noticed by Bell as having been valued in Europe at $50,000. The seals of the Boards are in many instances cut on valuable stones, and private persons take great pride in quartz or jade seals, with their names carved on them; lignite and jet are likewise employed for cheaper ornaments, of which all classes are fond.

All the common metals, except platina, are found in China, and the supply would be sufficient for all the purposes of the inhabitants, if they could avail themselves of the improvements adopted in other countries in blasting, mining, etc. The importations of iron, lead, tin, and quicksilver, are gradually increasing, but they form only a small proportion of the amount used throughout the Empire, especially of the two first named; iron finds its way in because of its convenient forms more than its cheapness. The careful examination of Chinese topographical works by Pumpelly,[180] records the leading localities of iron in every province, and where copper, tin, lead, silver, and quicksilver have been observed; he also mentions fifty-two places producing gold in various forms, most of them in Sz’chuen. The rumor of gold-washings occurring not far from Chifu, in Shantung, caused much excitement in 1868, but they were soon found to be not worth the labor. Gold has never been used as coin in China, but is wrought into jewelry; most of it is consumed in gilding and exported to India as bullion, in the shape of small bars or coarse leaves.

Silver is mentioned in sixty-three localities by the same author; large amounts are brought from Yunnan, and the mines in that region must be both extensive and easily worked to afford such large quantities as have been exported. The working of both gold and silver mines has been said to be prohibited, but this interdiction is rather a government monopoly of the mines than an injunction upon working those which are known. The importation of gold into China during the two centuries the trade has been opened, does not probably equal the exportation which has taken place since the commencement of the opium trade. It is altogether improbable that the Chinese are acquainted with the properties of quicksilver in separating these two metals from their ores, though its consumption in making vermilion and looking-glasses calls for over two thousand flasks yearly at Canton. Cinnabar occurs in Kweichau and Shensí and furnishes most of the “water silver,” as the Chinese call it, by a rude process of burning brushwood in the wells, and collecting the metal after condensation.

Copper is used for manufacturing coin, bells, bronze articles, domestic and cooking utensils, cannon, gongs, and brass-foil. It is found pure in some instances, and the sulphuret, the blue and green carbonates, pyrities, and other ores are worked; malachite is ground for a paint. It occurs in every province, and is specially rich in Shansí and Kweichau. The ores of zinc and copper in Yunnan and Sz’chuen furnish spelter, and the peculiar alloy known as white copper or argentan, containing in addition tin, iron, nickel, and lead. So much use indicates large deposits of the ores. Tin is rather abundant, but lead is more common; thirty-nine localities of the first are mentioned, some of which are probably zinc ores, as the Chinese confound tin and zinc under one generic name. Lead occurs with silver in many places; twenty-four mines are mentioned in Pumpelly’s list, and those in Fuhkien are rich; but the extensive importations prove that its reduction is too expensive to compete with the foreign.

Realgar is quite common, this and orpiment being used as paints; statuettes and other articles are carved from the former, while arsenic is used in agriculture to quicken grain and preserve it from insects. Amber and fossilized copal are collected in several localities; the first is much employed in the making of court necklaces and hair ornaments. The fei-tsui or jadeite is the most prized of the semi-precious stones; it is cut into ear-rings, finger-rings, necklaces, etc. Pumpelly mentions pieces of this mineral set in relics obtained from tombs in Mexico, though no locality where it abounds has yet been found in America. Lapis-lazuli is employed in painting upon copper and porcelain ware; this mineral is obtained in Chehkiang and Kansuh; jadeite, topaz, and other fine stones are most plenty in Yunnan. A few minerals and fossils have been noticed in the vicinity and shops at Canton, but China thus far has furnished very few petrifactions in any strata. Coarse epidote occurs at Macao, and tungstate of iron has been noticed in the quartz rocks at Hongkong. Petrified crabs (macrophthalmus) have been brought to Canton from Hainan, which are prized by the natives for their supposed medicinal qualities. Scientists have hitherto described a score or more species of Devonian shells, and recognized fragments of the hyena, tapir, rhinoceros, and stegedon, among some other doubtful vertebratæ in the “dragon’s bones” sold in medicine shops; but further examinations will doubtless increase the list. Orthoceratites and bivalve shells of various kinds are noticed in Chinese books as being found in rocks, and fossil bones of huge size in caves and river banks.

There are many hot springs and other indications of volcanic action along the southern acclivities of the table land in the provinces of Shensí and Sz’chuen; and at Jeh-ho, in Chihlí, there are thermal springs to which invalids resort. The Ho tsing, or Fire wells, in Sz’chuen are apertures resembling artesian springs, sunk in the rock to a depth of one thousand five hundred or one thousand eight hundred feet, whilst their breadth does not exceed five or six inches. This is a work of great difficulty, and requires in some cases the labor of two or three years. The water procured from them contains a fifth part of salt, which is very acrid, and mixed with much nitre. When a lighted torch is applied to the mouth of some of those which have no water, fire is produced with great violence and a noise like thunder, bursting out into a flame twenty or thirty feet high, and which cannot be extinguished without great danger and expense. The gas has a bituminous smell, and burns with a bluish flame and a quantity of thick, black smoke. It is conducted under boilers in bamboos, and employed in evaporating the salt-water from the other springs.[181] Besides the gaseous and aqueous springs in these provinces, there are others possessing different qualities, some sulphurous and others chalybeate, found in Shansí and along the banks of the Yellow River. Sulphur occurs, as has been noted, in great abundance in Formosa, and is purified for powder manufacturers.

The animal and vegetable productions of the extensive regions under the sway of the Emperor of China include a great variety of types of different families. On the south the islands of Hainan and Formosa, and parts of the adjacent coasts, slightly partake of a tropical character, exhibiting in the cocoanuts, plantains, and peppers, the parrots, lemurs, and monkeys, decided indications of an equatorial climate. From the eastern coast across through the country to the northwest provinces occur mountain ranges of gradually increasing elevation, interspersed with intervales and alluvial plateaus and bottoms, lakes and rivers, plains and hills, each presenting its peculiar productions, both wild and cultivated, in great variety and abundance. The southern ascent of the high land of Mongolia, the uncultivated wilds of Manchuria, the barren wastes of the desert of Gobi, with its salt lakes, glaciers, extinct volcanoes, and isolated mountain ranges; and lastly the stupendous chains and valleys of Tibet, Koko-nor, and Kwănlun all differ from each other in the character of their productions. In one or the other division, every variety of soil, position, and temperature occur which are known on the globe; and what has been ascertained within the past fifteen years by enterprising naturalists is an earnest of future greater discoveries.

Of the quadrumanous order of animals, there are several species. The Chinese are skilful in teaching the smaller kinds of monkeys various tricks, but M. Breton’s picture of their adroitness and usefulness in picking tea in Shantung from plants growing on otherwise inaccessible acclivities, is a fair instance of one of the odd stories furnished by travellers about China, inasmuch as no tea grows in Shantung, and monkeys are taught more profitable tricks.[182] One of the most remarkable animals of this tribe is the douc, or Cochinchinese monkey (Semnopithecus nemæus). It is a large species of great rarity, and remarkable for the variety of colors with which it is adorned. Its body is about two feet long, and when standing in an upright position its height is considerably greater. The face is of an orange color, and flattened in its form. A dark band runs across the front of the forehead, and the sides of the countenance are bounded by long spreading yellowish tufts of hair. The body and upper parts of the forearms are brownish gray, the lower portions of the arms, from the elbows to the wrists, being white; its hands and thighs are black, and the legs of a bright red color, while the tail and a large triangular spot above it are pure white. Such a creature matches well, for its grotesque and variegated appearance, with the mandarin duck and gold fish, also peculiar to China.

Chinese books speak of several species of this family, and small kinds occur in all the provinces. M. David has recently added two novelties to the list from his acquisitions in Eastern Koko-nor, well fitted for that cold region by their abundant hair. The Rhinopithecus roxellanæ inhabits the alpine forests, nearly two miles high, where it subsists on the buds of plants and bamboo shoots laid up for winter supply; its face is greenish, the nose remarkably rétroussé, and its strong, brawny limbs well fitted for the arboreal life it leads; the hair is thick and like a mane on the back, shaded with yellow and white tints. In this respect it is like the Gelada monkey of Abyssinia, and a few others protected in this part of the body from cold. This is no doubt the kind called fí-fí in native books, and once found in flocks along many portions of western China, as these authors declare. Their notices are rather tantalizing, but, now that we have found the animal, are worth quoting: “The fí-fí resembles a man; it is clothed with its hair, runs quick and eats men; it has a human face, long lips, black, hairy body, and turns its heels. It laughs on seeing a man and covers its eyes with its lips; it can talk and its voice resembles a bird. It occurs in Sz’chuen, where it is called jin hiung, or ‘human bear;’ its palms are good eating, and its skin is used; its habit is to turn over stones, seeking for crabs as its food. Its form is like that of the men who live in the Kwănlun Mountains.”

Another large simia (Macacus thibetanus) comes from the same region; it lives in bands like the preceding, but lower down the mountains. A third species of great size was reported to occur in the southwestern part of Sz’chuen, and described as greenish like the Macacus tcheliensis from the hills northwest of Peking—the most northern species of monkey known. The former of these two may possibly be the sing-sing of the Chinese books, though its characteristics involve some confusion of the Macacus and baboon on the part of those writers. Two other species of Macacus, and as many of the gibbons, have been noticed in Hainan, Formosa, and elsewhere in the south.

The singular proboscis monkey (Nasalis laivalus), called khi-doc in Cochinchina and hai-tuh by the Chinese, exhibits a strange profile, part man and part beast, reminding one of the combinations in Da Vinci’s caricatures. It is a large animal, covered with soft yellowish hair tinted with red; the long nose projects in the form of a sloping spatula. The Chinese account says: “Its nose is turned upward, and the tail very long and forked at the end, and that whenever it rains, the animal thrusts the forks into its nose. It goes in herds, and lives in friendship; when one dies, the rest accompany it to burial. Its activity is so great that it runs its head against the trees; its fur is soft and gray, and the face black.”[183]

Fí-fí and Hai-tuh. (From a Chinese cut.)

The Chinese Herbal, from which the preceding extract is taken, describes the bat under various names, such as ‘heavenly rat,’ ‘fairy rat,’ ‘flying rat,’ ‘night swallow,’ and ‘belly wings;’ it also details the various uses made of the animal in medicine, and the extraordinary longevity attained by some of the white species. The bat is in form like a mouse; its body is of an ashy black color; and it has thin fleshy wings, which join the four legs and tail into one. It appears in the summer, but becomes torpid in the winter; on which account, as it eats nothing during that season, and because it has a habit of swallowing its breath, it attains a great age. It has the character of a night rover, not on account of any inability to fly in the day, but it dares not go abroad at that time because it fears a kind of hawk. It subsists on mosquitoes and gnats. It flies with its head downward, because the brain is heavy.[184] This quotation is among the best Chinese descriptions of animals, and shows how little there is to depend upon in them, though not without interest in their notices of habits. Bats are common everywhere, and seem to be regarded with less aversion than in certain other countries. Twenty species belonging to nine genera are given in one list, most of them found in southern China; the wings of some of these measure two feet across; a large sort in Sz’chuen is eaten.

The brown bear is known, and its paws are regarded as a delicacy; trained animals are frequently brought into cities by showmen, who have taught them tricks. The discovery by David of a large species (Ailuropus melanoleurus) allied to the Himalayan panda (Ailurus fulgens), also found on the Sz’chuen Mountains, adds another instance of the strange markings common in Tibetan fauna. This beast feeds on flesh and vegetables; its body is white, but the ears, eyes, legs, and tip of the tail are quite black; the fur is thick and coarse. It is called peh hiung, or white bear, by the hunters, but is no doubt the animal called pi in the classics, common in early times over western China, and now rare even in Koko-nor. The Tibetan black bear occurs in Formosa, Shantung, and Hainan, showing a wide range. The badger is quite as widespread, and the two species have the same general appearance as their European congeners.

Carnivorous animals still exist, even in thickly settled districts. The lion may once have roamed over the southwestern Manji kingdom, but the name and drawings both indicate a foreign origin. It has much connection with Buddhism, and grotesque sculptures of rampant lions stand in pairs in front of temples, palaces, and graves, as a mark of honor and symbol of protection. The last instance of a live lion brought as tribute was to Hientsung in A.D. 1470, from India or Ceylon. Many other species of felis are known, some of them peculiar to particular regions. The royal tiger has been killed near Amoy, and in Manchuria the panther, leopard, and tiger-cat all occur in the northern and southern provinces, making altogether a list of twelve species ranging from Formosa to Sagalien. Mr. Swinhoe’s[185] account of his rencounter with a tiger near Amoy in 1858 explains how such large animals still remain in thickly settled regions where food is abundant and the people are timid and unarmed. In thinly peopled parts they become a terror to the peasants. M. David enumerates six kinds, including a lynx, in Monpin alone, one of which (Felis scripta) is among the most prettily marked of the whole family. Hunting-leopards and tigers were used in the days of Marco Polo by Kublai, but the manly pastime of the chase, on the magnificent scale then practised, has fallen into disuse with the present princes. A small and fierce species of wild-cat (Felis chinensis), two feet long, of a brownish-gray color, and handsomely marked with chestnut spots and black streaks, is still common in the southwestern portions of Fuhkien. Civet cats of two or three kinds, tree-civets (Helictes), and a fine species of marten (Martes), with yellow neck and purplish-brown body, from Formosa, are among the smaller carnivora in the southern provinces.

The domestic animals offer few peculiarities. The cat, kia lí, or ‘household fox,’ is a favorite inmate of families, and the ladies of Peking are fond of a variety of the Angora cat, having long silky hair and hanging ears. The common species is variously marked, and in the south often destitute of a tail; when reared for food it is fed on rice and vegetables, but is not much eaten. Popular superstition has clustered many omens of good and bad luck about cats; it is considered, for example, the prognostic of certain misfortune when a cat is stolen from a house—much as, in some countries of the western world, it is unlucky when a black cat crosses one’s pathway.

The dog differs but little from that reared among the Esquimaux, and is perhaps the original of the species. There is little variation in their size, which is about a foot high and two feet in length; the color is a pale yellow or black, and always uniform, with coarse bristling hair, and tails curling up high over the back, and rising so abruptly from the insertion that it has been humorously remarked they almost assist in lifting the legs from the ground. The hind legs are unusually straight, which gives them an awkward look, and perhaps prevents them running very rapidly. The black eyes are small and piercing, and the insides of the lips and mouths, and the tongue, are of the same color, or a blue black. The bitch has a dew-claw on each hind leg, but the dog has none. The ears are sharp and upright, the head peaked, and the bark a short, thick snap, very unlike the deep, sonorous baying of our mastiffs. In Nganhwui a peculiar variety has pendant ears of great length, and thin, wirey tails. One item in the Chinese description of the dog is that it ‘can go on three legs’—a gait that is often exhibited by them. They are used to watch houses and flocks; the Mongolian breed is fierce and powerful. The dogs of Peking are very clannish, and each set jealously guards its own street or yard; they are fed by the butchers in the streets, and serve as scavengers there and in all large towns. They are often mangey, presenting hideous spectacles, and instances of plica polonica are not uncommon, but, as among the celebrated street dogs of Constantinople, hydrophobia is almost unheard of among them. Dog markets are seen in every city where this meat is sold; the animals are reared expressly for the table, but their flesh is expensive.

One writer remarks on their habits, when describing the worship offered at the tombs: “Hardly had the hillock been abandoned by the worshippers, when packs of hungry dogs came running up to devour the part of the offerings left for the dead, or to lick up the grease on the ground. Those who came first held up their heads, bristled their hair, and showed a proud and satisfied demeanor, curling and wagging their tails with selfish delight; while the late-comers, tails between their legs, held their heads and ears down. There was one of them, however, which, grudging the fare, held his nose to the wind as if sniffing for better luck; but one lean, old, and ugly beast, with a flayed back and hairless tail, was seen gradually separating himself from the band, though without seeming to hurry himself, making a thousand doublings and windings, all the while looking back to see if he was noticed. But the old sharper knew what he was about, and as soon as he thought himself at a safe distance, away he went like an arrow, the whole pack after him, to some other feast and some other tomb.”[186]

Wolves, raccoon-dogs, and foxes are everywhere common, in some places proving to be real pests in the sheepfold and farmyard. In the vicinity of Peking, it is customary to draw large white rings on the plastered walls, in order to terrify the wolves, as these beasts, it is thought, will flee on observing such traps. The Chinese regard the fox as the animal into which human spirits enter in preference to any other, and are therefore afraid to destroy or displease it. The elevated steppes are the abodes of three or four kinds, which find food without difficulty. The Tibetan wolf (Canis chanco) has a warm, yellowish-white covering, and ranges the wilds of Tsaidam and Koko-nor in packs. The fox (Canis cossac) spreads over a wide range, and is famed for its sagacity in avoiding enemies.

The breed of cattle and horses is dwarfish, and nothing is done to improve them. The oxen are sometimes not larger than an ass; some of them have a small hump, showing their affinity to the zebu; the dewlap is large, and the contour neat and symmetrical. The forehead is round, the horns small and irregularly curved, and the general color dun red. The buffalo (shui niu), or ‘water ox,’ is the largest beast used in agriculture. It is very docile and unwieldy, larger than an English ox, and its hairless hide is a light black color; it seeks coolness and refuge from the gnat in muddy pools dug for its convenience, where it wallows with its nose just above the surface. Each horn is nearly semi-circular, and bends downward, while the head is turned back so as almost to bring the nose horizontal. The herd-boys usually ride it, and the metaphor of a lad astride a buffalo’s back, blowing the flute, frequently enters into Chinese descriptions of rural life. The yak of Tibet is employed as a beast of burden, and to furnish food and raiment. It is covered with a mantle of hair reaching nearly to the ground, and the soft pelage is used for making standards among the Persians, and its tail as fly-flaps or chowries in India; the hair is woven into carpets. The wild yak (Poephagus grunniens) has already been described. Great herds of these huge bovines roam over the wastes of Koko-nor, where their dried droppings furnish the only fuel for the nomads crossing those barren wilds.

The domestic sheep is the broad-tailed species, and furnishes excellent mutton. The tail is sometimes ten inches long and three or four thick; and the size of this fatty member is not affected by the temperature. The sheep are reared in the north by Mohammedans, who prepare the fleeces for garments by careful tanning; the animal is white, with a black head. Goats are raised in all parts, but not in large numbers. The argali and wild sheep of the Ala shan Mountains (Ovis Burrhel) furnish exciting sport in chasing them over their native cliffs, which they clamber with wonderful agility. Another denizen of those dreary wilds is the Antilope picticauda, a small and tiny species, weighing about forty pounds, of a dusky gray color, with a narrow yellow stripe on the flanks. Its range is about the head-waters of the Yangtsz’ River; its swiftness is amazing; it seems absolutely to fly. It scrapes for itself trenches in which to lie secure from the cold.

Many genera of ruminants are represented in China and the outlying regions; twenty-seven rare species are enumerated in Swinhoe’s and David’s lists, of which eleven are antelopes and deer. The range of some of them is limited to a narrow region, and most of them are peculiar to the country. The wealthy often keep deer in their grounds, especially the spotted deer (Cervus pseudaxis), from Formosa, whose coat is found to vary greatly according to sex and age; its name, kintsien luh, or ‘money deer,’ indicates its markings. Mouse-deer are also reared as pets in the southern provinces.

One common species is the dzeren or hwang yang (Antilope gutturosa), which roams over the Mongolian wilds in large herds, and furnishes excellent venison. It is heavy in comparison to the gazelle; horns thick, about nine inches long, annulated to the tips, lyrated, and their points turned inward. The goitre, which gives it its name, is a movable protuberance occasioned by the dilatation of the larynx; in the old males it is much enlarged. The animal takes surprising bounds when running. Great numbers are killed in the autumn, and their flesh, skins, and horns are all of service for food, leather, and medicine.

Several kinds of hornless (or nearly hornless) deer, allied to the musk-deer, exist. One is the river-deer (Hydropotes), common near the Yangtsz’ River, which resembles the pudu of Chili; it is very prolific on the bottoms and in the islands. Another sort in the northwest (Elaphodus) is intermediary between the muntjacs and deer, having long, trenchant, canine upper teeth, and a deep chocolate-colored fur. Three varieties of the musk-deer (Moschus) have been observed, differing a little in their colors, all called shié or hiang chang by the Chinese, and all eagerly hunted for their musk. This perfume was once deemed to be useful in medicine, and is cited in a Greek prescription of the sixth century; the abundance of the animal in the Himalayan regions may be inferred from Tavernier’s statement that he bought 7673 bags or pods at Patna in one of his journeys over two hundred years ago. This animal roams over a vast extent of alpine territory, from Tibet and Shensí to Lake Baikal, and inhabits the loftiest cliffs and defiles, and makes its way over rugged mountains with great rapidity. It is not unlike the roe in general appearance, though the projecting teeth makes the upper lip to look broad. Its color is grayish-brown and its limbs slight; the hair is coarse and brittle, almost like spines. The musk is contained in a pouch beneath the tail on the male, and is most abundant during the rutting season. He is taken in nets or shot, and the hunters are said to allure him to destruction by secreting themselves and playing the flute, though some would say the animal showed very little taste in listening to such sounds as Chinese flutes usually produce. The musk is often adulterated with clay or mixed with other substances to moderate its powerful odor. A singular and interesting member of this family is reared in the great park south of Peking—a kind of elk with short horns. This large animal (Elaphurus Davidianus), of a gentle disposition, equals in size the largest deer; its native name, sz’-puh siang, indicates that it is neither a horse, a deer, a camel, nor an ox, but partakes in some respects of the characteristics of each of them. Its gentle croaking voice seems to be unworthy of so huge a body; the color is a uniform fawn or light gray.

The horse is not much larger than the Shetland pony; it is bony and strong, but kept with little care, and presents the worst possible appearance in its usual condition of untrimmed coat and mane, bedraggled fetlocks, and twisted tail. The Chinese language possesses a great variety of terms to designate the horse; the difference of age, sex, color, and disposition, all being denoted by particular characters. Piebald and mottled, white and bay horses are common; but the improvement of this noble animal is neglected, and he looks sorry enough compared with the coursers of India. He is principally used for carrying the post, or for military services; asses and mules being more employed for draught. He is hardy, feeds on coarse food, and admirably serves his owners. The mule is well-shaped, and those raised for the gentry are among the very best in the world for endurance and strength; dignitaries are usually drawn by sumpter mules. Donkeys are also carefully raised. Chinese books speak of a mule of a cow and horse, as well as from the ass and horse, though, of course, no such hybrid as the former ever existed.

The wild ass, or onager (under the several names by which it is known in different lands, kyang, djang, kulan, djiggetai, ghor-khar, and yé-lu), still roams free and untameable. It is abundant in Koko-nor, gathering in troops of ten to fifty, each under the lead of a stallion to defend the mares. The flesh is highly prized, and the difficulty of procuring it adds to the delicacy of the dish; the color is light chestnut, with white belly.

Elephants are kept at Peking for show, and are used to draw the state chariot when the Emperor goes to worship at the Altars of Heaven and Earth, but the sixty animals seen in the days of Kienlung, by Bell, have since dwindled to one or two. Van Braam met six going into Peking, sent thither from Yunnan. The deep forests of that province also harbor the rhinoceros and tapir. The horn of the former is sought after as medicine, and the best pieces are carved most beautifully into ornaments or into drinking cups, which are supposed to sweat whenever any poisonous liquid is put into them. The tapir is the white and brown animal found in the Malacca peninsula, and strange stories are recorded of its eating stones and copper. The wild boar grows to weigh over four hundred pounds and nearly six feet long. In cold weather its frozen carcass is brought to Peking, and sold at a high price. A new species of hog has been found in Formosa, about three feet long, twenty-one inches high, and showing a dorsal row of large bristles; a third variety occurs among the novelties discovered in Sz’chuen (Sus moupinensis), having short ears. Wild boars are met with even in the hills of Chehkiang, and seriously annoy the husbandmen in the lowlands by their depredations. Deep pits are dug near the base of the hills, and covered with a bait of fresh grass, and many are annually captured or drowned in them. They are fond of the bamboo shoots, and persons are stationed near the groves to frighten them away by striking pieces of wood together.

The Chinese Pig.

The Chinese hollow-backed pig is known for its short legs, round body, crooked back, and abundance of fat; the flesh is the common meat of the people south of the Yangtsz’ River. The black Chinese breed, as it is called in England, is considered the best pork raised in that country. The hog in the northern provinces is a gaunt animal, uniformly black, and not so well cared for as its southern rival. Piebald pigs are common in Formosa, resulting from crossing; sometimes animals of this kind are quite woolly. The Chinese in the south, well aware of the perverse disposition of the hog, find it much more expeditious to carry instead of drive him through their narrow streets. For this purpose cylindrical baskets, open at both ends, are made; and in order to capture the obstinate brute, it is secured just outside the half-opened gate of the pen. The men seize him by the tail and pull it lustily; his rage is roused by the pain, and he struggles; they let go their hold, whereupon he darts out of the gate to escape, and finds himself snugly caught. He is lifted up and unresistingly carried off.

Mode of Carrying Pigs.

The camel is employed in the trade carried on across the desert, and throughout Mongolia, Manchuria, and northern China near the plateau; without his aid those regions would be impassible; the passes across the ranges near Koko-nor, sixteen thousand feet high, are traversed by his help, though amid suffering and danger. In the summer season it sheds all its hair, which is gathered for weaving into ropes and rugs; at this period, large herds pasture on the plateau to recuperate. The humps at this season hang down the back like empty bags, and the poor animal presents a distressed appearance during the hot weather. In its prime condition it carries about six hundred pounds weight, but is not used to ride upon as is the Arabian species. The two kinds serve man in one continuous kafilah from the Sea of Tartary across two continents to Timbuctoo. The Chinese have employed the camel in war, and trained it to carry small gingalls so that the riders could fire them while resting on its head, but this antique kind of cavalry has disappeared with the introduction of better weapons.

Among the various tribes of smaller animals, the Chinese Empire furnishes many interesting peculiarities, and few families are unrepresented. No marsupials have yet been met, and the order of edentata is still restricted to one instance. Several families in other orders are rare or wanting, as baboons, spider-monkeys, skunks, and ichneumons. In the weasel tribe, some new species have been added to the already long list of valuable fur-bearing animals found in the mountains—the sable ermine, marten, pole-cat, stoat, etc., whose skins still repay the hunters. The weasel is common, but not troublesome. The otter is trained in Sz’chuen to catch fish in the mountain streams with the docility of a spaniel; another species (Lutia swinhosi) occurs along the islands on the southern coast, while in Hainan Island appears a kind of clawless otter of a rich brown color above and white beneath; each of these is about twenty inches long. The furs of all these, and also the sea-otter, are prepared for garments, especially collars and neck-wraps.

A kind of mole exists in Sz’chuen, having a muzzle of extreme length, while the scent of another variety near Peking is so musky as to suggest its name (Scaptochirus moschatus). Muskrats and shrew-mice are found both north and south; and one western species has only a rudimentary tail; while another, the Scaptonyx, forms an intermediate species between a mole and a shrew, having a blunt muzzle, strong fore feet and a long tail; and lastly, a sort fitted for aquatic habits, with broad hind feet and flattened tail. Tiny hedgehogs are common even in the streets and by-lanes of Peking, where they find food and refuge in the alluvial earth. Two or three kinds of marmots and mole-rats are found in the north and west (Siphucus Arctomys), all specifically unlike their congeners elsewhere. The Chinese have a curious fancy in respect to one beast, one bird, and one fish, each of which, they say, requires that two come together to make one complete animal, viz., the jerboa, the spoonbill and sole-fish; the first (Dipus annulatus) occurs in the sands of northern China, the second in Formosa, and the third along the coasts.

Many kinds of rodents have been described. The alpine hare (Lagomys ogotona) resembles a marmot in its habits and is met with throughout the grassy parts of the steppes; its burrows riddle the earth wherever the little thing gathers, and endangers the hunters riding over it. It is about the size of a rat, and by its wonderful fecundity furnishes food to a great number of its enemies—man, beasts, and birds; it is not dormant, but gathers dry grass for food and warmth during cold weather; this winter store is, however, often consumed by cattle before it is stored away. Hares and rabbits are well known. Two species of the former are plenty on the Mongolian grass-lands, one of which has very long feet; in winter their frozen bodies are brought to market. One species is restricted to Hainan Island. Ten or twelve kinds of squirrels have been described, red, gray, striped, and buff; one with fringed ears. Their skins are prepared for the furriers, and women wear winter robes lined with them. Two genera of flying-squirrel (Pteromys and Sciuropterus) have been noticed, the latter in Formosa and the former mostly in the western provinces. Chinese writers have been puzzled to class the flying-squirrel; they place it among birds, and assure their readers that it is the only kind which suckles its young when it flies, and that “the skin held in the hand during parturition renders delivery easier, because the animal has a remarkably lively disposition.” The long, dense fur of the P. alborufous makes beautiful dresses, the white tips of the hair contrasting prettily with the red ground.

Of the proper rats and mice, more than twenty-five species have been already described. Some of them are partially arboreal, others have remarkably long tails, and all but three are peculiar to the country. A Formosan species, called by Swinhoe the spinous country rat, had been dedicated to Koxinga, the conqueror of that island; while another common in Sz’chuen bears the name of Mus Confucianus. The extent to which the Chinese eat rats has been greatly exaggerated by travellers, for the flesh is too expensive for general use.

One species of porcupine (Hystrix subcristata) inhabits the southern provinces, wearing on its head a purplish-black crest of stout spines one to five inches long; the bristles are short, but increase in size and length to eight or nine inches toward the rump; the entire length is thirty-three inches. The popular notion that the porcupine darts its quills at its enemies as an effectual weapon is common among the Chinese.

No animal has puzzled the Chinese more than the scaly ant-eater or pangolin (Manis dalmanni), which is logically considered as a certain and useful remedy by them, simply because of its oddity. It is regarded as a fish out of water, and therefore named ling-lí, or ‘hill carp,’ also dragon carp, but the most common designation is chuen shan kiah, or the ‘scaly hill borer.’ One author says: “Its shape resembles a crocodile; it can go in dry paths as well as in the water; it has four legs. In the daytime it ascends the banks of streams, and lying down opens its scales wide, putting on the appearance of death, which induces the ants to enter between them. As soon as they are in, the animal closes its scales and returns to the water to open them; the ants float out dead, and he devours them at leisure.” A more accurate observer says: “It continually protrudes its tongue to entice the ants on which it feeds;” and true to Chinese physiological deductions, similia similibus curantur, he recommends the scales as a cure for all antish swellings. He also remarks that the scales are not bony, and consist of the agglutinated hairs of the body. The adult specimens measure thirty-three inches. It walks on the sides of the hind feet and tips of the claws of the fore feet, and can stand upright for a minute or two. The large scales are held to the skin by a fleshy nipple-like pimple, which adheres to the base.

Among the cetaceous inhabitants of the Chinese waters, one of the most noticeable is the great white porpoise (Delphinus chinensis), whose uncouth tumbles attract the traveller’s notice as he sails into the estuary of the Pearl River on his way to Hongkong, and again as he steams up the Yangtsz’ to Hankow. The Chinese fishermen are shy of even holding it in their nets, setting it free at once, and never pursuing it; they call it peh-kí and deem its presence favorable to their success. A species of fin-whale (Balænoptera) has been described by Swinhoe, which ranges the southern coast from the shores of Formosa to Hainan. Its presence between Hongkong and Amoy induced some foreigners to attempt a fishery in those waters, but the yield of oil and bone was too small for their outlay. The native fishermen join their efforts in the winter, when it resorts to the seas near Hainan, going out in fleets of small boats from three to twenty-five tons burden each, fifty boats going together. The line is about three hundred and fifty feet long, made of native hemp, and fastened to the mast, the end leading over the bow. The harpoon has one barb, and is attached to a wooden handle; through an eye near the socket, the line is so fastened along the handle, that when the whale begins to strain upon it, the handle draws out upon the line, leaving only the barb buried in the skin. The boat is sailed directly upon the fish, and the harpooner strikes from the bow just behind the blow-hole. As soon as the fish is struck the sail is lowered, the rudder unshipped, and the boat allowed to drag stern foremost until the prey is exhausted. Other boats come up to assist, and half a dozen harpoons soon dispatch it. The species most common there yield about fifty barrels each; the oil, flesh, and bone are all used for food or in manufactures. The fish resort to the shallow waters in those seas for food, and to roll and rub on the banks and reefs, thus ridding themselves of the barnacles and insects which torment them; they are often seen leaping entirely out of water, and falling back perpendicularly against the hard bottom.[187]

The Yellow Sea affords a species of cow-fish, or round-headed cachalot (Globicephalus Rissii), which the Japanese capture.[188] Seals have been observed on the coast of Liautung, but nothing is known of their species or habits; the skins are common and cheap in the Peking market. Native books speak of a marine animal in Koko-nor, from which a rare medicine is obtained, that probably belongs to this family.

This imperfect account of the mammalia known to exist in China has been drawn from the lists and descriptions inserted in the zoölogical periodicals of Europe, and may serve to indicate the extent and richness of the field yet to be investigated. The lists of Swinhoe and David alone contain nearly two hundred species, and within the past ten years scores more have been added, but have not exhausted the new and unexplored zoölogical regions. The emperors of the Mongol dynasty were very fond of the chase, and famous for their love of the noble amusement of falconry; Marco Polo says that Kublai employed no less than seventy thousand attendants in his hawking excursions. Falcons, kites, and other birds were taught to pursue their quarry, and the Venetian speaks of eagles trained to stoop at wolves, and of such size and strength that none could escape their talons.[189] Ranking has collected[190] a number of notices of the mode and sumptuousness of the field sports of the Mongols in China and India, but they convey little more information to the naturalist, than that the game was abundant and comprised a vast variety. Many species of accipitrine birds are described in Chinese books, but they are spoken of so vaguely that nothing definite can be learned from the notices. Few of them are now trained for sport by the Chinese, except a kind of sparrow-hawk to amuse dilettanti hunters in showing their skill in catching small birds. The fondness for sport in the wilds of Manchuria which the old emperors encouraged two centuries ago has all died out among their descendants.

Within the last fifteen years a greater advance has been made in the knowledge of the birds of China than in any other branch of its natural history, perhaps owing somewhat to their presenting themselves for capture to the careful observer. The list of described species already numbers over seven hundred, of which the careful paper of the lamented Swinhoe, in the Proceedings of the Zoölogical Society for May, 1871, gives the names of six hundred and seventy-five species, and M. David’s list, in the Nouvelles Archives for 1871, gives four hundred and seventy as the number observed north of the River Yangtsz’. The present sketch must confine itself to selecting a few of the characteristic birds of the country, for this part of its fauna is as interesting and peculiar as the mammalia.

Among birds of prey are vultures, eagles, and ernes, all of them widespread and well known. One of the fishing-eagles (Haliætus macei) lives along the banks of the bend of the Yellow River in the Ortous country. The golden eagle is still trained for the chase by Mongols; Atkinson accompanied a party on a hunt. “We had not gone far,” he says, “when several large deer rushed past, bounding over the plain about three hundred yards from us. In an instant the barkut was unhooded and his shackles removed, when he sprung from his perch and soared on high. He rose to a considerable height, and seemed to poise for a minute, gave two or three flaps with his wings, and swooped off in a straight line for the prey. I could not see his wings move, but he went at a fearful rate, and all of us after the deer; when we were about two hundred yards off, the bird struck the deer, and it gave one bound and fell. The barkut had struck one talon in his neck, the other into his back, and was tearing out his liver. The Kirghis sprung from his horse, slipped the hood over the eagle’s head and the shackles on his legs, and easily took him off, remounting and getting ready for another flight.”[191] Other smaller species are trained to capture or worry hares, foxes, and lesser game.

The falcons which inhabit the gate-towers and trees in Peking form a peculiar feature of the place, from their impudence in foraging in the streets and markets, snatching things out of the hands of people, and startling one by their responsive screams. Much quarrelling goes on between them and the crows and magpies for the possession of old nests as the spring comes on. Their services as scavengers insures them a quiet residence in their eyries on the gate-towers. Six sorts of harriers (Circus), with various species of falcons, bustards, gledes, and sparrow-hawks, are enumerated. The family of owls is well represented, and live ones are often exposed for sale in the markets; its native name of ‘cat-headed hawk’ (mao-’rh-tao ying) suggests the likeness of the two. Out of the fifty-six species of accipitrine birds, the hawks are much the most numerous.

The great order of Passerinæ has its full share of beautiful and peculiar representatives, and over four hundred species have been catalogued. The night-hawks have only three members, but the swallows count up to fifteen species. Around Peking they gather in vast numbers, year after year, in the gate-towers, and that whole region was early known by the name of Yen Kwoh, or ‘Land of Swallows.’ The immunity granted by the natives to this twittering, bustling inmate of their houses has made it a synonym for domestic life; the phrase yin yen (lit. to ‘drink swallows’) means to give a feast. The family of king-fishers contains several most exquisitely colored birds, and multitudes of the handsome ones, like the turquoise king-fisher (Halcyon smyrnensis), are killed by the Chinese for the sake of the plumage. Beautiful feather-work ornaments are made from this at Canton. The hoopoe, bee-eater, and cuckoo are not uncommon; the first goes by the name of the shan ho-shang, or ‘country priest,’ from its color. Six species of the last have been recognized, and its peculiar habits of driving other birds from their nests has made it well known to the people, who call it ku-ku for the same reason as do the English. On the upper Yangtsz’ the short-tailed species makes its noisy agitated flight in order to draw off attention from its nest. The Chinese say it weeps blood as it bewails its mate all night long. The Cucutus striatus varies so greatly in different provinces that it has much perplexed naturalists; all of them are only summer visitants.

The habit of the shrike of impaling its prey on thorns and elsewhere before devouring it has been noticed by native writers; no less than eleven species have been observed to cross the country in their migrations from Siberia to the Archipelago. Of the nuthatches, tree and wall creepers, wrens, and chats, there is a large variety, and one species of willow-wren (Sylvia borealis) has been detected over the entire eastern hemisphere; six sorts of redstarts (Ruticilla) are spread over the provinces.

Among the common song birds reared for the household, the thrush and lark take precedence; their fondness for birds and flowers is one of the pleasant features of Chinese national character. A kind of grayish-yellow thrush (Garrulax perspicilatus), called hwa-mí, or ‘painted eyebrows,’ is common about Canton, where a well-trained bird is worth several dollars. This genus furnishes six species, but they are not all equally musical; another kind (Suthoria webbiana) is kept for its fighting qualities, as it will die before it yields. These and other allied birds furnish the people with much amusement, by teaching them to catch seeds thrown into the air, jump from perches held in the hand, and perform tricks of various kinds. A party of gentlemen will often be seen on the outskirts of a town in mild weather, each one holding his pet bird, and all busily engaged in catching grasshoppers to feed them. The spectacle thrush (Leucodioptrum) has its eyes surrounded by a black circle bearing a fancied resemblance to a pair of spectacles; it is not a very sweet songster, but a graceful, lively fellow. The species of wagtail and lark known amount to about a score altogether, but not all of them are equally good singers. The southern Chinese prefer the lark which comes from Chihlí, and large numbers are annually carried south. The shrill notes of the field lark (Alauda cælivox and arvensis) are heard in the shops and streets in emulous concert with other kinds—these larks becoming at times well-nigh frantic with excitement in their struggles for victory. The Chinese name of peh-ling, or ‘hundred spirits,’ given to the Mongolian lark, indicates the reputation it has earned as an active songster; and twenty-five dollars is not an uncommon price for a good one.[192]

The tits (Parus) and reedlings (Emberiza), together with kindred genera, are among the most common small birds, fifteen or twenty species of each having been noticed. In the proper season the latter are killed for market in such numbers as to excite surprise that they do not become extinct. In taking many of the warblers, orioles, and jays, for rearing or sale as fancy birds, the Chinese are very expert in the use of birdlime. In all parts of the land, the pie family are deemed so useful as scavengers that they are never molested, and in consequence become very common. The magpie is a favorite bird, as its name, hí tsioh, or ‘joyous bird,’ indicates, and occurs all over the land. Ravens, choughs, crows, and blackbirds keep down the insects and vermin and consume offal. The palace grounds and inclosures of the nobility in Peking are common resorts for these crows, where they are safe from harm in the great trees. Every morning myriads of them leave town with the dawn, returning at evening with increased cawing and clamor, at times actually darkening the sky with their flocks. A pretty sight is occasionally seen when two or three thousand young crows assemble just at sunset in mid-air to chase and play with each other. The crow is regarded as somewhat of a sacred bird, either from a service said to have been rendered by one of his race to an ancestor of the present dynasty, or because he is an emblem of filial duty, from a notion that the young assist their parents when disabled. The owl, on the other hand, has an odious name because it is stigmatized as the bird which eats its dam. One member of the pie family deserving mention is the long-tailed blue jay of Formosa (Urocissa), remarkable for its brilliant plumage. Another, akin to the sun birds (Æthopyga dabryi), comes from Sz’chuen, a recent discovery. The body is red, the head, throat, and each side of the neck a brilliant violet, belly yellow, wings black with the primaries tinted green along the edge, and the feathers long, tapering, of a black or steel blue.

The Mainah, or Indian mino (Acridotheus), known by its yellow carbuncles, which extend like ears from behind the eye, is reared, as are also three species of Munia, at Canton. Sparrows abound in every province around houses, driving away other birds, and entertaining the observer by their quarrels and activity. Robins, ouzels, and tailor-birds are not abundant. None of the humming-birds or birds of paradise occur, and only one species has hitherto been seen of the parrot group. Woodpeckers (Picus) are of a dozen species, and the wryneck occasionally attracts the eye of a sportsman. The canary is reared in great numbers, being known under the names of ‘white swallow’ and ‘time sparrow;’ the chattering Java sparrow and tiny avedavat are also taught little tricks by their fanciers, in compensation for their lack of song. The two or three proper parrots are natives of Formosa.

The family of pigeons (Columbidæ) is abundantly represented in fourteen species, and doves form a common household bird; their eggs are regarded as proper food to prevent small-pox, and sold in the markets, being also cooked in birdnest and other kinds of soups. The Chinese regard the dove as eminently stupid and lascivious, but grant it the qualities of faithfulness, impartiality, and filial duty. The cock is said to send away its mate on the approach of rain, and let her return to the nest with fine weather. They have an idea that it undergoes periodic metamorphoses, but disagree as to the form it takes, though the sparrow-hawk has the preference.[193] The bird is most famed, however, for its filial duty, arising very probably from imperfect observations of the custom of feeding its young with the macerated contents of its crop; the wood pigeon is said to feed her seven young ones in one order in the morning, and reversing it in the evening. Its note tells the husbandman when to begin his labors, and the decorum observed in the nests and cotes of all the species teach men how to govern a family and a state. The visitor to Peking is soon attracted by the æolian notes proceeding from doves which circle around their homes for a short time (forty or fifty or less in a flock), and then settle. These birds are called pan-tien kiao-jin, or ‘mid-sky houris,’ and their weird music is caused by ingenious wooden whistles tied on the rumps of two or three of the flock, which lead the others and delight themselves. Carrier pigeons are used to some extent, and training them is a special mystery. One of the prettiest sort is the rose pigeon, and half a dozen kinds of turtles enliven the village groves with their gentle notes and peculiar plumage.

No tribe of birds in China, however, equals the Gallinaceous for its beauty, size, and novelty, furnishing some of the most elegant and graceful birds in the world, and yet none of them have become domesticated for food. As a connecting link between this tribe and the last is the sand-grouse of the desert (Syrrhaptis paradoxus), whose singular combination attracted Marco Polo’s eye. “This bird, the barguerlac, on which the falcons feed,” says he, “is as big as a partridge, has feet like a parrot’s, tail like a swallow’s, and is strong in flight.”[194] Abbé Huc speaks of the immense flocks which scour the plateau.

The gold and silver pheasants are reared without trouble in all the provinces, and have so long been identified with the ornithology of China as to be regarded as typical of its grotesque and brilliant fauna. Among other pheasants may be mentioned the Impeyan, Reeves, Argus, Medallion, Amherst, l’Huys, and Pallas, each one vieing with the other for some peculiarly graceful feature of color and shape, so that it is hard to decide which is the finest. The Amherst pheasant has the bearing, the elegance, and the details of form like the gold pheasant, but the neck, shoulders, back and wing covers are of a sparkling metallic green, and each feather ends in a belt of velvet black. A little red crest allies it to the gold pheasant, and a pretty silvery ruff with a black band, a white breast and belly, and a tail barred with brown, green, white, and red bands, complete the picturesque dress. Hidden away in these Tibetan wilds are other pheasants that dispute the palm for beauty, among which four species of the eared pheasant (Crossoptilon) attract notice. One is of a pure white, with a black tail curled up and spread out like a plume, and is well called the snow pheasant. Another is the better known Pallas pheasant, nearly as large as a turkey, distinguished by ear-like appendages or wattles behind the head, and a red neck above a white body, whence its native name of ho-kí, or ‘fire hen.’ Another genus (Lophophorus) contains some elegant kinds, of which the l’Huys pheasant is new, and noted for a coppery-green tail bespangled with white. The longer known Reeves pheasant is sought for by the natives for the sake of its white and yellow-barred tail feathers, which are used by play actors to complete a warrior’s dress; Col. Yule proves a reference to it in Marco Polo from this part of its plumage, which the Venetian states to be ten palms in length—not far beyond the truth, as they have been seen seven feet long.[195] It is a long time for a bird of so much beauty to have been unknown, from 1350 to 1808, when Mr. Thomas Beale procured a specimen in Canton, and sent others to England in 1832; Mr. Reeves took it thither, and science has recorded it in her annals. As New Guinea is the home of the birds of paradise, so do the Himalayas contain most of these superb pheasants and francolins, each tribe serving as a foil and comparison with the Creator’s handiwork in the other.

The island of Formosa has furnished a second species, Swinhoe’s pheasant, of the same genus as the silver pheasant (Euplocamus), and another smaller kind (Phasianus formosanus); the list is also increased by fresh acquisitions from Yunnan and Cochinchina through Dr. Anderson. This is not, however, the place where we may indulge in details respecting all of these gorgeous birds; we conclude, then, with the Medallion, or horned pheasant. It has a “beautiful membrane of resplendent colors on the neck, which is displayed or contracted according as the cock is more or less roused. The hues are chiefly purple, with bright red and green spots, which vary in intensity according to the degree of excitement.”

The peacock, though not a native, is reared in all parts; it bears the name of kung tsioh, sometimes rendered ‘Confucius’ bird,’ though it is more probable that the name means the great or magnificent bird. The use of the tail feathers to designate official rank, which probably causes a large consumption of them, does not date previous to the present dynasty. Poultry is reared in immense quantities, but the assortment in China does not equal in beauty, excellence, and variety the products of Japanese culture. The silken cock, the vane of whose plume is so minutely divided as to resemble curly hair, is probably the same sort with that described by some writers as having wool like sheep. The Mongols succeed very well in rearing the tall, Shanghai breed, and their uniform cold winter enables them to preserve frozen flesh without much difficulty. The smaller gallinaceous birds already described, grouse, quails, francolins, partridges, sand-snipe, etc., amount to a score or more species, ranging all over the Empire. The red partridge is sometimes tamed to keep as a house bird with the fowls. The Chinese quail (Coturnix) has a brown back, sprinkled with black spots and white lines, blackish throat and chestnut breast. It is reared for fighting in south China, and, like its bigger Gallic rival, is soon eaten if it allows itself to be beaten.

The widespread family of waders sends a few of its representatives from Europe to China, but most of the members are Oriental. The marshes and salt lakes of Mongolia attract enormous numbers of migratory birds in summer to rear their young in safety, in the midst of abundant food. Col. Prejevalsky watched the arrival of vast flocks early in February, and thus describes their appearance: “For days together they sped onward, always from the W.S.W., going further east in search of open water, and at last settling down among the open pools; their favorite haunts were the flat mud banks overgrown with low saline bushes. Here every day vast flocks would congregate toward evening, crowding among the ice; the noise they made on rising was like a hurricane, and at a distance they resembled a thick cloud. Flocks of one, two, three, and even five thousand, followed one another in quick succession, hardly a minute apart. Tens and hundreds of thousands, even millions of birds appeared at Lob-nor during the fortnight ending the 21st of February, when the flight was at its height. What prodigious quantities of food must be necessary for such numbers!”[196] Wading and web-footed birds all harmlessly mix in these countless hosts, but hawks, eagles, and animals gather too, to prey on them.

Among the noticeable waders of China, the white Manchurian or Montigny crane is one of the finest and largest; it is the official insignia of the highest rank of civilians. Five species of crane (Grus) are recognized, and seven of plovers, together with as many more allied genera, including an avocet, bustard, and oyster-catcher. Curlews abound along the flat shores of the Gulf of Pechele, and are so tame that they race up and down with the naked children at low tide, hunting for shell-fish; as the boy runs his arm into the ooze the curlew pokes his long bill up to the eyes in the same hole, each of them grasping a crab. Godwits and sandpipers enliven the coasts with their cries, and seven species of gambets (Totanus) give them the largest variety of their family group, next to the snipes (Tringa), of which nine are recorded. Herons, egrets, ibis, and night-herons occur, and none of them are discarded for food. At Canton, a pure white egret is often exposed for sale in the market, standing on a shelf the livelong day, with its eyelids sewed together—a pitiable sight. Its slender, elegant shape is imitated by artists in making bronze candlesticks. The singular spoonbill (Platalea) is found in Formosa, and the jacana in southwestern China. The latter is described by Gould as “distinguished not less by the grace of its form than its adaptation to the localities which nature has allotted it. Formed for traversing the morass and lotus-covered surface of the water, it supports itself upon the floating weeds and leaves by the extraordinary span of the toes, aided by the unusual lightness of the body.”[197] Gallinules, crakes, and rails add to this list, but the flamingo has not been recorded.

In the last order, sixty-five species of web-footed birds are enumerated by naturalists as occurring in China. The fenny margins of lakes and rivers, and the seacoast marshes, afford food and shelter to flocks of water-fowl. Ten separate species of duck are known, of which four or five are peculiar. The whole coast from Hainan to Manchuria swarms with gulls, terns, and grebes, while geese, swans, and mallards resort to the inland waters and pools to rear their young. Ducks are sometimes caught by persons who first cover their heads with a gourd pierced with holes, and then wade into the water where the birds are feeding; these, previously accustomed to empty calabashes floating about on the water, allow the fowler to approach, and are pulled under without difficulty. The wild goose is a favorite bird with native poets. The reputation for conjugal fidelity has made its name and that of the mandarin duck emblems of that virtue, and a pair of one or the other usually forms part of wedding processions. The epithet mandarin is applied to this beautiful fowl, and also to a species of orange, simply because of their excellence over other varieties of the same genus, and not, as some writers have inferred, because they are appropriated to officers of government.

The yuen-yang, as the Chinese call this duck, is a native of the central provinces. It is one of the most variegated birds known, vieing with the humming-birds and parrots in the diversified tints of its plumage, if it does not equal them for brilliancy. The drake is the object of admiration, his partner being remarkably plain, but during the summer season he also loses much of his gay vesture. Mr. Bennet tells a pleasant story in proof of the conjugal fidelity of these birds, the incidents of which occurred in Mr. Beale’s aviary at Macao. A drake was stolen one night, and the duck displayed the strongest marks of despair at her loss, retiring into a corner and refusing all nourishment, as if determined to starve herself to death from grief. Another drake undertook to comfort the disconsolate widow, but she declined his attentions, and was fast becoming a martyr to her attachment, when her mate was recovered and restored to her. Their reunion was celebrated by the noisiest demonstrations of joy, and the duck soon informed her lord of the gallant proposals made to her during his absence; in high dudgeon, he instantly attacked the luckless bird which would have supplanted him, and so maltreated him as to cause his death.

The aviary here mentioned was for many years, up to 1838, one of the principal attractions of Macao. Its owner, Mr. Thomas Beale, had erected a wire cage on one side of his house, having two apartments, each of them about fifty feet high, and containing several large trees; small cages and roosts were placed on the side of the house under shelter, and in one corner a pool afforded bathing conveniences to the water-fowl. The genial climate obviated the necessity of any covering, and only those species which would agree to live quietly together were allowed the free range of the two apartments. The great attraction of the collection was a living bird of paradise, which, at the period of the owner’s death, in 1840, had been in his possession eighteen years, and enjoyed good health at that time. The collection during one season contained nearly thirty specimens of pheasants, and besides these splendid birds, there were upward of one hundred and fifty others, of different sorts, some in cages, some on perches, and others going loose in the aviary. In one corner a large cat had a hole, where she reared her young; her business was to guard the whole from the depredations of rats. A magnificent peacock from Damaun, a large assortment of macaws and cockatoos, a pair of magpies, another of the superb crowned pigeons (Goura coronata), one of whom moaned itself to death on the decease of its mate, and several Nicobar ground pigeons, were also among the attractions of this curious and valuable collection.

Four or five kinds of grebe and loon frequent the coast, of which the Podiceps cristatus, called shui nu, or ‘water slave,’ is common around Macao. The same region affords sustenance to the pelican, which is seen standing motionless for hours on the rocks, or sailing on easy wing over the shallows in search of food. Its plumage is nearly a pure white, except the black tips of the wings; its height is about four feet, and the expanse of the wings more than eight feet. The bill is flexible like whalebone, and the pouch susceptible of great dilatation. Gulls abound on the northeast coasts, and no one who has seen it can forget the beautiful sight on the marshes at the entrance of the Pei ho, where myriads of white gulls assemble to feed, to preen, and to quarrel or scream—the bright sun rendering their plumage like snow. The albatross, black tern, petrel, and noddy increase the list of denizens in Chinese waters, but offer nothing of particular interest.[198]

The Kí-lin, or Unicorn.

There are four fabulous animals which are so often referred to by the Chinese as to demand a notice. The kí-lin is one of these and is placed at the head of all hairy animals; as the fung-hwang is pre-eminent among feathered races; the dragon and tortoise among the scaly and shelly tribes; and man among naked animals! The naked, hairy, feathered, shelly, and scaly tribes constitute the quinary system of ancient Chinese naturalists. The kí-lin is pictured as resembling a stag in its body and a horse in its hoofs, but possessing the tail of an ox and a parti-colored or scaly skin. A single horn having a fleshy tip proceeds out of the forehead. Besides these external marks to identify it, the kí-lin exhibits great benevolence of disposition toward other living animals, and appears only when wise and just kings, like Yau and Shun, or sages like Confucius, are born, to govern and teach mankind. The Chinese description presents many resemblances to the popular notices of the unicorn, and the independent origin of their account adds something to the probability that a single-horned equine or cervine animal has once existed.[199]

The Fung-hwang, or Phœnix.

Cuvier expresses the opinion that Pliny’s description of the Arabian phœnix was derived from the golden pheasant, though others think the Egyptian plover is the original type. From his likening it to an eagle for size, having a yellow neck with purple, a blue tail varied with red feathers, and a richly feathered tufted head, it is more probable that the Impeyan pheasant was Pliny’s type. The Chinese fung-hwang, or phœnix, is probably based on the Argus pheasant. It is described as adorned with every color, and combines in its form and motions whatever is elegant and graceful, while it possesses such a benevolent disposition that it will not peck or injure living insects, nor tread on growing herbs. Like the kí-lin, it has not been seen since the halcyon days of Confucius, and, from the account given of it, seems to have been entirely fabulous. The etymology of the characters implies that it is the emperor of all birds. One Chinese author describes it “as resembling a wild swan before and a unicorn behind; it has the throat of a swallow, the bill of a cock, the neck of a snake, the tail of a fish, the forehead of a crane, the crown of a mandarin drake, the stripes of a dragon, and the vaulted back of a tortoise. The feathers have five colors, which are named after the five cardinal virtues, and it is five cubits in height; the tail is graduated like Pandean pipes, and its song resembles the music of that instrument, having five modulations.” A beautiful ornament for a lady’s head-dress is sometimes made in the shape of the fung-hwang, and somewhat resembles a similar ornament, imitating the vulture, worn by the ladies of ancient Egypt.

The lung, or dragon, is a familiar object on articles from China. It furnishes a comparison among them for everything terrible, imposing, and powerful; and being taken as the imperial coat of arms, consequently imparts these ideas to his person and state. The type of the dragon is probably the boa-constrictor or sea-serpent, or other similar monster, though the researches of geology have brought to light such a near counterpart of the lung in the iguanadon as to tempt one to believe that this has been the prototype. There are three dragons, the lung in the sky, the lí in the sea, and the kiao in the marshes. The first is the only authentic species, according to the Chinese; it has the head of a camel, the horns of a deer, eyes of a rabbit, ears of a cow, neck of a snake, belly of a frog, scales of a carp, claws of a hawk, and palm of a tiger. On each side of the mouth are whiskers, and its beard contains a bright pearl; the breath is sometimes changed into water and sometimes into fire, and its voice is like the jingling of copper pans. The dragon of the sea occasionally ascends to heaven in water-spouts, and is the ruler of all oceanic phenomena.[200] The dragon is worshipped and feared by Chinese fishermen, and their lung-wang, or ‘dragon king,’ answers to Neptune in western mythology; perhaps the ideas of all classes toward it is a modified relic of the widespread serpent worship of ancient times. The Chinese suppose that elfs, demons, and other supernatural beings often transform themselves into snakes; and M. Julien has translated a fairy story of this sort, called Blanche et Bleue. The kwei, or tortoise, has so few fabulous qualities attributed to it that it hardly comes into the list; it was, according to the story, an attendant on Pwanku when he chiselled out the world. A semi-classical work, the Shan-hai King, or ‘Memoirs upon the Mountains and Seas,’ contains pictures and descriptions of these and kindred monsters, from which the people now derive strange notions respecting them, the book having served to embody and fix for the whole nation what the writer anciently found floating about in the popular legends of particular localities.

A species of alligator (A. sinensis) has been described by Dr. A. Fauvel in the N. C. Br. R. A. Soc. Journal, No. XIII., 1879, in which he gives many historical and other notices of its existence. Crocodiles are recorded as having been seen in the rivers of Kwangtung and Kwangsí, but none of this family attain a large size.

Marco Polo’s account of the huge serpent of Yunnan,[201] having two forelegs near the head, and one claw like that of a lion or hawk on each, and a mouth big enough to swallow a man whole, referring no doubt to the crocodile, is a good instance of the way in which truth and fable were mingled in the accounts of those times. The flesh is still eaten by the Anamese, as he says it was in his day. A gigantic salamander, analogous to the one found in Japan (the Sieboldia), has suggested it as the type of the dragon which figures on the Chinese national flag. Small lizards abound in the southern parts, and the variety and numbers of serpents, both land and water, found in the maritime provinces, are hardly exceeded in any country in the world; they are seldom poisonous. A species of naja is the only venomous snake yet observed at Chusan, and the hooded cobra is one of the few yet found around Canton. Another species frequents the banks, and is driven out of the drains and creeks by high water into the houses. A case is mentioned by Bennet of a Chinese who was bitten, and to whose wound the mashed head of the reptile had been applied as a poultice, a mode of treatment which probably accelerated his death by mixing more of the poison diluted in the animal’s blood with the man’s own blood. It is, however, rare to hear of casualties from this source. This snake is called ‘black and white,’ from being marked in alternate bands of those two colors. A species of acrochordon, remarkable for its abrupt, short tail, has been noticed near Macao.

It is considered felicitous by the Buddhist priests to harbor snakes around their temples; and though the natives do not play with poisonous serpents like the Hindoos, they often handle or teach them simple tricks. The common frog is taken in great numbers for food. Tortoises and turtles from fresh and salt water are plenty along the coast, while both the emys and trionyx are kept in tubs in the streets, where they grow to a large size. An enormous carnivorous tortoise inhabits the waters of Chehkiang near the ocean. The natives have strange ideas concerning the hairy turtle of Sz’chuen, and regard it as excellent medicine; it is now known that the supposed hair consists of confervæ, whose spores, lodged on the shell, have grown far beyond the animal’s body.

The ichthyology of China is one of the richest in the world, though it may be so more from the greater proportion of food furnished by the waters than from any real superabundance of the finny tribes. The offal thrown from boats near cities attracts some kinds to those places, and gives food and employment to multitudes. Several large collections of fishes have been made in Canton, and Mr. Reeves deposited one of the richest in the British Museum, together with a series of drawings made by native artists from living specimens; they have been described by Sir John Richardson in the Report of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, for 1845. In this paper he enumerates one hundred and ninety genera and six hundred and seventy-one species, nearly all of which are marine or come out to sea at certain times. Since it was prepared great accessions to this branch have been made from the inland waters, so that probably a thousand sorts in all have been observed. The salmon and cod families are comparatively scarce, but the mackerel, goby, and herring families are very abundant. The variety of fish is so great in Macao, that if one is willing to eat all that are brought to market, as the Chinese do (including the sharks, torpedoes, gudgeons, etc.), one can have a different species every day in the year. It may with truth be said that the Chinese eat nearly every living thing found in the water, some of the hideous fishing frogs or gurnards alone excepted.

The cartilaginous fishes, sharks, rays, and saw-fish, are abundant on the sea-coast. The sturgeon is not common at the south, but in the winter it is brought from the Songari and other rivers to Peking for the imperial table, being highly prized by Chinese epicures. There is found in the Yangtsz’ a singular species of sturgeon, the yiu yü, which lies under the banks in still water and sucks its prey into a sac-like mouth projecting like a cusp under the long snout; it has no scales, and is four feet long. Common sturgeon, weighing a thousand pounds, are caught in this river. The hammer-headed and zebra shark (Cestracion zebra) are seen in the markets at Macao; also huge skates, some of them measuring five feet across; the young of all these species are regarded as particularly good eating. A kind of torpedo (Narcine lingula) is not uncommon on the southern coast, but the natives do not seem to be aware of any electrical properties. It is said that the fishermen sometimes destroy the shark by boiling a melon and throwing it out as a bait; when swallowed, the heat kills the fish. The true cod has not been observed on the Chinese coast, but several species of serrani (as Plectropoma susuki, Serranus shihpan, Megachir, etc.), generally called shih-pan by the natives, and garoupa by foreigners, are common off Canton, and considered to be most delicate fare. Another fine fish is the Polynemus tetradactylus, or bynni-carp, often called salmon by foreigners; isinglass is prepared from its skin. The pomfret, or tsang yü (Stromateus argenteus), is a good pan-fish, but hardly so delicate as the sole, many fine species of which abound along the whole coast. Besides these, two or three species of mackerel, the Sciœna lucida, an ophicephalus, the mullet, and the ‘white rice fish’ occur. The shad is abundant off the Yangtsz’, and is superior to the American species; Chinese epicures will sometimes pay fifty dollars for the first one of the season.

The carp family (Cyprinidæ) is very abundant in the rivers and lakes of China, and some species are reared in fish-pools and tubs to a monstrous size; fifty-two species are mentioned in Richardson’s list. The gold-fish is the most celebrated, and has been introduced into Europe, where it was first seen toward the end of the seventeenth century. The Chinese say that its native place is Lake Tsau, in the province of Nganhwui. The effects of domestication in changing the natural form of this fish are great; specimens are often seen without any dorsal fin, and the tail and other fins tufted and lobed to such a degree as to resemble artificial appendages or wings rather than natural organs. The eyes are developed till the globe projects beyond the socket like goggles, presenting an extraordinary appearance. Some of them are so fantastic, indeed, that they would be regarded as lusus naturæ were they not so common. The usual color is a ruddy golden hue, but both sexes exhibit a silvery or blackish tint at certain stages of their growth; and one variety, called the silver-fish, retains this shade all its life. The Chinese keep it in their garden ponds, or in earthern jars, in which are placed rocks covered with moss, and overgrown with tufts of ferns, to afford them a retreat from the light. When the females spawn, the eggs must be removed to a shallow vessel, lest the males devour them, where the heat of the sun hatches them; the young are nearly black, but gradually become whitish or reddish, and at last assume a golden or silvery hue. Specimens upward of two feet long have been noticed, and those who rear them emulate each other in producing new varieties.

The rearing of fish is an important pursuit, the spawn being collected with the greatest care and placed in favorable positions for hatching. The Bulletin Universel for 1829 asserts that in some part of China the spawn so taken is carefully placed in an empty egg-shell and the hole closed; the egg is then replaced in the nest, and, after the hen has sat a few days upon it, reopened, and the spawn placed in vessels of water warmed by the sun, where it soon hatches.

The immense fleets of fishing boats on the Yangtsz’ and its tributaries indicate the finny supplies its waters afford. A species of pipe-fish (Fistularia immaculata), of a red color, and the gar-pike, with green bones, are found about Canton; as are also numerous beautiful parrot-fish and sun-fish (Chætodon). An ingenious mode of taking its prey is practised by a sort of chætodon, or chelmon; it darts a drop of water at the flies or other insects lighting on the bank near the edge, in such a manner as to knock them off, when they are devoured. All the species of ophicephalus, or săng yü, so remarkable for their tenacity of life, are reared in tanks and pools, and are hawked alive through the streets.

Eels, mullets, alewives or file-fish, breams, gudgeons, and many other kinds, are seen in the markets. Few things eaten by the Chinese look more repulsive than the gobies as they lie wriggling in the slime which keeps them alive; one species (Trypauchen vagina), called chu pih yü, or ‘vermilion pencil-fish,’ is a cylindrical fish, six or eight inches long, of a dark red color; its eyes protrude so that it can see behind, like a giraffe. Some kinds of gobies construct little hillocks in the ooze, with a depression on the top, in which their spawn is hatched by the sun; at low tide they skip about on the banks like young frogs, and are easily captured with the hand. A delicious species of Saurus (Leucosoma Chinensis), called pih fan yü, or ‘white rice fish,’ and yin yü, or silver-fish, ranges from Hakodate to Canton. It is six or eight inches long, the body scaleless and transparent, so that the muscles, intestines, and spinal column can be seen without dissection; the bones of the head are thin, flexible, and diaphanous. Many species of file-fish, sole-fish, anchovy, and eels, are captured on the coast. Vast quantities of dried fish, like the stock fish in Sweden, are sent inland to sell in regions where fish are rare. The most common sorts are the perch, sun-fish, gurnard, and hair-tail (Trichinrus).

Shell-fish and mollusks, both fresh and salt, are abundant in the market. Oysters of a good quality are common along the coast, and a species of mactra, or sand-clam, is fished up near Macao. The Pearl River affords two or three kinds of fresh-water shell-fish (Mytilus), and snails (Voluta) are plenty in all pools. The crangons, prawns, shrimps, crabs, and other kinds of crustacea met with, are not less abundant than palatable; one species of craw-fish, as large as (but not taking the place of) the lobster, called lung hai, or ‘dragon crab,’ together with cuttle-fish of three or four kinds, and the king-crab (Polyphemus), are all eaten. The inland waters produce many species of shells, and the new genus theliderma, allied to the unio, was formed by Mr. Benson, of Calcutta, from specimens obtained of a shopkeeper at Canton. The land shells are abundant, especially various kinds of snails (Helix, Lymnea, etc.); twenty-two species of helix alone were contained in a small collection sent from Peking, in which region all this kind of food is well known. A catalogue of nearly sixty shells obtained in Canton is given in Murray’s China,[202] but it is doubtful whether even half of them are found in the country, as the shops there are supplied in a great degree from the Archipelago. Dr. Cantor[203] mentions eighty-eight genera of shells occurring between Canton and Chusan. Pearls are found in China, and Marco Polo speaks of a salt lake, supposed now to be in Yunnan, which produced them in such quantity that the fishery in his day was farmed out and restricted lest they should become too cheap and common. In Chehkiang the natives take a large kind of clam (Alasmodonta) and gently attach leaden images of Buddha under the fish, after which it is thrown back into the water. Nacre is deposited over the lead, and after a few months the shells are retaken, cleaned, and then sent abroad to sell as proofs of the power and presence of Buddha. The Quarterly Review speaks of a mode practised by the Chinese of making pearls by dropping a string of small mother-of-pearl beads into the shell, which in a year are covered with the pearly crust. Leeches are much used by native physicians; the hammer-headed leech has been noticed at Chusan.

The insects of China are almost unknown to the naturalist. In Dr. Cantor’s collection, from Chusan, there are fifty-nine genera mentioned, among which tropical forms prevail; there are also six genera of arachnidæ, and the list of spiders could easily be multiplied to hundreds; among them are many showing most splendid coloring. One large and strong species is affirmed to capture small birds on the trees. Locusts sometimes commit extensive ravages, and no part of the land is free from their presence, though their depredations do not usually reach over a great extent of country, or often for two successive years. They are, however, sufficiently troublesome to attract the notice of the government, as the edict against them, inserted in another chapter, proves. Centipedes, scorpions, and some other species in the same order are known, the former being most abundant in the central and western regions, where scorpions are rare.

The most valuable insect is the silkworm, which is reared in nearly every province, and the silk from other wild worms found on the oak and ailantus in Shantung, Sz’chuen, and elsewhere also gathered; the proper silkworm itself has been met with to some extent in northern Shansí and Mongolia. Many other insects of the same order (Lepidopteræ) exist, but those sent abroad have been mostly from the province of Kwangtung. Eastward of the city of Canton, on a range of hills called Lofau shan, large butterflies and night moths of immense size and brilliant coloring are captured. One of these insects (Bombyx atlas) measures about nine inches across; the ground color is a rich and varied orange brown, and in the centre of each wing there is a triangular transparent spot, resembling a piece of mica. Sphinxes of great beauty and size are common, and in their splendid coloring, rapid noiseless flight from flower to flower, at the close of the day, remind one of the humming-bird. Some families are more abundant than others; the coleopterous exceed the lepidopterous, and the range of particular tribes in each of these is often very limited. The humid regions of Sz’chuen furnished a great harvest of beautiful butterflies to M. David, while the lamellicorn beetles and cerambycidæ are the most common in the north and central parts.

Many tribes of coleopterous insects are abundant, but the number of species yet identified is trifling. Several water beetles, and others included under the same general designation, have been found in collections sold at Canton, but owing to the careless manner in which those boxes are filled, very few specimens are perfect, the antennæ or tarsi being broken. The mole-cricket occurs everywhere. The common cricket is caught and sold in the markets for gambling; persons of all ranks amuse themselves by irritating two of these insects in a bowl, and betting upon the prowess of their favorites. The cicada, or broad locust, is abundant, and its stridulous sound is heard from trees and groves with deafening loudness. Boys tie a straw around the abdomen of the male, so as to irritate the sounding apparatus, and carry it through the streets in this predicament, to the great annoyance of every one. This insect was well known to the Greeks; the ancient distich—

hints at their knowledge of this sexual difference, as well as intimates their opinion of domestic quiet. Again it forms the subject of Meleager’s invocation:

The lantern-fly (Fulgora) is less common than the cicada. It is easily recognized by its long cylindrical snout, arched in an upward direction, its greenish reticulated elytra, and orange-yellow wings with black extremities; but its appearance in the evening is far from being as luminous as are the fire-fly and glow-worm of South America. The Peh lah shu, or ‘white wax tree’ (Fraxinus chinensis), affords nourishment to an insect of this order called Coccus pela. The larvæ alone furnish the wax, the secretion being the result of disease. Sir Geo. L. Staunton first described the fly from specimens seen in Annam in 1795, where the natives collected a white powder from the bark of the tree on which it occurs. Daniel Hanbury figured the insect and tree with the deposit of crude wax on the limbs, all obtained in Chekhiang province.[204] Baron Richthofen speaks of this industry in Sz’chuen as one furnishing employment to great multitudes. The department of Kia-ting furnishes the best wax, as its climate is warmer than Chingtu. The eggs of the insect are gathered in Kien-chang and Ning-yuen, where the tree flourishes on which it deposits them, and its culture is carefully attended to. The insect lives and breeds on this evergreen, and in April the eggs are collected and carried up to Kia-ting by porters. This journey is mostly performed by night so as to avoid the risk of hatching their loads; 300 eggs weigh one tael. They are instantly placed on the same kind of tree, six or seven balls of eggs done up in palm-leaf bags and hung on the twigs. In a few days the larvæ begin to spread over the branches, but do not touch the leaves; the bark soon becomes incrusted with a white powder, and is not disturbed till August. The loaded branches are then cut off and boiled, when the wax collects on the surface of the water, is skimmed off, and melted again to be poured into pans for sale. A tael’s weight of eggs will produce two or three catties of the translucent, highly crystalline wax; it sells there for five mace a tael and upward. The annual income is reckoned at Tls. 2,000,000.[205] The purposes to which this singular product are applied include all those of beeswax. Pills are ingeniously enclosed in small globes of it, and candles of every size made. Wax is also gathered from wild and domestic bees, but honey is not much used; a casing of wax, colored with vermilion, is used to inclose the tallow of great painted candles set before the idols and tablets.

The Chinese Herbal contains a singular notion, prevalent also in India, concerning the generation of the sphex, or solitary wasp. When the female lays her eggs in the clayey nidus she makes in houses, she encloses the dead body of a caterpillar in it for the subsistence of the worms when they hatch. Those who observed her entombing the caterpillar did not look for the eggs, and immediately concluded that the sphex took the worm for her progeny, and say that as she plastered up the hole of the nest, she hummed a constant song over it, saying, “Class with me! Class with me!”—and the transformation gradually took place, and was perfected in its silent grave by the next spring, when a winged wasp emerged to continue its posterity in the same mysterious way.[206]

White ants are troublesome in the warmer parts, and annoy the people there by eating up the coffins in the graves. They form passages under ground, and penetrate upward into the woodwork of houses, and the whole building may become infested with them almost before their existence is suspected. They will even eat their way into fruit trees, cabbages, and other plants, destroying them while in full vigor. Many of the internal arrangements of the nests of bees and ants, and their peculiar instincts, have been described by Chinese writers with considerable accuracy. The composition of the characters for the bee, ant, and mosquito, respectively, denote the awl insect, the righteous insect, and the lettered insect; referring thereby to the sting of the first, the orderly working and subordination of the second, and the letter-like markings on the wings of the latter. Mosquitoes are plenty, and gauze curtains are considered to be a more necessary part of bed furniture than a mattress.

The botany of China is rather better known than its zoölogy, though vast and unexplored fields, like that reaching from Canton to Silhet and Assam, still invite the diligent collector to gather, examine, and make known their treasures. One of the earliest authors in this branch was Père Loureiro, a Portuguese for thirty-six years missionary in Cochinchina, and professor of mathematics and physic in the royal palace. He gathered a large herbarium there and in southern Kwangtung, and published his Flora Cochinchinensis in 1790, in which he described one hundred and eighty-four genera and more than three hundred new species. The only other work specially devoted to Chinese botany is Bentham’s Flora Hongkongensis, published in 1861. The materials for it were collected by Drs. Hinds, Hance and Harland, Col. Champion, and others, during the previous twenty years, and amounted in all to upward of five thousand specimens, gathered exclusively on the island. Since its publication, Dr. Hance has added to our accurate knowledge of the Chinese flora many new specimens growing in other parts of the Empire, whose descriptions are scattered through various publications. Père David, during his extensive travels in northern China, gathered thousands of specimens which have yet to be carefully described. The Russian naturalists Maximowitch, Bunge, Tatarinov, Bretschneider, Prejevalsky, and others have largely increased our knowledge of the plants of Mongolia, the Amur basin, and the region about Peking. The first named has issued a separate work on the Amur flora, but most of the papers of these scientists are to be found in periodicals. In very early days, China was celebrated for the camphor, varnish, tallow, oil, tea, cassia, dyes, etc., obtained from its plants; and the later monographs of professed botanists, issued since Linneus looked over the two hundred and sixty-four species brought by his pupil Osbeck in 1750, down to the present day, have altogether given immense assistance to a thorough understanding of their nature and value.

Mr. Bentham’s observations on the range of the plants collected in the island of Hongkong represent its flora, in general character, as most like that of tropical Asia, of which it offers, in numerous instances, the northern limit. The damp, wooded ravines on the north and west furnish plants closely allied to those of Assam and Sikkim; while other species, in considerable numbers, have a much more tropical character, extending with little variation over the Archipelago, Malaysia, Ceylon, and even to tropical Africa, but not into India. Within two degrees north of the island these tropical features (so far as is known) almost entirely cease, and out of the one thousand and fifty-six species described in the Flora Hongkongensis, only about eighty have been found in Japan; thus indicating that very few of the plants known to range across from the Himalaya to Japan grow south of Amoy. On the twenty-nine square miles forming the area of Hongkong there exists, Mr. Bentham says, a greater number of monotypic genera than in any other flora from an equal area in the world; he gives a comparative table of the floras of Hongkong, Aden and Ischia islands, about equal in extent, showing one thousand and three species growing on the first, ninety-five on the second, and seven hundred and ninety-two on the third. The proportion of woody to herbaceous species in Hongkong is nearly one-half, while in Ischia it is one to eleven; yet Hongkong has actually fewer trees than Ischia. Out of the one thousand and three species of wild plants there, three hundred and ninety-eight also occur in the tropical Asiatic flora, while one hundred and eighty-seven others have been found as well on the mainland; one hundred and fifty-nine are peculiar to the island.

Many species of coniferæ are floated down to Canton, taken from the Mei ling, or brought from Kwangsí; the timber is used for fuel, but more for rafters and pillars in buildings. The wood of the pride of India is employed for cabinet work; there are also many kinds of fancy wood, some of which are imported, and more are indigenous. The nan muh, or southern wood, a magnificent species of laurus common in Sz’chuen, which resists time and insects, is peculiarly valuable, and reserved for imperial use. The cœsalpinia, rose wood, aigle wood, and the camphor, elm, willow, and aspen, are also serviceable in carpentry.

The people collect seaweed to a great extent, using it in the arts and also for food; among these the Gigartina tenax affords an excellent material for glues and varnishes. It is boiled, and the transparent glue obtained is brushed upon very coarse silk or mulberry paper, filling up their substance, and making a transparent covering for lanterns; it is also used as a size for stiffening silks and gauze. This and other kinds of fuci are boiled to a jelly and used for food; it is known in commerce under the name of agar-agar. The thick fronds of the laminaria are gathered on the northern coasts and imported from Japan. Among other cryptogams, the Tartarian lamb (Aspidium barometz), so graphically described by Darwin in his Botanic Garden, has long been celebrated; it is partly an artificial production of the ingenuity of Chinese gardeners taking advantage of the natural habits of the plant to form it into a shape resembling a sheep or other object.

Among remarkable grasses the zak or saxaul (Haloxylon) and the sulhir (Agriophyllum), which grow in the sandy parts of the desert of Gobi, should be mentioned. The first is found across the whole length of this arid region, growing on the bare sand, furnishing to the traveller a dry and ready fuel in its brittle twigs, while his camels greedily browse on its leafless but juicy and prickly branches. The Mongols pitch their tents beneath its shelter, seeking for some covert from the wintry winds, and encouraged to dig at its roots for water which has been detained by their succulent nature, a wonderful provision furnished by God in the bleakest desert. The sulhir is even more important, and is the “gift of the desert.” It grows on bare sand, is about two feet high, a prickly saline plant, producing many seeds in September, of a nutritious, agreeable nature, food for man and beast.

The list of gramineous plants cultivated for food is large; the common sorts include rice, wheat, barley, oats, maize, sugar-cane, panic, sorghum, spiked and panicled millet, of each kind several varieties. The grass (Phragmites) raised along the river banks is carefully cut and dried, to be woven into floor-matting; a coarser sort, called atap, is made of bamboo splints for roofs of huts, awnings, and sheds. In the milder climes of the southern coasts, cheap houses are constructed of these materials. The coarse grass and shrubbery on the hills is cut in the autumn for fuel by the poor; and when the hills are well sheared of their grassy covering, the stubble is set on fire, in order to supply ashes for manuring the next crop—an operation which tends to keep the hills bare of all shrubbery and trees.

Few persons who have not seen the bamboo growing in its native climes get a full idea from pictures of its grace and beauty. A clump of this magnificent grass will gradually develop by new shoots into a grove, if care be taken to cut down the older stems as they reach full maturity, and not let them flower and go to seed; for as soon as they have perfected the seed, they die down to the root, like other grasses. The stalks usually attain the height of fifty feet, and in the Indian islands often reach seventy feet and upward, with a diameter of ten or twelve inches at the bottom. A road lined with them, with their feathery sprays meeting overhead, presents one of the most beautiful avenues possible to a warm climate.

In China the industry and skill of the people have multiplied and perpetuated a number of varieties (one author contents himself with describing sixty of them), among which are the yellow, the black, the green, the slender sort for pipes, and a slenderer one for writing-pencils, the big-leaved, etc. Its uses are so various that it is not easy to enumerate them all. The shoots come out of the ground nearly full-sized, four to six inches in diameter, and are cut like asparagus to eat as a pickle or a comfit, or by boiling or stewing. Sedentary Buddhist priests raise this lenten fare for themselves or to sell, and extract the tabasheer from the joints of the old culms, to sell as a precious medicine for almost anything which ails you. The roots are carved into fantastic and ingenious images and stands, or divided into egg-shaped divining-blocks to ascertain the will of the gods, or trimmed into lantern handles, canes, and umbrella-sticks.

The tapering culms are used for all purposes that poles can be applied to in carrying, propelling, supporting, and measuring, for which their light, elastic, tubular structure, guarded by a coating of silicious skin, and strengthened by a thick septum at each joint, most admirably fits them. The pillars and props of houses, the framework of awnings, the ribs of mat-sails, and the shafts of rakes are each furnished by these culms. So, also, are fences and all kinds of frames, coops, and cages, the wattles of abatis, and the ribs of umbrellas and fans. The leaves are sewed into rain-cloaks for farmers and sailors, and thatches for covering their huts and boats, pinned into linings for tea-boxes, plaited into immense umbrellas to screen the huckster and his stall from the sun and rain, or into coverings for theatres and sheds. Even the whole lot where a two-story house is building is usually covered in by a framework of bamboo-poles and attap—as this leaf covering is called, from its Malay name—all tied together by rattan, and protecting the workmen and their work from sun and rain.

The wood, cut into splints of proper sizes and forms, is woven into baskets of every shape and fancy, sewed into window-curtains and door-screens, plaited into awnings and coverings for tea-chests or sugar-cones, and twisted into cables. The shavings and curled threads aid softer things in stuffing pillows; while other parts supply the bed for sleeping, the chopsticks for eating, the pipe for smoking, and the broom for sweeping. The mattress to lie upon, the chair to sit upon, the table to eat on, the food to eat, and the fuel to cook it with, are also derivable from bamboo. The master makes his ferule from it, the carpenter his foot-measure, the farmer his water-pipes, irrigating wheels, and straw-rakes, the grocer his gill and pint cups, and the mandarin his dreaded instrument of punishment. This last use is so common that the name of the plant itself has come in our language to denote this application, and the poor wretch who is bambooed for his crimes is thus taught that laws cannot be violated with impunity.

The paper to write on, the book to study from, the pencil to write with, the cup to hold the pencils, and the covering of the lattice-window instead of glass are all indebted to this grass in their manufacture. The shaft of the soldier’s spear, and oftentimes the spear altogether, the plectrum for playing the lute, the reed in the native organ, the skewer to fasten the hair, the undershirt to protect the body, the hat to screen the head, the bucket to draw the water, and the easy-chair to lounge on, besides cages for birds, fish, bees, grasshoppers, shrimps, and cockroaches, crab-nets, fishing-poles, sumpitans or shooting-tubes, flutes, fifes, fire-holders, etc., etc., are among the things furnished from this plant, whose beauty when growing is commensurate to its usefulness when cut down. A score or two of bamboo-poles for joists and rafters, fifty fathoms of rattan ropes, with plenty of palm-leaves and bamboo-matting for roof and sides, supply material for a common dwelling in the south of China. Its cost is about five dollars. Those houses built over creeks, or along the low banks of rivers and sea-beaches, are elevated a few feet, and their floors are neatly made of split bamboos, which allow the water to be seen through. The decks, masts, yards, and framework of the mat-sails of the small boats of the islanders in the Archipelago are all more or less made of this useful plant. Throughout the south of Asia it enters into the daily life of the people in their domestic economy more than anything else, or than any other one thing does in any part of the world. The Japanese supply us with fans neatly formed, ribs and handle, from a single branch of bamboo, and covered with paper made from mulberry bark, while their skill is shown also in the exquisite covering of fine bamboo threads woven around cups and saucers.[207]

In ancient times the date palm was cultivated in China, but is now unknown. The cocoanut flourishes in Hainan and the adjacent coasts, where its fruit, leaves, and timber are much used. A great variety of utensils are carved from the nut-case, and ropes spun from the coir, while the cultivators drink the toddy made from the juice. The fan palm (Chamærops) is the common palm of the country, two species being cultivated for the wiry fibres in the leaf-sheaths, and for their broad leaves. This fibre is far more useful than that from cocoanut husks, as it is longer and smoother, and is woven into ropes, mats, cloaks, and brushes. The tree is spread over the greater part of the provinces, one of their most ornamental and useful trees. Another sort (Caryota) also furnishes a fibre employed in the same way, but its timber is more valuable; sedan thills are made of its wood. Still another is the talipot palm (Borassus), from whose leaves a material for writing books upon was once produced, as is the case now in Siam.[208]

Several species of Aroideæ are cultivated, among which the Caladium cuculatum, Arum esculentum, and Indicum are common. The tuberous farinaceous roots of the Sagittaria sinensis are esteemed; the roots of these plants, and of the water-chestnut, are manufactured into a powder resembling arrow-root. The sweet flag (Calamus) is used in medicine for its spicy warmth. The stems of a species of Juncus are collected and the pith carefully taken out and dried for the wicks of water-lamps, and the inner layers of the pith hats so generally worn in southern China.

The extensive group of lillies contains many splendid ornaments of the conservatory and garden, natives of China; some are articles of food. The Agapanthus, or blue African lily, four species of Hemerocallis, or day lily, and the fragrant tuberose, are all common about Canton; the latter is widely cultivated for its blossoms to scent fancy teas. Eight or ten species of Lilium (among which the speckled tiger lily and the unsullied white are conspicuous) also add their gay beauties to the gardens; while the modest Commelina, with its delicate blue blossoms, ornaments the hedges and walks. Many alliaceous plants, the onion, cives, garlic, etc., belong to this group; and the Chinese relish them for the table as much as they admire the flowers of their beauteous and fragrant congeners for bouquets. The singular red-leaved iron-wood (Dracæna) forms a common ornament of gardens.

The yam, or ta-shu (i.e., ‘great tuber’), is not much raised, though its wholesome qualities as an article of food are well understood. The same group (Musales) to which the yam belongs furnishes the custard-apple, one of the few fruits which have been introduced from abroad. The Amaryllidæ are represented by many pretty species of Crinum, Nerine, and Amaryllis. Their unprofitable beauty is compensated by the plain but useful plantain, said to stand before the potato and sago palm as producing the greatest amount of wholesome food, in proportion to its size, of any cultivated plant.[209] There are many varieties of this fruit, some of them so acid as to require cooking before eating.

That pleasant stomachic, ginger, is cultivated through all the country, and exposed for sale as a green vegetable, to spice dishes, and largely made into a preserve. The Alpinia and Canna, or Indian shot, are common garden flowers. The large group of Orchideæ has nineteen genera known to be natives of China, among which the air plants (Vanda and Ærides) are great favorites. They are suspended in baskets under the trees, and continue to unfold their blossoms in gradual succession for many weeks, all the care necessary being to sprinkle them daily. The true species of Ærides are among the most beautiful productions of the vegetable world, their flowers being arrayed in long racemes of delicate colors and delicious fragrance. The beautiful Bletia, Arundina, Spathoglottis, and Cymbidium are common in damp and elevated places about the islands near Macao and Hongkong.

Many species of the pine, cypress, and yew, forming the three subdivisions of cone-bearing plants, furnish a large proportion of the timber and fuel. The larch is not rare, and the Pinus massoniana and Cunninghamia furnish most of the common pine timber. The finest member of this order in China is the white pine (Pinus bungiana), peculiar to Chihlí; its trunk is a clear white, and as it annually sheds the bark it always looks as if whitewashed. Some specimens near Peking are said to be a thousand years old. Two members of the genus Sequoia, of a moderate size, occur near Tibet. The juniper and thuja are often selected by gardeners to try their skill in forcing them to grow into rude representations of birds and animals, the price of these curiosities being proportioned to their grotesqueness and difficulty. The nuts of the maiden-hair tree (Salisburia adiantifolia) are eaten, and the leaves are sometimes put into books as a preservative against insects.

The willow is a favorite plant and grows to a great size, Staunton mentioning some which were fifteen feet in girth; they shade the roads near the capital, and one of them is the true Babylonian willow; the trees are grown for timber and for burning into charcoal. Their leaves, shape, and habits afford many metaphors to poets and writers, much more use being made of the tree in this way, it might almost be said, than any other. The oak is less patronized by fine writers, but the value of its wood and bark is well understood; the country affords several species, one of which, the chestnut oak, is cultivated for the cupules, to be used in dyeing. The galls are used for dyeing and in medicine, and the acorns of some kinds are ground in mills, and the flour soaked in water and made into a farinaceous paste. Some of the missionaries speak of oaks a hundred feet high, but such giants in this family are rare. “One of the largest and most interesting of these trees, which,” writes Abel, “I have called Quercus densifolia, resembled a laurel in its shining green foliage. It bore branches and leaves in a thick head, crowning a naked and straight stem; its fruit grew along upright spikes terminating the branches. Another species, growing to the height of fifty feet, bore them in long, pendulous spikes.”

The chestnut, walnut, and hazelnut together furnish a large supply of food. The queer-shaped ovens fashioned in imitation of a raging lion, in which chestnuts are roasted in the streets of Peking, attract the eye of the visitor. The Jack-fruit (Artocarpus) is not unknown in Canton, but it is not much used. There are many species of the banian, but none of them produce fruit worth plucking; the Portuguese have introduced the common fig, but it does not flourish. The bastard banian is a magnificent shade tree, its branches sometimes overspreading an area a hundred or more feet across. The walls of cities and dwellings are soon covered with the Ficus repens, and if left unmolested its roots gradually demolish them. The paper mulberry (Broussonetia) is largely cultivated in the northern provinces, and serves the poor with their chief material for windows. The leaf of the common mulberry is the principal object of its culture, but the fruit is eaten and the wood burned for lampblack to make India-ink.

Hemp (Cannabis) is cultivated for its fibres, and the seeds furnish an oil used for household purposes and medicinal preparations; the intoxicating substance called bang, made in India, is unknown in China. The family Proteaceæ contains the Eleococca cordata, or wu-tung, a favorite tree of the Chinese for its beauty, the hard wood it furnishes, and the oil extracted from its seeds. The Stillingia belongs to the same family; this symmetrical tree is a native of all the eastern provinces, where it is raised for its tallow; it resembles the aspen in the form and color of the leaf and in its general contour. The castor-oil is cultivated as a hedge plant, and the seeds are used both in the kitchen and apothecaries’ shop.

The order Hippurinæ furnishes the water caltrops (Trapa), the seeds of which are vended in the streets as a fruit after boiling; one native name is ‘buffalo-head fruit,’ which the unopened nuts strikingly resemble. Black pepper is imported, not so much as a spice as for its infusion, to be administered in fevers. The betel pepper is cultivated for its leaves, which are chewed with the betel-nut. The pitcher plant (Nepenthes), called pig-basket plant, is not unfrequent near Canton; the leaves, or ascidia, bear no small resemblance to the open baskets employed for carrying hogs.

Many species of the tribe Rumicinæ are cultivated as esculent vegetables, among which may be enumerated spinach, green basil, beet, amaranthus, cockscomb, broom-weed (Kochia), buckwheat, etc. Two species of Polygonum are raised for the blue dye furnished by the leaves, which is extracted, like indigo, by maceration. Buckwheat is prepared for food by boiling it like millet; one native name means ‘triangular wheat.’ The flour is also employed in pastry. The cockscomb is much admired by the Chinese, whose gardens furnish several splendid varieties. The rhubarb is a member of this useful tribe, and large quantities are brought from Kansuh and Koko-nor, where its habits have lately been observed by Prejevalsky. The root is dug by Chinese and Tanguts during September and October, dried in the shade, and transported by the Yellow River to the coast towns, where Europeans pay from six to ten times its rate among the mountain markets.[210] The Chinese consider the rest of the world dependent on them for tea and rhubarb, whose inhabitants are therefore forced to resort thither to procure means to relieve themselves of an otherwise irremediable costiveness. This argument was made use of by Commissioner Lin in 1840, when recommending certain restrictive regulations to be imposed upon foreign trade, because he supposed merchants from abroad would be compelled to purchase them at any price.

The order Ilicinæ, or holly, furnishes several genera of Rhamneæ, whose fruits are often seen on tables. The Zizyphus furnishes the so-called Chinese dates[211] in immense quantities throughout the northern provinces. The fleshy peduncles of the Hovenia are eaten; they are common in the southeastern provinces. The leaves of the Rhamnus theezans are among the many plants collected by the poor as a make-shift for the true tea. The fruit called the Chinese olive, obtained from the Pimela, is totally different from and is a poor substitute for the rich olive of the Mediterranean countries.[212]

The Leguminosæ hold an important place in Chinese botany, affording many esculent vegetables and valuable products. Peas and beans are probably eaten more in China than any other country, and soy is prepared chiefly from the Soja or Dolichos. One of the modes of making this condiment is to skin the beans and grind them to flour, which is mixed with water and powdered gypsum, or turmeric. It is eaten as a jelly or curd, or in cakes, and a meal is seldom spread without it in some form. One genus of this tribe affords indigo, and from the buds and leaves of a species of Colutea a kind of green dye is said to be obtained. Liquorice is esteemed in medicine; and the red seeds of the Abrus precatorius are gathered for ornaments. The Poinciana and Bauhinia are cultivated for their flowers, and the Erythrina and Cassia are among the most magnificent flowering trees in the south.

The fruits are, on the whole, inferior in flavor and size to those of the same names at the west. Several varieties of pears, plums, peaches, and apricots are known; it is probable that China is the native country of each of these fruits, and some of the varieties equal those found anywhere. Erman[213] mentions an apple or haw which grows in “long bunches and is round, about the size of a cherry, of a red color, and very sweet taste,” found in abundance near Kiakhta. There are numerous species of Amygdalus cultivated for their flowers; and at new year the budding stems of the flowering almond, narcissus, plum, peach, and bell-flower (Enkianthus reticulatus) are forced into blossom for exhibition, as indicating good luck the coming year. The apples and quinces are generally destitute of that flavor looked for in them elsewhere, but the lu-kuh, or loquat, is a pleasant acid spring fruit. The pomegranate is chiefly cultivated for its beauty as a flowering plant; but the guava and Eugenia, or rose-apple, are sold in the market or made into jellies. The rose is a favorite among the Chinese and extensively cultivated; twenty species are mentioned, together with many varieties, as natives of the country; the Banks rose is developed and trained with great skill. The Spiræa or privet, myrtle, Quisqualis, Lawsonia or henna, white, purple, and red varieties of crape-myrtle or Lagerstrœmia, Hydrangea, the passion-flower, and the house-leek are also among the ornamental plants found in gardens. Few trees in any country present a more elegant appearance, when in full flower, than the Lagerstrœmias. The Pride of India and Chinese tamarix are also beautiful flowering trees. Specimens of the Cactus and Cereus, containing fifty or more splendid flowers in full bloom, are not unusual at Macao in August.

The watermelon, cucumber, squash, tomato, brinjal or egg-plant, and other garden vegetables are abundant; the tallow-gourd (Benincasa cerifera) is remarkable for having its surface covered with a waxy exudation which smells like rosin. The dried bottle-gourd (Cucurbita lagenaria) is tied to the backs of children on the boats to assist them in floating if they should unluckily fall overboard. The fruit and leaves of the papaw, or muh kwa, ‘tree melon,’ are eaten after being cooked; the Chinese are aware of the intenerating property of the exhalations from the leaves of this tree, and make use of them sometimes to soften the flesh of ancient hens and cocks, by hanging the newly killed birds in the tree or by feeding them upon the fruit beforehand. The carambola (Averrhoa) or tree gooseberry is much eaten by the Chinese, but is not relished by foreigners; the tree itself is also an ornament to any pleasure grounds.

Ginseng is found wild in the forests of Manchuria, where it is collected by detachments of soldiers detailed for this purpose; these regions are regarded as imperial preserves, and the medicine is held as a governmental monopoly. The importation of the American root does not interfere to a very serious degree with the imperial sales, as the Chinese are fully convinced that their own plant is far superior. Among numerous plants of the malvaceous and pink tribes (Dianthaceæ) remarkable for their beauty or use, the Lychnis coronata, five sorts of pink, the Althæa Chinensis, eight species of Hibiscus, and other malvaceous flowers may be mentioned; the cotton tree (Salmalia) is common at Canton; the fleshy petals are sometimes prepared as food, and the silky stamens dried to stuff cushions. The Gossypium herbaceum and Pachyrrhizus afford the materials for cotton and grasscloth; both of them are cultivated in most parts of China. The latter is a twining, leguminous plant, cultivated from remote antiquity, and still grown for its fibres, which are woven into linen. The petals of the Hibiscus rosa-sinensis furnish a black liquid to dye the eyebrows, and at Batavia they are employed to polish shoes. The fruits of the Hibiscus ochra, or okers, are prepared for the table in a variety of ways.

The Camellia Japonica is allied to the same great tribe as the Hibiscus, and its elegant flowers are as much admired by the people of its native country as by florists abroad; thirty or forty varieties are enumerated, many of them unknown out of China, while Chinese gardeners are likewise ignorant of a large proportion of those found in our conservatories. This flower is cultivated solely for its beauty, but other species of Camellia are raised for their seeds, the oil expressed from them being serviceable for many household and mechanical purposes. From the fibres of a species of Waltheria, a plant of the same tribe, a fine cloth is made; and the Pentapetes Phœnicia, or ‘noon flower,’ is a common ornament of gardens.

The widely diffused tribe Ranunculiaceæ has many representatives, some of them profitable for their timber, others sought after for their fruit or admired for their beauty, and a few prized for their healing properties. There are eight species of Magnolia, all of them splendid flowering plants; the bark of the Magnolia yulan is employed as a febrifuge. The seed vessels of the Ilicium anisatum, or star-aniseed, are gathered on account of their spicy warmth and fragrance. The Artabotrys odoratissimus and Unona odorata are cultivated for their perfume. Another favorite is the mowtan, or tree pæony, reared for its large and variegated flowers; its name of hwa wang, or ‘king of flowers,’ indicates the estimation in which it is held. The skill of native gardeners has made many varieties, and their patience is rewarded by the high prices which fine specimens command. Good imitations of full-grown plants in flower are sometimes made of pith paper. The Clematis, the foxglove, the Berberis Chinensis, and the magnificent lotus, all belong to this tribe; the latter, one of the most celebrated plants in Asia, is more esteemed by the Chinese for its edible roots than reverenced for its religious associations. The Actæa aspera is sometimes collected, as is the scouring rush, for cleaning pewter vessels, for which its hispid leaves are well fitted.

The groups which include the poppy, mustard, cabbage, cress, and many ornamental species, form an important portion of native agriculture. The poppy has become a common crop in all the provinces, driving out the useful cereals by its greater value and profit. The leaves of many cruciferous plants are eaten, whether cultivated or wild; and one kind (Isates) yields a fine blue dye in the eastern provinces; the variety and amount of such food consumed by the Chinese probably exceeds that of any other people. Another tribe, Rutaceæ, contains the oranges and shaddocks, and some very fragrant shrubs, as the Murraya exotica and paniculata, and the Aglaia odorata; while the bladder-tree (Koelreuteria) is a great attraction when its whole surface is brilliant with golden flowers. The whampe, i.e., yellow skin (Cookia punctata), is a common and superior fruit. The seeds of the Gleditschia, besides their value in cleansing, are worn as beads, “because,” say the Buddhists, “all demons are afraid of the wood;” one name means ‘preventive of evil.’ Two native fruits, the líchí and lungan, are allied to the Sapindus in their affinities; while the fung shu, or Liquidambar, and many sorts of maple, with the Pittosporum tobira, an ornamental shrub, may be mentioned among plants used for food or sought after for timber.

These brief notices of Chinese plants may be concluded by mentioning some of the most ornamental not before spoken of; but all the beautiful sorts are soon introduced into western conservatories by enterprising florists. In the extensive tribe of Rubiacinæ are several species of honeysuckle, and a fragrant Viburnum resembling the snowball. The Serissa is cultivated around beds like the box; the Ixora coccinea, and other species of that genus, are among common garden shrubs. The seeds of two or three species of Artemisia are collected, dried, and reduced to a down, to be burned as an actual cautery. The dried twigs are frequently woven into a rope to slowly consume as a means of driving away mosquitoes. From the Carthamus tinctoirus a fine red dye is prepared. The succory, lettuce, dandelion, and other cichoraceous plants, either wild or cultivated, furnish food; while innumerable varieties of Chrysanthemums and Asters are reared for their beauty.

The Labiatæ afford many genera, some of them cultivated; and the Solanaceæ, or nightshades, contain the tomato, potato, tobacco, stramony, and several species of Capsicum, or red pepper. It has been disputed whether tobacco is native or foreign, but the philological argument and historical notices prove that both this plant and maize were introduced within half a century after the discovery of America, or about the year 1530. The Chinese dry the leaves and cut them into shreds for smoking; the snuff is coarser and less pungent than the Scotch; it is said that powdered cinnabar is sometimes mixed with it.

Among the Convolvulaceæ are many beautiful species of Ipomea, especially the cypress vine, or quamoclit, trained about the houses even of the poorest. The Ipomea maritima occurs, trailing over the sandy beaches along the coast from Hainan to Chusan and Lewchew. The Convolvulus reptans is planted around the edges of pools on the confines of villages and fields, for the sake of its succulent leaves. The narcotic family of Apocyneæ contains the oleander and Plumeria, prized for their fragrance; while the yellow milkweed (Asclepias curassavica) and the Vinca rosea, or red periwinkle, are less conspicuous, but not unattractive, members of the same group. The jasmine is a deserved favorite, its clusters of flowers being often wound by women in their hair, and planted in pots in their houses. The Olea fragrans, or kwei hwa, is cultivated for scenting tea.

In the eastern provinces the hills are adorned with yellow and red azaleas of gorgeous hue, especially around Ningpo and in Chusan. “Few,” says Mr. Fortune, “can form any idea of the gorgeous beauty of these azalea-clad hills, where, on every side, the eye rests on masses of flowers of dazzling brightness and surpassing beauty. Nor is it the azalea alone which claims our admiration; clematises, wild roses, honeysuckles, and a hundred others, mingle their flowers with them, and make us confess that China is indeed the ‘central flowery land.’”[214]

A few notices of the advance made by the Chinese themselves in the study of natural history, taken from their great work on materia medica, the Pun tsao, or ‘Herbal,’ will form an appropriate conclusion to this chapter. This work is usually bound in forty octavo volumes, divided into fifty-two chapters, and contains many observations of value mixed up with a deal of incorrect and useless matter; and as those who read the book have not sufficient knowledge to discriminate between what is true and what is partly or wholly wrong, its reputation tends greatly to perpetuate the errors. The compiler of the Pun tsao, Lí Shí-chin, spent thirty years in collecting all the information on these subjects extant in his time, arranged it in a methodical manner for popular use, adding his own observations, and published it about 1590. He consulted some eight hundred preceding authors, from whom he selected one thousand five hundred and eighteen prescriptions, and added three hundred and seventy-four new ones, arranging his materials in fifty-two books in a methodical and (for his day) scientific manner. But how far behind the writings of Pliny and Dioscorides! The nucleus of Lí’s production is a small work which tradition ascribes to Shinnung, the God of Agriculture, and is doubtless anterior to the Han dynasty. His composition was well received, and attracted the notice of the Emperor, who ordered several succeeding editions to be published at the expense of the state. It was, in fact, so great an advance on all previous books, that it checked future writers in that branch, and Lí is likely now to be the first and last purely native critical writer on natural science in his mother tongue.

The first two volumes contain a collection of prefaces and indices, together with many notices of the theory of anatomy and medicine, and three books of pictorial illustrations of the rudest sort. Chapters I. and II. consist of introductory observations upon the practice of medicine, and an index of the recipes contained in the work, called the Sure Guide to a Myriad of Recipes; the whole filling the first seven volumes. Chapters III. and IV. contain lists of medicines for the cure of all diseases, occupying three volumes and a half, and comprising the therapeutical portion of the work, except a treatise on the pulse in the last volume.

In the subsequent chapters the author carefully goes over the entire range of nature, first giving the correct name and its explanation; then comes descriptive remarks, solutions of doubts and corrections of errors being interspersed, closing with notes on the savor, taste, and application of the recipes in which it is used. Chapters V. and VI. treat of inorganic substances under water and fire, and minerals under Chapters VII. to XI., as earth, metals, gems, and stones. Water is divided into aerial and terrestrial, i.e., from the clouds, and from springs, the ocean, etc. Fire is considered under eleven species, among which are the flames of coal, bamboo, moxa, etc. The chapter on earth comprises the secretions from various animals, as well as soot, ink, etc.; that on metals includes metallic substances and their common oxides; and gems are spoken of in the next division. The eleventh chapter, in true Chinese style, groups together what could not be placed in the preceding sections, including salts, minerals, etc. In looking at this arrangement one detects the similarity between it and the classification of characters in the language itself, showing the influence this has had upon it; thus ho, shui, tu, kin, yuh, shih, and lu, or fire, water, earth, metals, gems, stones, and salts, are the seven radicals under which the names of inorganic substances are classified in the imperial dictionary. A like similarity runs through other parts of the Herbal.

Chapters XII. to XXXVII., inclusive, treat of the vegetable kingdom, under five pu, or ‘divisions,’ viz.: herbs, grains, vegetables, fruits, and trees; which are again subdivided into lui, or ‘families,’ though the members of these families have no more relationship to each other than the heterogeneous family of an Egyptian slave dealer. The lowest term in the Chinese scientific scale is chung, which sometimes includes a genus, but quite as often corresponds to a species or even a variety, as Linneus understood those terms.

The first division of herbs contains nine families, viz.: hill plants, odoriferous, marshy, noxious, scandent or climbing, aquatic, stony, and mossy plants, and a ninth of one hundred and sixty-two miscellaneous plants not used in medicine, making six hundred and seventy-eight species in all. In this classification the habitat is the most influential principle of arrangement for the families, while the term tsao, or ‘herb,’ denotes whatever is not eaten or used in the arts, or which does not attain to the magnitude of a tree.

The second division of grains contains four families, viz.: 1, that of hemp, sesamum, buckwheat, wheat, rice, etc.; 2, the family of millet, maize, opium, etc.; 3, leguminous plants, pulse, peas, vetches, etc.; and 4, fermentable things, as bean curd, boiled rice, wine, yeast, congee, bread, etc., which, as they are used in medicine, and produced from vegetables, seem most naturally to come in this place. The first three families embrace thirty-nine species, and the last twenty-nine articles.

The third division of kitchen herbs contains five families: 1, offensive pungent plants, as leeks, mustard, ginger; 2, soft and mucilaginous plants, as dandelions, lilies, bamboo sprouts; 3, vegetables producing fruit on the ground, as tomatoes, egg-plants, melons; 4, aquatic vegetables; and 5, mushrooms and fungi. The number of species is one hundred and thirty-three, and some part of each of them is eaten.

The fourth division of fruits contains seven families: 1, the five fruits, the plum, peach, apricot, chestnut, and date (Rhamnus); 2, hill fruits, as the orange, pear, citron, persimmon; 3, foreign fruits, as the cocoanut, líchí, carambola; 4, aromatic fruits, as pepper, cubebs, tea; 5, trailing fruits, as melons, grape, sugar-cane; 6, aquatic fruits, as water caltrops, water lily, water chestnuts, etc.; and 7, fruits not used in medicine, as whampe. In all, one hundred and forty-seven species.

The fifth division of trees has six families: 1, odoriferous trees, as pine, cassia, aloes, camphor; 2, stately trees, as the willow, tamarix, elm, soapberry, palm, poplar, julibrissin or silk tree; 3, luxuriant growing trees, as mulberry, cotton, Cercis, Gardenia, Bombax, Hibiscus; 4, parasites or things attached to trees, as the mistletoe, pachyma, and amber; 5, flexible plants, as bamboo; this family has only four species; 6, includes what the other five exclude, though it might have been thought that the second and third families were sufficiently comprehensive to contain almost all miscellaneous plants. The number of species is one hundred and ninety-eight. All botanical subjects are classified in this manner under five divisions, thirty-one families, and one thousand one hundred and ninety-five species, excluding all fermentable things.

The arrangement of the botanical characters in the language does not correspond so well to this as does that of inorganic substances. The largest group in the language system is tsao, which comprises in general such herbaceous plants as are not used for food. The second, muh, includes all trees or shrubs; and the bamboo, on account of its great usefulness, stands by itself, though the characters mostly denote names of articles made of bamboo. No less than four radicals, viz., rice, wheat, millet, and grain, serve as the heads under which the esculent grasses are arranged; there are consequently many synonymes and superfluous distinctions. One family includes beans, and another legumes; one comprises cucurbitaceous plants, another the alliaceous, and a fourth the hempen; the importance of these plants as articles of food or manufacture no doubt suggested their adoption. Thus all vegetable substances are distributed in the language under eleven different heads.

The zoölogical grouping in the Pun tsao is as rude and unscientific as that of plants. There are five pu, or divisions, namely: insect, scaly, shelly, feathered, and hairy animals. The first division contains four families: 1 and 2, insects born from eggs, as bees and silkworms, butterflies and spiders; 3, insects produced by metamorphosis, as glow-worms, mole-crickets, bugs; and 4, water insects, as toads, centipedes, etc. The second division has four families: 1, the dragons, including the manis, “the only fish that has legs;” 2, snakes; 3, fishes having scales; and 4, scaleless fishes, as the eel, cuttle-fish, prawn. The third division is classified under the two heads of tortoises or turtles and mollusks, including the starfish, echinus, hermit-crab, etc. The fourth division contains birds arranged under four families: 1, water-fowl, as herons, king-fishers, etc.; 2, heath-fowl, sparrows, and pheasants; 3, forest birds, as magpies, crows; and 4, wild birds, as eagles and hawks. Beasts form the fifth division, which likewise contains four families: 1, the nine domesticated animals and their products; 2, wild animals, as lions, deers, otters; 3, rodentia, as the squirrel, hedgehog, rat; and 4, monkeys and fairies. The number of species in these five divisions is three hundred and ninety-one, but there are only three hundred and twenty different objects described, as the roe, fat, hair, exuviæ, etc., of animals are separately noticed.

The sixteen zoölogical characters in the language are not quite so far astray from being types of classes as the eleven botanical ones. Nine of them are mammiferous, viz.: the tiger, dog, and leopard, which stand for the carnivora; the rat for rodentia; the ox, sheep, and deer for ruminants; and the horse and hog for pachydermatous. Birds are chiefly comprised under one radical niao, but there is a sub-family of short-tailed gallinaceous fowls, though much confusion exists in the division. Fishes form one group, and improperly include crabs, lizards, whales, and snakes, though most of the latter are placed along with insects, or else under the dragons. The tortoise, toad, and dragon are the types of three small collections, and insects are comprised in the sixteenth and last. These groups, although they contain many anomalies, as might be expected, are still sufficiently natural to teach those who write the language something of the world around them. Thus, when one sees that a new character contains the radical dog in composition, he will be sure that it is neither fowl, fish, nor bug, nor any animal of the pachydermatous, cervine, or ruminant tribes, although he may have never seen the animal nor heard its name. This peculiarity runs through the whole language, indeed, but in other groups, as for instance those under the radicals man, woman, and child, or heart, hand, leg, etc., the characters include mental and passionate emotions, as well as actions and names, so that the type is not sufficiently indicative to convey a definite idea of the words included under it; the names of natural objects being most easily arranged in this manner.

Between the account of plants and animals the Herbal has one chapter on garments and domestic utensils, for such things “are used in medicine and are made out of plants.” The remaining chapters, XXXIX.-LII., treat of animals, as noticed above. The properties of the objects spoken of are discussed in a very methodical manner, so that a student can immediately turn to a plant or mineral and ascertain its virtue. For instance, the information relative to the history and uses of the horse is contained in twenty-four sections. The first explains the character, ma, which was originally intended to represent the outline of the animal. The second describes the varieties of horses, the best kinds for medical use, and gives brief descriptions of them, for the guidance of the practitioner. “The pure white are the best for medicine. Those found in the south and east are small and weak. The age is known by the teeth. The eye reflects the full image of a man. If he eats rice his feet will become heavy; if rat’s dung, his belly will grow long; if his teeth be rubbed with dead silkworms, or black plums, he will not eat, nor if the skin of a rat or wolf be hung in his manger. He should not be allowed to eat from a hog’s trough, lest he contract disease; and if a monkey is kept in the stable he will not fall sick.”

The third section goes on to speak of the flesh, which is an article of food; that of a pure white stallion is the most wholesome. One author recommends “eating almonds, and taking a rush broth, if the person feel uncomfortable after a meal of horse-flesh. It should be roasted and eaten with ginger and pork; and to eat the flesh of a black horse, and not drink wine with it, will surely produce death.” The fourth describes the crown of the horse, the “fat of which is sweet, and good to make the hair grow and the face to shine.” The fifth and succeeding sections to the twenty-fourth treat of the sanative properties and mode of exhibiting the milk, heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, placenta, teeth, bones, skin, mane, tail, brains, blood, perspiration, and excrements.

Some of the directions are dietetic, and others are prescriptive. “When eating horse-flesh do not eat the liver,” is one of the former, given because of the absence of a gall-bladder in the liver, which imports its poisonous qualities. “The heart of a white horse, or that of a hog, cow, or hen, when dried and rasped into spirit and so taken, cures forgetfulness; if the patient hears one thing he knows ten.” “Above the knees the horse has night-eyes (warts), which enable him to go in the night; they are useful in the toothache;” these sections partake both of the descriptive and prescriptive. Another medical one is: “If a man be restless and hysterical when he wishes to sleep, and it is requisite to put him to rest, let the ashes of a skull be mingled with water and given him, and let him have a skull for a pillow, and it will cure him.” The same preservative virtues appear to be ascribed to a horse’s hoof hung in a house as are supposed, by some who should know better, to belong to a horseshoe when nailed upon the door.[215] The whole of this extensive work is liberally sprinkled with such whimsies, but the practice of medicine among the Chinese is vastly better than their theories; for as Rémusat justly observes, “To see well and reason falsely are not wholly incompatible, and the naturalists of China, as well as the chemists and physicians of our ancient schools, have sometimes tried to reconcile them.”

Another work on botany besides the Herbal, issued in 1848, deserves notice for its research and the excellence of its drawings. It is the Chih Wuh Ming-shih Tu-kao, or Researches into the Names and Virtues of Plants, with plates, in sixty volumes. There are one thousand seven hundred and fifteen drawings of plants, with descriptions of each, arranged in eleven books, followed by medical and agricultural observations on the most important in four books. One of its valuable points to the foreigner is the terminology furnished by the two authors for describing the parts and uses of plants. Rémusat read a paper in 1828, ‘On the State of the Natural Sciences among the Orientals,’ in which he indicates the position attained by Chinese in their researches into the nature and uses of objects around them. After speaking of the adaptation the language possesses, from its construction, to impart some general notions of animated and vegetable nature, he goes on to remark upon the theorizing propensities of their writers, instead of contenting themselves with examining and recording facts. “In place of studying the organization of bodies, they undertake to determine by reasoning how it should be, an aim which has not seldom led them far from the end they proposed. One of the strangest errors among them relates to the transformation of beings into each other, which has arisen from popular stories or badly conducted observations on the metamorphoses of insects. Learned absurdities have been added to puerile prejudices; that which the vulgar have believed the philosophers have attempted to explain, and nothing can be easier, according to the oriental systems of cosmogony, in which a simple matter, infinitely diversified, shows itself in all beings. Changes affect only the apparent properties of bodies, or rather the bodies themselves have only appearances; according to these principles, they are not astonished at seeing the electric fluid or even the stars converted into stones, as happens when aerolites fall. That animated beings become inanimate is proven by fossils and petrifactions. Ice enclosed in the earth for a millennium becomes rock crystal; and it is only necessary that lead, the father of all metals (as Saturn, its alchemistic type, was of gods), pass through four periods of two centuries each to become successively cinnabar, tin, and silver. In spring the rat changes into a quail, and quails into rats again during the eighth month.

“The style in which these marvels is related is now and then a little equivocal; but if they believe part of them proved, they can see nothing really impossible in the others. One naturalist, less credulous than his fellows, rather smiles at another author who reported the metamorphosis of an oriole into a mole, and of rice into a carp; ‘it is a ridiculous story,’ says he; ‘there is proof only of the change of rats into quails, which is reported in the almanac, and which I have often seen myself, for there is an unvaried progression, as well of transformations as of generations.’ Animals, according to the Chinese, are viviparous as quadrupeds, or oviparous as birds; they grow by transformations, as insects, or by the effect of humidity, as snails, slugs, and centipedes.... The success of such systems is almost always sure, not in China alone either, because it is easier to put words in place of things, to stop at nothing, and to have formulas ready for solving all questions. It is thus that they have formed a scientific jargon, which one might almost think had been borrowed from our dark ages, and which has powerfully contributed to retain knowledge in China in the swaddling-clothes we now find it. Experience teaches that when the human mind is once drawn into a false way, the lapse of ages and the help of a man of genius are necessary to draw it out. Ages have not been wanting in China, but the man whose superior enlightenment might dissipate these deceitful glimmerings, would find it very difficult to exercise this happy influence as long as their political institutions attract all their inquiring minds or vigorous intellects far away from scientific researches into the literary examinations, or put before them the honors and employments which the functions and details of magisterial appointments bring with them.”[216]

This last observation indicates the reason, to a great degree, for the fixedness of the Chinese in all departments of learned inquiry; hard labor employs the energy and time of the ignorant mass, and emulation in the strife to reach official dignities consumes and perverts the talents of the learned. Then their language itself disheartens the most enthusiastic students in this branch of study, on account of its vagueness and want of established terms. When the vivifying and strengthening truths of revelation shall be taught to the Chinese, and its principles acted upon among them, we may expect more vigor in their minds and more profit in their investigations into the wonders of nature.

CHAPTER VII. LAWS OF CHINA, AND PLAN OF ITS GOVERNMENT.

The consideration of the theory and practice of the Chinese government recommends itself to the attention of the intelligent student of man by several peculiar reasons, among which are its acknowledged antiquity, the multitudes of people it rules, and the comparative quiet enjoyed by its subjects. The government of a heathen nation is so greatly modified by the personal character of the executive, and the people are so liable to confound institutions with men, either from imperfect acquaintance with the nature of those institutions, or from being, through necessity or habit, easily guided and swayed by designing and powerful men, that the long continuance of the Chinese polity is a proof both of its adaptation to the habits and condition of the people, and of its general good management. The antiquity and excellence of such a government, and its orderly administration, might, however, be far greater than it is in China, without being invested with the interest which at present attaches to it in that Empire in consequence of the immense population, whose lives and property, food and well-being, depend to so great a degree upon it. What was at first rather a feeling of curiosity, gradually becomes one of awe, when the evil results of misgovernment, or the beneficent effects of equitable rule, are seen to be so momentous.

The theory of the Chinese government is undoubtedly the patriarchal; the Emperor is the sire, his officers are the responsible elders of its provinces, departments, and districts, as every father of a household is of its inmates. This may, perhaps, be the theory of other governments, but nowhere has it been systematized so thoroughly, and acted upon so consistently and for so long a period, as in China. Two causes, mutually acting upon each other, have, more than anything else, combined to give efficiency to this theory. The ancient rule of Yau and Shun[217] was strictly, so far as the details are known, a patriarchal chieftainship, conferred upon them on account of their excellent character; and their successors under Yu of the Hia dynasty were considered as deriving their power from heaven, to whom they were amenable for its good use. When Chingtang, founder of the Shang dynasty, B.C. 1766, and Wu Wang, of the Chau, B.C. 1122, took up arms against the Emperors, the excuse given was that they had not fulfilled the decrees of heaven, and had thereby forfeited their claim to the throne.

Confucius, in teaching his principles of political ethics, referred to the conduct of those ancient kings both for proof of the correctness of his instructions and for arguments to enforce them. The large number of those who followed him during his lifetime furnishes some evidence that his countrymen assented to the propriety of his teachings. This may account for their reception, illustrated as they were by the high character the sage bore; but it was not till the lapse of two or three centuries that the rulers of China perceived the great security the adoption and diffusion of these doctrines would give their sway. They therefore turned their attention toward the embodiment of these precepts into laws, and toward basing the institutions of government upon them; through all the convulsions and wars which have disturbed the country and changed the reigning families, these writings have done more than any one thing else to uphold the institutions of the Chinese and give them their character and permanence. Education being founded on them, those who as students had been taught to receive and reverence them as the oracles of political wisdom, would, when they entered upon the duties of office, endeavor to carry out, in some degree at least, their principles. Thus the precept and the practice have mutually modified, supported, and enforced each other.

But this civilization is Asiatic and not European, pagan and not Christian. The institutions of China are despotic and defective, and founded on wrong principles. They may have the element of stability, but not of improvement. The patriarchal theory does not make men honorable, truthful, or kind; it does not place woman in her right position, nor teach all classes their obligations to their Maker; the wonder is, to those who know the strength of evil passions in the human breast, that this huge mass of mankind is no worse. We must, indeed, look into its structure in order to discover the causes of this stability, inasmuch as here we have neither a standing army to enforce nor the machinery of a state religion to compel obedience toward a sovereign. A short inspection will show that the great leading principles by which the present administration preserves its power over the people, consist in a system of strict surveillance and mutual responsibility among all classes. These are aided in their efficiency by the geographical isolation of the country, a remarkable spirit of loyal pride in their own history, and a general system of political education and official examinations.

These two principles are enforced by such a minute gradation of rank and subordination of offices as to give the government more of a military character than at first appears, and the whole system is such as to make it one of the most unmixed oligarchies now existing. It is like a network extending over the whole face of society, each individual being isolated in his own mesh but responsibly connected with all around him. The man who knows that it is almost impossible, except by entire seclusion, to escape from the company of secret or acknowledged emissaries of government, will be cautious of offending the laws of the country, knowing, as he must, that though he should himself escape, yet his family, his kindred, or his neighbors will suffer for his offence; that if unable to recompense the sufferers, it will probably be dangerous for him to return home; or if he does, it will be most likely to find his property in the possession of neighbors or officials, who feel conscious of security in plundering one whose offences have forever placed him under a ban.

The effect of these two causes upon the mass of the people is to imbue them with a great fear of the government, both of its officers and its operations; each man considers that safety is best to be found in keeping aloof from both. This mutual surveillance and responsibility, though only partially extended throughout the multitude, necessarily undermines confidence and infuses universal distrust; while this object of complete isolation, though at the expense of justice, truth, honesty, and natural affection, is what the government strives to accomplish and actually does to a wonderful degree. The idea of government in the minds of the uneducated people is that of some ever-present terror, like a sword of Damocles; and so far has this undefined fear of some untoward result when connected with it counteracted the real vigor of the Chinese, that to it may be referred much of their indifference to improvement, contentment with what is already known and possessed, and submission to petty injustice and spoliation.

Men are deterred, too, as much by distrust of each other as by fear of the police, from combining in an intelligent manner to resist governmental exactions because opposed to principles of equity, or joining with their rulers to uphold good order; no such men, and no such instances, as John Hampden going to prison for refusing to subscribe to a forced loan, or Thomas Williams and his companions throwing the tea overboard in Boston harbor, ever occurred in China or any other Asiatic country. They dread illegal societies quite as much from the cruelties this same distrust induces the leaders to exercise over recreant or suspected members, as from apprehension of arrest and punishment by the regular authorities. Thus, with a state of society at times on the verge of insurrection, this mass of people is kept in check by the threefold cord of responsibility, fear, and isolation, each of them strengthening the other, and all depending upon the character of the people for much of their efficiency. Since all the officers of government received their intellectual training when commoners under these influences, it is easy to understand why the supreme powers are so averse to improvement and to foreign intercourse—from both of which causes, in truth, the monarch has the greatest reason to dread lest the charm of his power be weakened and his sceptre pass away.

There is, however, a further explanation for the general peace which prevails to be found back of this. It is owing partly to the diffusion of a political education among the people—teaching them the principles on which all government is founded, and the reasons for those principles flowing from the patriarchal theory—and partly to their plodding, industrious character. A brief exposition of the construction and divisions of the central and provincial governments and their mutual relations, and the various duties devolving upon the departments and officers, will exhibit more of the operation of these principles.

Although the Emperor is regarded as the head of this great organization, as the fly-wheel which sets other wheels of the machine in motion, he is still considered as bound to rule according to the code of the land; and when there is a well-known law, though the source of law, he is expected to follow it in his decrees. The statutes of China form an edifice, the foundations of which were laid by Lí Kwei twenty centuries ago. Successive dynasties have been building thereon ever since, adding, altering, pulling down, and putting together as circumstances seemed to require. The people have a high regard for the code, “and all they seem to desire is its just and impartial execution, independent of caprice and uninfluenced by corruption. That the laws of China are, on the contrary, very frequently violated by those who are their administrators and constitutional guardians, there can, unfortunately, be no question; but to what extent, comparatively with the laws of other countries, must at present be very much a matter of conjecture: at the same time it may be observed, as something in favor of the Chinese system, that there are substantial grounds for believing that neither flagrant nor repeated acts of injustice do, in point of fact, often, in any rank or station, ultimately escape with impunity.”[218] Sir George Staunton is well qualified to speak on this point, and his opinion has been corroborated by most of those who have had similar opportunities of judging; while his translation of the Code has given all persons interested in the question the means of ascertaining the principles on which the government ostensibly acts.

This body of laws is called Ta Tsing Liuh Lí, i.e., ‘Statutes and Rescripts of the Great Pure Dynasty,’ and contains all the laws of the Empire. They are arranged under seven leading heads, viz.: General, Civil, Fiscal, Ritual, Military, and Criminal laws, and those relating to Public Works; and subdivided into four hundred and thirty-six sections, called liuh, or ‘statutes,’ to which the lí, or modern clauses, to limit, explain or alter them, are added; these are now much more numerous than the original statutes. A new edition is published by authority every five years; in the reprint of 1830 the Emperor ordered that the Supreme Court should make but few alterations, lest wily litigants might take advantage of the discrepancies between the new and old law to suit their own purposes. This edition is in twenty-eight volumes, and is one of the most frequently seen books in the shops of any city. The clauses are attached to each statute, and have the same force. No authorized reports of cases and decisions, either of the provincial or supreme courts, are published for general use, though their record is kept in the court where they are decided; the publication of such adjudged cases, as a guide to officers, is not unknown. An extensive collection of notes, comments, and cases, illustrating the practice and theory of the laws, was appended to the edition of 1799.

A short extract from the original preface of the Code, published in 1647, only three years after the Manchu Emperors took the throne, will explain the principles on which it was drawn up. After remarking upon the inconveniences arising from the necessity of aggravating or mitigating the sentences of the magistrates, who, previous to the re-establishment of an authentic code of penal laws, were not in possession of any fixed rules upon which they could build a just decision, the Emperor Shunchí goes on to describe the manner of revising the code:

“A numerous body of magistrates was assembled at the capital, at our command, for the purpose of revising the penal code formerly in force under the late dynasty of Ming, and of digesting the same into a new code, by the exclusion of such parts as were exceptionable and the introduction of others which were likely to contribute to the attainment of justice and the general perfection of the work. The result of their labors having been submitted to our examination, we maturely weighed and considered the various matters it contained, and then instructed a select number of our great officers of state carefully to revise the whole, for the purpose of making such alterations and emendations as might still be found requisite. Wherefore, it being now published, let it be your great care, officers and magistrates of the interior and exterior departments of our Empire, diligently to observe the same, and to forbear in future to give any decision, or to pass any sentence, according to your private sentiments, or upon your unsupported authority. Thus shall the magistrates and people look up with awe and submission to the justice of these institutions, as they find themselves respectively concerned in them; the transgressor will not fail to suffer a strict expiation of his crimes, and will be the instrument of deterring others from similar misconduct; and finally both officers and people will be equally secured for endless generations in the enjoyment of the happy effects of the great and noble virtues of our illustrious progenitors.”

Under the head of General Laws are forty-seven sections, comprising principles and definitions applicable to the whole, and containing some singular notions on equity and criminality. The description of the five ordinary punishments, definition of the ten treasonable offences, regulations for the eight privileged classes, and general directions regarding the conduct of officers of government, are the matters treated of under this head. The title of Section XLIV. is “On the decision of cases not provided for by law;” and the rule is that “such cases may then be determined by an accurate comparison with others which are already provided for, and which approach most nearly to those under investigation, in order to ascertain afterward to what extent an aggravation or mitigation of the punishment would be equitable. A provisional sentence conformable thereto shall be laid before the superior magistrates, and, after receiving their approbation, be submitted to the Emperor’s final decision. Any erroneous judgment which may be pronounced, in consequence of adopting a more summary mode of proceeding in cases of a doubtful nature, shall be punished as wilful deviation from justice.” This, of course, gives great latitude to the magistrate, and as he is thus allowed to decide and act before the new law can be confirmed or annulled, the chief restraints to his injustice in such cases (which, however, are not numerous) lie in the fear of an appeal and its consequences, or of summary reprisals from the suffering parties.

The six remaining divisions pertain to the six administrative boards of the government. The second contains Civil Laws, under twenty-eight sections, divided into two books, one of them referring to the system of government, and the other to the conduct of magistrates, etc. The hereditary succession of rank and titles is regulated, and punishments laid down for those who illegally assume these honors. Most of the nobility of China are Manchus, and none of the hereditary dignities existing previous to the conquest were recognized, except those attached to the family of Confucius. Improperly recommending unfit persons as deserving high honors, appointing and removing officers without the Emperor’s sanction, and leaving stations without due permission, are the principal subjects regulated in the first book. The second book contains rules regarding the interference of superior magistrates with the proceedings of the lower courts, and prohibitions against cabals and treasonable combinations among officers, which are of course capital crimes; all persons in the employ of the state are required to make themselves acquainted with the laws, and even private individuals “who are found capable of explaining the nature and comprehending the objects of the laws, shall receive pardon in all offences resulting purely from accident, or imputable to them only from the guilt of others, provided it be the first offence.”

The third division, of Fiscal Laws, under eighty-two sections, contains rules for enrolling the people, and of succession and inheritance; also laws for regulating marriages between various classes of society, for guarding granaries and treasuries, for preventing and punishing smuggling, for restraining usury, and for overseeing shops. Section LXXVI. orders that persons and families truly represent their profession in life, and restrains them from indulging in a change of occupation; “generation after generation they must not vary or alter it.” This rule is, however, constantly violated. Section XC. exempts the buildings of literary and religious institutions from taxation. The general aim of the laws relating to holding real estate is to secure the cultivation of all the land taken up, and the regular payment of the tax. The proprietor, in some cases, can be deprived of his lands because he does not till them, and though in fact owner in fee simple, he is restricted in the disposition of them by will in many ways, and forfeits them if the taxes are not paid.

The fourth division, of Ritual Laws, under twenty-six sections, contains the regulations for state sacrifices and ceremonies, those appertaining to the worship of ancestors, and whatever belongs to heterodox and magical sects or teachers. The heavy penalties threatened in some of these sections against all illegal combinations under the guise of a new form of worship presents an interesting likeness to the restrictions issued by the English, French, and German princes during and after the Reformation. The Chinese authorities had the same dread lest the people should meet and consult how to resist them. Even processions in honor of the gods may be forbidden for good reason, and are not allowed at all at Peking; while, still more, the rites observed by the Emperor cannot be imitated by any unauthorized person; women are not allowed to congregate in the temples, nor magicians to perform any strange incantations. Few of these laws are really necessary, and those against illegal sects are in fact levelled against political associations, which usually take on a religious guise.

The fifth division, of Military Laws, in seventy-one sections, provides for the protection of the palace and government of the army, for guarding frontier passes, management of the imperial cattle, and forwarding despatches by couriers. Some of these ordinances lay down rules for the protection of the Emperor’s person, and the disposition of his body-guard and troops in the palace, the capital, and over the Empire. The sections relating to the government of the army include the rules for the police of cities; and those designed to secure the protection of the frontier comprise all the enactments against foreign intercourse, some of which have already been referred to in passing. The supply of horses and cattle for the army is a matter of some importance, and is minutely regulated; one law orders all persons who possess vicious and dangerous animals to restrain them, and if through neglect any person is killed or wounded, the owner of the animal shall be obliged to redeem himself from the punishment of manslaughter by paying a fine. This provision to compel the owners of unruly beasts to exercise proper restraint over them is like that laid down by Moses in Exodus XXI., 29, 30. There is as yet no general post-office establishment, but governmental couriers often take private letters; local mails are safely carried by express companies. The required rate of travel for the official post is one hundred miles a day, but it does not ordinarily go more than half that distance. Officers of government are allowed ninety days to make the journey from Peking to Canton, a distance of twelve hundred miles, but couriers frequently travel it in twelve days.

The sixth division, on Criminal Laws, is arranged in eleven books, containing in all one hundred and seventy sections, and is the most important of the whole. The clauses under some of the sections are numerous, and show that it is not for want of proper laws or insufficient threatenings that crimes go unpunished. The books of this division relate to robbery, in which is included high treason and renunciation of allegiance; to homicide and murder; quarrelling and fighting; abusive language; indictments, disobedience to parents, and false accusations; bribery and corruption; forging and frauds; incest and adultery; arrests and escapes of criminals, their imprisonment and execution; and, lastly, miscellaneous offences.

Under Section CCCXXIX. it is ordered that any one who is guilty of addressing abusive language to his or her father or mother, or father’s parents, or a wife who rails at her husband’s parents or grandparents, shall be strangled; provided always that the persons so abused themselves complain to the magistrate, and had personally heard the language addressed to them. This law is the same in regard to children as that contained in Leviticus XX., 9, and the power here given the parent does not seem to be productive of evil. Section CCCLXXXI. has reference to “privately hushing up public crimes,” but its penalties are for the most part a dead letter, and a full account of the various modes adopted in the courts of withdrawing cases from the cognizance of superiors, would form a singular chapter in Chinese jurisprudence. Consequently those who refuse every offer to suppress cases are highly lauded by the people. Another section (CCCLXXXVI.) ordains that whoever is guilty of improper conduct, contrary to the spirit of the laws, but not a breach of any specific article, shall be punished at least with forty blows, and with eighty when of a serious nature. Some of the provisions of this part of the code are praiseworthy, but no part of Chinese legislation is so cruel and irregular as criminal jurisprudence. The permission accorded to the judge to torture the criminal opens the door for much inhumanity.

The seventh division contains thirteen sections relating to Public Works and Ways, such as the weaving of interdicted patterns of silk, repairing dikes, and constructing edifices for government. All public residences, granaries, treasuries and manufactories, embankments and dikes of rivers and canals, forts, walls, and mausolea, must be frequently examined, and kept in repair. Poverty or peculation render many of these laws void, and many subterfuges are often practised by the superintending officer to pocket as much of the funds as he can. One officer, when ordered to repair a wall, made the workmen go over it and chip off the faces of the stones still remaining, then plastering up the holes.

Besides these laws and their numerous clauses, every high provincial officer has the right to issue edicts upon such public matters as require regulation, some of them even affecting life and death, either reviving some old law or giving it an application to the case before him, with such modifications as seem to be necessary. He must report these acts to the proper board at Peking. No such order, which for the time has the force of law, is formally repealed, but gradually falls into oblivion, until circumstances again require its reiteration. This mode of publishing statutes gives rise to a sort of common and unwritten law in villages, to which a council of elders sometimes compels individuals to submit; long usage is also another ground for enforcing them.

Still, with all the tortures and punishments allowed by the law, and all the cruelties superadded upon the criminals by irritated officers or rapacious underlings and jailors, a broad survey of Chinese legislation, judged by its results and the general appearance of society, gives the impression of an administration far superior to other Asiatic countries. A favorable comparison has been made in the Edinburgh Review:[219] “By far the most remarkable thing in this code is its great reasonableness, clearness, and consistency, the business-like brevity and directness of the various provisions, and the plainness and moderation in which they are expressed. There is nothing here of the monstrous verbiage of most other Asiatic productions, none of the superstitious deliration, the miserable incoherence, the tremendous non-sequiturs and eternal repetitions of those oracular performances—nothing even of the turgid adulation, accumulated epithets, and fatiguing self-praise of other Eastern despotisms—but a calm, concise, and distinct series of enactments, savoring throughout of practical judgment and European good sense, and if not always conformable to our improved notions of expediency, in general approaching to them more nearly than the codes of most other nations. When we pass, indeed, from the ravings of the Zendavesta or the Puranas to the tone of sense and business in this Chinese collection, we seem to be passing from darkness to light, from the drivellings of dotage to the exercise of an improved understanding; and redundant and absurdly minute as these laws are in many particulars, we scarcely know any European code that is at once so copious and so consistent, or that is so nearly free from intricacy, bigotry, and fiction. In everything relating to political freedom or individual independence it is indeed wofully defective; but for the repression of disorder and the gentle coercion of a vast population, it appears to be equally mild and efficacious. The state of society for which it was formed appears incidentally to be a low and wretched one; but how could its framers have devised a wiser means of maintaining it in peace and tranquillity?”

This encomium is to a certain extent just, but the practice of legislation in China has probably not been materially improved by the mere possession of a reasonable code of laws, though some melioration in jurisprudence has been effected.[220] The infliction of barbarous punishments, such as blinding, cutting off noses, ears, or other parts of the body, still not uncommon in Persia and Turkey, is not allowed or practised in China; and the government, in minor crimes, contents itself with but little more than opprobrious exposure in the pillory, or castigation, which carry with them no degradation.

The defects in this remarkable body of laws arise from several sources. The degree of liberty that can safely be awarded to the subject is not defined in it, and his rights are unknown in law. The government is despotic, but having no efficient military power in their hands, the lawgivers resort to a minuteness of legislation upon the practice of social and relative virtues and duties which interferes with their observance; though it must be remembered that no pulpit or Sabbath-school exists there to expound and enforce them from a higher code, and the laws must be the chief guide in most cases. The code also exhibits a minute attention to trifles, and an effort to legislate for every possible contingency, which must perplex the judge when dealing with the infinite shades of difference occurring in human actions. There are now many vague and obsolete statutes, ready to serve as a handle to prosecute offenders for the gratification of private pique; and although usage and precedent both combine to prove their disuse, malice and bribery can easily effect their reviviscence and application to the case.

Sheer cruelty, except in cases of treason against the Emperor, cannot be charged against this code as a whole, though many of the laws seem designed to operate chiefly in terrorem, and the penalty is placed higher than the punishment really intended to be inflicted, to the end that the Emperor may have scope for mercy, or, as he says, “for leniency beyond the bounds of the law.” The principle on which this is done is evident, and the commonness of the practice proves that such an exercise of mercy has its effect. The laws of China are not altogether unmeaning words, though the degree of efficiency in their execution is subject to endless variations; some officers are clement, others severe; the people in certain provinces are industrious and peaceable, in others turbulent and averse to quiet occupations, so that one is likely to form a juster idea of their administration by looking at the results as seen in the general aspect of society, and judging of the tree by its fruits, than by drawing inferences applicable to the whole machine of state from particular instances of oppression and insubordination, as has been so often the case with travellers and writers.

The general examination of the Chinese government here proposed may be conveniently considered under the heads of the Emperor and his court, classes of society, the different branches of the supreme administration, the provincial authorities, and the execution of the laws.

The Emperor is at the head of the whole; and if the possession of great power, and being the object of almost unbounded reverence, can impart happiness, he may safely be considered as the happiest mortal living; though to his power there are many checks, and the reverence paid him is proportioned somewhat to the fidelity with which he administers the decrees of heaven. “The Emperor is the sole head of the Chinese constitution and government; he is regarded as the vice-gerent of heaven, especially chosen to govern all nations; and is supreme in everything, holding at once the highest legislative and executive powers, without limit or control.” Both he and the Pope claim to be the vice-gerent of heaven and interpreter of its decrees to the whole world, and these two rulers have emulated each other in their assumption of arrogant titles. The most common appellation employed to denote the Emperor in state papers and among the people is hwangtí, or ‘august sovereign;’ it is defined as “the appellation of one possessing complete virtues, and able to act on heavenly principles.”[221] This title is further defined as meaning heaven: “Heaven speaks not, yet the four seasons follow in regular succession, and all things spring forth. So the three august ones (Fuhhí, Shinnung, and Hwangtí) descended in state, and without even uttering a word the people bowed to their sway; their virtue was inscrutable and boundless like august heaven, and therefore were they called august ones.”

Among the numerous titles given the monarch may be mentioned hwang shang, the ‘august lofty one;’ tien hwang, ‘celestial august one;’ shing hwang, the ‘wise and august,’ i.e., infinite in knowledge and complete in virtue; tien tí, ‘celestial sovereign;’ and shing tí, ‘sacred sovereign,’ because he is able to act on heavenly principles. He is also called tien tsz’, ‘son of heaven,’ because heaven is his father and earth is his mother, and shing tien tsz’, ‘wise son of heaven,’ as being born of heaven and having infinite knowledge; terms which are given him as the ruler of the world by the gift of heaven. He is even addressed, and sometimes refers to himself, under designations which pertain exclusively to heaven. Wan sui yé, ‘sire of ten thousand years,’ is a term used when speaking of him or approaching him, like the words, O king, live forever! addressed to the ancient kings of Persia. Pí hia, ‘beneath the footstool,’ is a sycophantic compellation used by his courtiers, as if they were only worthy of being at the edge of his footstool.

The Emperor usually designates himself by the terms chin, ‘ourself;’ kwa jin, the ‘solitary man,’ or the one man; and kwa kiun, the ‘solitary prince.’ He has been loaded with many ridiculous titles by foreign writers, as Brother of the Sun and Moon, Grandson of the Stars, King of Kings, etc., but no such epithets are known among his subjects. His palace has various appellations, such as hall of audience, golden palace, the ninth entrance, vermilion avenue, vermilion hall, rosy hall, forbidden pavilion, the crimson and forbidden palace, gemmeous steps, golden steps, meridian portal, gemmeous avenue, celestial steps, celestial court, great interior, the maple pavilion, royal house, etc. To see him is to see the dragon’s face; the throne is called the “dragon’s throne,” and also the “divine utensil,” i.e., the thing given him by heaven to sit in when executing his divine mission; his person is styled the dragon’s body, and a five-clawed dragon is emblazoned, like a coat of arms, on his robes, which no one can use or imitate. Thus the Old Dragon, it might be almost said, has coiled himself around the Emperor of China, one of the greatest upholders of his power in this world, and contrived to get himself worshipped, through him, by one-third of mankind.

The Emperor is the fountain of power, rank, honor, and privilege to all within his dominions, which are termed tien hia, meaning all under heaven, and were till recently, even by his highest officers, ignorantly supposed to comprise all mankind. As there can be but one sun in the heavens, so there can be but one hwangtí on earth, the source and dispenser of benefits to the whole world.[222] The same absolute executive power held by him is placed in the hands of his deputies and governor-generals, to be by them exercised within the limits of their jurisdiction. He is the head of religion and the only one qualified to adore heaven; he is the source of law and dispenser of mercy; no right can be held in opposition to his pleasure, no claim maintained against him, no privilege protect from his wrath. All the forces and revenues of the Empire are his, and he has a right to claim the services of all males between sixteen and sixty. In short, the whole Empire is his property, and the only checks upon his despotism are public opinion, the want of an efficient standing army, poverty and the venality of the agents of his power.

When the Manchus found themselves in possession of Peking, they regarded this position as fully entitling them to assume all imperial rights. Their sovereign thus announced his elevation in November, 1644: “I, the Son of Heaven, of the Ta-tsing dynasty, humbly as a subject dare to announce to Imperial Heaven and Sovereign Earth. Though the world is vast, Shangtí looks on all without partiality. My Imperial Grandfather received the gracious decree of Heaven and founded a kingdom in the East, which became firmly established. My Imperial Father succeeding to the kingdom, extended it; and I, Heaven’s servant, in my poor person became the inheritor of the dominion they transmitted. When the Ming dynasty was coming to its end, traitors and men of violence appeared in crowds, involving the people in misery. China was without a ruler. It fell to me reverentially to accept the responsibility of continuing the meritorious work of my ancestors. I saved the people, destroyed their oppressors; and now, in accordance with the desires of all, I fix the urns of Empire at Yen-king.... I, receiving Heaven’s favor, and in accordance with their wishes, announce to Heaven that I have ascended the throne of the Empire, that the name I have chosen for it is the Great Pure, and that the style of my reign is Shun-chí (‘Obedient Rule’). I beg reverentially Heaven and Earth to protect and assist the Empire, so that calamity and disturbance may soon come to an end, and the land enjoy universal peace. For this I humbly pray, and for the acceptance of this sacrifice.”

The present Emperor is the ninth of the Tsing dynasty who has reigned in China. Tsing means Pure, and was taken by the Manchus as a distinctive term for their new dynasty, alluding to the purity of justice they intended to maintain in their sway. Some of the founders of the ancient dynasties derived their dynastic name from their patrimonial estates, as Sung, Han, Chau, etc., but the later ones have adopted names like Yuen, or ‘Original,’ Ming, or ‘Illustrious,’ etc., which indicate their vanity.

The present monarch is still a minor, and the affairs of government are nominally under the direction of the Empress-dowager, who held the same office during the minority of his predecessor, Tungchí. The surname of the reigning family is Gioro, or ‘Golden,’ derived from their ancestral chief, Aisin Gioro, whom they feign to have been the son of a divine virgin. They are the lineal descendants of the Kin, a rude race which drove out the Chinese rulers and occupied the northern provinces about 1130, making Peking their capital for many years. On the approach of the Mongols they were chased away to the east, and retained only a nominal independence; changing their name from Nüchih to Manjurs, they gradually increased in numbers, but did not assume any real importance until they became masters of China. The acknowledged founder of the reigning house was the chief Hien-tsu (1583-1615), whose actual descendants are collectively designated Tsung-shih, or ‘Imperial Clan.’ The second Emperor further limited the Clan by giving to each of his twenty-four sons a personal name of two characters, the first of which, Yun, was the same for all of them. For the succeeding generations he ordered a series of characters to be used by all the members of each, so that through all their ramifications the first name would show their position. Kanghí’s own name was Hiuen, then followed Yun, Hung, Yung, Mien, Yih, and Tsai, the last and present sovereigns being both named Tsai. All who bear this name are direct descendants of Kanghí. Since the application of these seven generation names, eight more have been selected for future use by imperial scions.

In order still further to distinguish those most nearly allied in blood, as sons, nephews, etc., it is required that the second names of each family always consist of characters under the same radical. Thus Kiaking and his brothers wrote their first names Yung, and under the radical gun for the second; Taukwang and his brothers and cousins Mien, and under the radical heart. For some unexplained reason the radicals silk and gold, chosen for the second names of the next two generations, were altered to words and water. This peculiarity is easily represented in the Chinese characters; a comparison can be made in English with the supposed names of a family of sons, as Louis Edward, Louis Edwin, Louis Edwy, Louis Edgar, etc., the word Louis answering to Mien, and the syllable Ed to the radical heart.

The present Emperor’s personal name is Tsai-tien, and, like those of his predecessors, is deemed to be too sacred to be spoken, or the characters to be written in the common form. The same reverence is observed for the names after death, so that twelve characters have been altered since the Manchu monarchs began to reign; Hiuen-wa, which was the personal name of Kanghí, has become permanently altered in its formation. The present sovereign was born August 15, 1871, and on January 12, 1875, succeeded his cousin Tsaishun, who died without issue—the first instance in the Gioro family for nearly three centuries. At this time there was some delay as to which of his cousins should succeed to the dragon throne, when the united council of the princes was led by the mother of the deceased Emperor to adopt her nephew, the son of Prince Chun. The little fellow was sent for at night to be immediately saluted as hwangtí, and ere long brought in before them, cross and sleepy as he was, to begin his reign under the style of Kwangsü, or ‘Illustrious Succession.’

This title is called a kwoh hao, or national designation, and answers more nearly to the name that a new Pope takes with the tiara than to anything else in western lands. It is the expression of the idea which the monarch wishes to associate with his reign, and is the name by which he is known to his subjects during his life. It has been called a period by some writers, but while it is not strictly his name, yet period is not so correct as reign. Usage has made it equivalent in foreign books to the personal name, and it is plainer to say the Emperor Taukwang than the period Taukwang or the reign Taukwang, or still more than to write, as Wade has done, “the Emperor Mien-Ning, the style of whose reign was Tau Kwang;” or than Legge has done, to say, “the Emperor Pattern, of the period Yungching.” In such cases it is not worth the trouble to attempt strict accuracy in a matter so entirely unlike western usages.

The use of the kwoh hao began with Wăn-tí, of the Han dynasty,[223] B.C. 179, and has continued ever since. Some of the early monarchs changed their kwoh hao many times during their reigns; Kao-tsung (A.D. 650-684), for example, had thirteen in a régime of thirty-four years, which induced historians to employ the miao hao, or ancestral name, as more suitable and less liable to confusion. The reason for thus investing the sovereign with a title different from his real name is not fully apparent, but arose probably out of the vanity of the monarch, who wished thus to glorify himself by a high-sounding title, and make his own name somewhat ineffable at the same time. The custom was adopted in Japan about A.D. 645, and is practised in Corea and Annam.

When a monarch ascends the throne, or as it is expressed in Chinese, “when he receives from Heaven and revolving nature the government of the world,” he issues an inaugural proclamation. There is not much change in the wording of these papers, and an extract from the one issued in 1821 will exhibit the practice on such occasions:

The programme of ceremonies to be observed when the Emperor “ascends the summit,” and seats himself on the dragon’s throne, was published for the Emperor Taukwang by the Board of Rites a few days after. It details a long series of prostrations and bowings, leading out and marshalling the various officers of the court and members of the imperial family. After they are all arranged in proper precedence before the throne, “at the appointed hour the president of the Board of Rites shall go and entreat his Majesty to put on his mourning, and come forth by the gate of the eastern palace, and enter at the left door of the middle palace, where his Majesty, before the altar of his deceased imperial father, will respectfully announce that he receives the decree—kneel thrice and bow nine times.”

He then retires, and soon after a large deputation of palace officers “go and solicit his Majesty to put on his imperial robes and proceed to the palace of his mother, the Empress-dowager, to pay his respects. The Empress-dowager will put on her court robes and ascend her throne, before which his Majesty shall kneel thrice and bow nine times.” After this filial ceremony is over the golden chariot is made ready, the officer of the Astronomical Board—whose business is to observe times—is stationed at the palace gate, and when he announces the arrival of the chosen and felicitous moment, his Majesty comes forth and mounts the golden chariot, and the procession advances to the Palace of Protection and Peace. Here the great officers of the Empire are marshalled according to their rank, and when the Emperor sits down in the palace they all kneel and bow nine times.

“This ceremony over, the President of the Board of Rites, stepping forward, shall kneel down and beseech his Majesty, saying, ‘Ascend the imperial throne.’ The Emperor shall then rise from his seat, and the procession moving on in the same order to the Palace of Peace, his Majesty shall ascend the seat of gems and sit down on the imperial throne, with his face to the south.” All present come forward and again make the nine prostrations, after which the proclamation of coronation, as it would be called in Europe, is formally sealed, and then announced to the Empire with similar ceremonies. There are many other lesser rites observed on these occasions, some of them appropriate to such an occasion, and others, according to our notions, bordering on the ludicrous; the whole presenting a strange mixture of religion, splendor, and farce, though as a whole calculated to impress all with a sentiment of awe toward one who gives to heaven, and receives from man, such homage and worship.[224]

Nothing is omitted which can add to the dignity and sacredness of the Emperor’s person or character. Almost everything used by him, or in his personal service, is tabued to the common people, and distinguished by some peculiar mark or color, so as to keep up the impression of awe with which he is regarded, and which is so powerful an auxiliary to his throne. The outer gate of the palace must always be passed on foot, and the paved entrance walk leading up to it can only be used by him. The vacant throne, or even a screen of yellow silk thrown over a chair, is worshipped equally with his actual presence, and an imperial dispatch is received in the provinces with incense and prostrations; the vessels on the canal bearing articles for his special use always have the right of way. His birthday is celebrated by his officers, and the account of the opening ceremony, as witnessed by Lord Macartney, shows how skilfully every act tends to maintain his assumed character as the son of heaven.

“The first day was consecrated to the purpose of rendering a solemn, sacred, and devout homage to the supreme majesty of the Emperor. The ceremony was no longer performed in a tent, nor did it partake of the nature of a banquet. The princes, tributaries, ambassadors, and great officers of state were assembled in a vast hall; and upon particular notice were introduced into an inner building, bearing at least the semblance of a temple. It was chiefly furnished with great instruments of music, among which were sets of cylindrical bells suspended in a line from ornamental frames of wood, and gradually diminishing in size from one extremity to the other, and also triangular pieces of metal, arranged in the same order as the bells. To the sound of these instruments a slow and solemn hymn was sung by eunuchs, who had such a command over their voices as to resemble the effect of musical glasses at a distance. The performers were directed, in the gliding from one tone to the other, by the striking of a shrill and sonorous cymbal; and the judges of music among the gentlemen of the embassy were much pleased with their execution. The whole had, indeed, a grand effect. During the performance, and at particular signals, nine times repeated, all present prostrated themselves nine times, except the ambassador and his suite, who made a profound obeisance. But he whom it was meant to honor continued, as if in imitation of the Deity, invisible the whole time. The awful impression intended to be made upon the minds of men by this apparent worship of a fellow-mortal was not to be effaced by any immediate scenes of sport or gaiety, which were postponed to the following day.”[225] The mass of the people are not admitted to participate in these ceremonies; they are kept at a distance, and care, in fact, very little about them. In every provincial capital there is a hall, called Wan-shao kung, dedicated solely to the honor of the Emperor, and where, three days before and after his birthday, all the civil and military officers and the most distinguished citizens assemble to do him the same homage as if he were present. The walls and furniture are yellow.

The right of succession is hereditary in the male line, but it is always in the power of the sovereign to nominate his successor from among his own children. The heir-apparent is not commonly known during the lifetime of the incumbent, though there is a titular office of guardian of the heir-apparent. During the Tsing dynasty the succession has varied, but the bloody scenes enacted in Turkey, Egypt, and India to remove competitors are not known at Peking, and the people have no fear that they will be enacted. Of the eight preceding sovereigns, Shunchí was the ninth son, Kanghí the third, Yungching the fourth, Kienlung the fourth, Kiaking the fifteenth, Taukwang the second, Hienfung the fourth, and Tungchí the only son. When Kwangsü was chosen this regular line failed, and thus was terminated an unbroken succession during two hundred and fifty-nine years (1616 to 1875), when ten rulers (including two in Manchuria) occupied the throne. It can be paralleled only in Judah, where the line of David down to Jehoiachin (B.C. 1055 to 599) continued regularly in the same manner—twenty kings in four hundred and fifty-six years.

In the reign of Kienlung, one of the censors memorialized him upon the desirableness of announcing his successor, in order to quiet men’s minds and repress intrigue, but the suggestion cost the man his place. The Emperor said that the name of his successor, in case of his own sudden death, would be found in a designated place, and that it was highly inexpedient to mention him, lest intriguing men buzzed about him, forming factions and trying to elevate themselves. The soundness of this policy cannot be doubted, and it is not unlikely that Kienlung knew the evils of an opposite course from an acquaintance with the history of some of the princes of Central Asia or India. One good result of not indicating the heir-apparent is that not only are no intrigues formed by the crown-prince, but when he begins to reign he is seldom compelled, from fear of his own safety, to kill or imprison his brothers or uncles; for, as they possess no power or party to render them formidable, their ambition finds full scope for its exercise in peaceful ways. In 1861, when the heir was a child of five years, a palace intrigue was started to remove his custody out of the hands of his mother into those of a cabal who had held sway for some years, but the promoters were all executed.

The management of the imperial clan appertains entirely to the Emperor, and has been conducted with considerable sagacity. All its members are under the control of the Tsung-jin fu, a sort of clansmen’s court, consisting of a presiding controller, two assistant directors, and two deputies of the family. Their duties are to regulate whatever belongs to the government of the Emperor’s kindred, which is divided into two branches, the direct and collateral, or the Tsung-shih and Gioro. The Tsung-shih, or ‘Imperial House,’ comprise only the lineal descendants of Tienming’s father, named Hien-tsu, or ‘Illustrious Sire,’ who first assumed the title of Emperor A.D. 1616. The collateral branches, including the children of his uncles and brothers, are collectively called Gioro. Their united number is unknown, but a genealogical record is kept in the national archives at Peking and Mukden. The Tsung-shih are distinguished by a yellow girdle, and the Gioro by a red one; when degraded, the former take a red, the latter a carnation girdle. There are altogether twelve degrees of rank in the Tsung-shih, and consequently some of the distant kindred are reduced to straitened circumstances. They are shut out from useful careers, and generally exhibit the evils ensuent upon the system of education and surveillance adopted toward them, in their low, vicious pursuits, and cringing imbecility of character. The sum of $133 is allowed when they marry, and $150 to defray funeral expenses, which induces some of them to maltreat their wives to death, in order to receive the allowance and dowry as often as possible.

The titular nobility of the Empire, as a whole, is a body whose members are without power, land, wealth, office, or influence, in virtue of their honors; some of them are more or less hereditary, but the whole system has been so devised, and the designations so conferred, as to tickle the vanity of those who receive them, without granting them any real power. The titles are not derived from landed estates, but the rank is simply designated in addition to the name, and it has been a question of some difficulty how to translate them. For instance, the title Kung tsin-wang literally means the ‘Reverent Kindred Prince,’ and should be translated Prince Kung, not Prince of Kung, which conveys the impression to a foreign reader that Kung is an appanage instead of an epithet.

The twelve orders of nobility are conferred solely on the members of the imperial house and clan: 1. Tsin wang, ‘kindred prince,’ i.e., prince of the blood, conferred usually on his Majesty’s brothers or sons. 2. Kiun wang, or ‘prince of a princedom;’ the eldest sons of the princes of these two degrees take a definite rank during their father’s lifetime, but the collateral branches descend in precedence as the generations are more and more remote from the direct imperial line, until at last the person is simply a member of the imperial clan. These two ranks were termed regulus by the Jesuit writers, and each son of an Emperor enters one or other as he becomes of age. The highest princes receive a stipend of about $13,300, some rations, and a retinue of three hundred and sixty servants, altogether making an annual tax on the state of $75,000 to $90,000. The second receive half that sum, and inferior grades in a decreasing ratio, down to the simple members, who each get four dollars a month and rations. 3 and 4. Beile and Beitse, or princes of and in collateral branches. The 5th to 8th are dukes, called Guardian and Sustaining, with two subordinate grades not entitled to enter the court on state occasions. The 9th to 12th ranks are nobles, or rather generals, in line of descent. The number of persons in the lower ranks is very great. Few of these men hold offices at the capital, and still more rarely are they placed in responsible situations in the provinces, but the government of Manchuria is chiefly in their hands.

Besides these are the five ancient orders of nobility, kung, hao, peh, tsz’, and nan, usually rendered duke, count, viscount, baron, and baronet, which are conferred without distinction on Manchus, Mongols, and Chinese, both civil and military, and as such are highly prized by their recipients as marks of honor. The three first take precedence of the highest untitled civilians, but an appointment to most of the high offices in the country carries with it an honorary title. The direct descendant of Confucius is called Yen-shing kung, ‘the Ever-sacred duke,’ and of Koxinga Hai-ching kung, or ‘Sea-quelling duke;’ these two are the only perpetual titles among the Chinese, but among the Manchus, the chiefs of eight families which aided in settling the crown in the Gioro line were made hereditary princes, who are collectively called princes of the iron crown. Besides the above-mentioned, there are others, which are deemed even more honorable, either from their rarity or peculiar privileges, and answer to membership of the various orders of the Garter, Golden Fleece, Bath, etc., in Europe.

The internal arrangements of the court are modelled somewhat after those of the Boards, the general supervision being under the direction of the Nui-wu fu, composed of a president and six assessors, under whom are seven subordinate departments. It is the duty of these officers to attend upon the Emperor and Empress at sacrifices, and conduct the ladies of the harem to and from the palace; they oversee the households of the sons of the Emperor, and direct, under his Majesty, everything belonging to the palace and whatever appertains to its supplies and the care of the imperial guard. The seven departments are arranged so as to bear no little resemblance to a miniature state: one supplies food and raiment; a second is for defence, to regulate the body-guard when the Emperor travels; the third attends to the etiquette the members of this great family must observe toward each other, and brings forward the inmates of the harem when the Emperor, seated in the inner hall of audience, receives their homage, led by the Empress herself; a fourth department selects ladies to fill the harem, and collects the revenue from crown lands; a fifth superintends all repairs necessary in the palace, and sees that the streets of the city be cleared whenever the Emperor, Empress, or any of the women or children in the palace wish to go out; a sixth department has in charge the herds and flocks of the Emperor; and the last is a court for punishing the crimes of soldiers, eunuchs, and others attached to the palace.

The Emperor ought to have three thousand eunuchs, but the actual number is rather less than two thousand, who perform the work of the household. His sons and grandsons are allowed from thirty down to four, while the iron-crown princes and imperial sons-in-law have twenty or thirty; all these nobles are constrained to employ some eunuchs in their establishments, if not able to maintain the full quota, for show. Most of this class are compelled to submit to mutilation by their parents before the age of eight (and not always from poverty), as it usually insures a livelihood. Some take to this condition from motives of laziness and the high duties falling to their share if they behave themselves. From very ancient times certain criminals have been punished by castration. There is a separate control for the due efficiency of these servants of the court, who are divided into forty-eight classes; during the present dynasty they have never caused trouble. The highest pay any of them receive is twelve taels a month.

The number of females attached to the harem is not accurately known; all of them are under the nominal direction of the Empress. Every third year his Majesty reviews the daughters of the Manchu officers over twelve years of age, and chooses such as he pleases for concubines; there are only seven legal concubines, but an unlimited number of illegal. The latter are restored to liberty when they reach the age of twenty-five, unless they have borne children to his Majesty. It is generally considered an advantage to a family to have a daughter in the harem, especially by the Manchus, who endeavor to rise by this backstairs influence.[226] To the poor women themselves it is a monotonous, weary life of intriguing unrest. As soon as one enters the palace she bids final adieu to all her male relatives, and rarely sees her female friends; the eunuchs who take care of her are her chief channels of communication with the outer world. It may be added, however, that the comforts and influence of her condition are vastly superior to those of Hindu females.

In the forty-eighth volume of the Hwui Tien, from which work most of the details in this chapter are obtained, is an account of the supplies furnished his Majesty and the court. There should daily be placed before the Emperor thirty pounds of meat in a basin and seven pounds boiled into soup; hog’s fat and butter, of each one and one-third pound; two sheep, two fowls, and two ducks, the milk of eighty cows, and seventy-five parcels of tea. Her Majesty receives twenty-one pounds of meat in platters and thirteen pounds boiled with vegetables; one fowl, one duck, twelve pitchers of water, the milk of twenty-five cows, and ten parcels of tea. Her maids and the concubines receive their rations according to a regular fare.

The Empress-dowager is the most important subject within the palace, and his Majesty does homage at frequent intervals, by making the highest ceremony of nine prostrations before her. When the widow of Kiaking reached the age of sixty in 1836, many honors were conferred by the Emperor. An extract from the ordinance issued on this festival will exhibit the regard paid her by the sovereign:

“Our extensive dominions have enjoyed the utmost prosperity under the shelter of a glorious and enduring state of felicity. Our exalted race has become most illustrious under the protection of that honored relative to whom the whole court looks up. To her happiness, already unalloyed, the highest degree of felicity has been superadded, causing joy and gladness to every inmate of the Six Palaces. The grand ceremonies of the occasion shall exceed in splendor the utmost requirements of the ancients in regard to the human relations, calling forth the gratulation of the whole Empire. It is indispensable that the observances of the occasion should be of an exceedingly unusual nature, in order that our reverence for our august parent and care of her may both be equally and gloriously displayed.... In the first month of the present winter occurs the sixtieth anniversary of her Majesty’s sacred natal day. At the opening of the happy period, the sun and moon shed their united genial influences on it. When commencing anew the revolution of the sexagenary cycle, the honor thereof adds increase to her felicity. Looking upward and beholding her glory, we repeat our gratulations, and announce the event to Heaven, to Earth, to our ancestors, and to the patron gods of the Empire. On the nineteenth day of the tenth moon in the fifteenth year of Taukwang, we will conduct the princes, the nobles, and all the high officers, both civil and military, into the presence of the great Empress, benign and dignified, universally placid, thoroughly virtuous, tranquil and self-collected, in favors unbounded; and we will then present our congratulations on the glad occasion, the anniversary of her natal day. The occasion yields a happiness equal to what is enjoyed by goddesses in heaven; and while announcing it to the gods and to our people, we will tender to her blessings unbounded.”

Besides the usual tokens of favor, such as rations to soldiers, pardons, promotions, advances in official rank, etc., it was ordered in the eleventh article, “That every perfectly filial son or obedient grandson, every upright husband or chaste wife, upon proofs being brought forward, shall have a monument erected, with an inscription in his or her honor.” Soldiers who had reached the age of ninety or one hundred received money to erect an honorary portal, and tombs, temples, bridges, and roads were ordered to be repaired; but how many of these “exceedingly great and special favors” were actually carried into effect cannot be stated.[227]

For the defence and escort of the Emperor and his palaces there are select bodies of troops, which are stationed within the Hwang-ching and the capital and at the various cantonments near the city. The Bannermen form three separate corps, each containing the hereditary troops of Manchu, Mongol, and enrolled Chinese, organized at the beginning of the dynasty under eight standards. Their flags are triangular, a plain yellow, white, red, and blue for troops in the left wing, and the same bordered with a narrow stripe of another color for troops in the right wing. All the families of these soldiers remain in the corps into which they were born.

Two special forces are selected, one named the Vanguard Division, the other the Flank Division, from the Manchu and Mongol Bannermen; these guard the Forbidden City, form his Majesty’s escort when he goes out, and number respectively about one thousand five hundred and fifteen thousand men. For the preservation of the peace of the capital a force of upward of twenty thousand, called the Infantry Division, or Gendarmerie, is stationed in and around the walls, in addition to the palace forces. Besides these a cadet corps of five hundred young men armed with bows and spears, two battalions with firearms, and four larger battalions of eight hundred and seventy-five men each, drilled in rifle-practice, are relied on to aid the Gendarmerie and Vanguard in case of danger. Whenever the One Man goes out of the palace gate to cross the city, the streets through which he passes are screened with matting, to keep off the crowds as well as diminish the risks of his person. The result has been that few of the citizens have ever seen their sovereign’s face during the last two hundred years. The young Emperor Tungchí obtained great favor among them on one occasion of his return from the Temple of Heaven by ordering the screen of mats to be removed so that he and his people could see each other.

Under the Emperor is the whole body of the people, a great family bound implicitly to obey his will as being that of heaven, and possessing no right or property per se; in fact, having nothing but what has been derived from or may at any time be reclaimed by him. The greatness of this family, and the absence of an entailed aristocracy to hold its members or their lands in serfdom, have been partial safeguards against excess of oppression. Liberty is unknown among the people; there is not even a word for it in the language. No acknowledgment on the part of the sovereign of certain well-understood rights belonging to the people has ever been required, and is not likely to be demanded or given by either party until the Gospel shall teach them their respective rights and duties. Emigration abroad, and even removal from one part of the Empire to another, are prohibited or restrained by old laws, but at present no real obstacle exists to changing one’s place of residence or occupation. Notwithstanding the fact that Chinese society is so homogeneous when considered as distinct from the sovereign, inequalities of many kinds are constantly met with, some growing out of birth or property, others out of occupation or merit, but most of them derived from official rank. There is no caste as in India, though the attempt to introduce the miserable system was vainly made by Wăn-tí about A.D. 590. The ancient distinctions of the Chinese into scholars, agriculturists, artisans, and traders is far superior to that of Zoroaster into priests, warriors, agriculturists, and artisans; a significant index of the different polities of eastern and western Asiatic nations is contained in this early quaternary division, and the superiority of the Chinese in its democratic element is also noticeable. There are local prejudices against associating with some portions of the community, though the people thus shut out are not remnants of old castes. The tankia, or boat-people, at Canton form a class in some respects beneath the other portions of the community, and have many customs peculiar to themselves. At Ningpo there is a degraded set called to min, amounting to nearly three thousand persons, with whom the people will not associate. The men are not allowed to enter the examinations or follow an honorable calling, but are play-actors, musicians, or sedan-bearers; the women are match-makers or female barbers and are obliged to wear a peculiar dress, and usually go abroad carrying a bundle wrapped in a checkered handkerchief. The tankia at Canton also wear a similar handkerchief on their head, and do not cramp their feet. The to min are supposed to be descendants of the Kin, who held northern China in A.D. 1100, or of native traitors who aided the Japanese, in 1555-1563, in their descent upon Chehkiang. The tankia came from some of the Miaotsz’ tribes so early that their origin is unknown.[228]

The modern classifications of the people, recognized, however, more by law than custom, are various and comprehensive. First, natives and aliens; the latter include the unsubdued mountaineers and aboriginal tribes living in various parts, races of boat-people on the coasts, and all foreigners residing within the Empire, each of whom are subject to particular laws. Second, conquerors and conquered; having reference almost entirely to a prohibition of intermarriages between Manchus and Chinese. Third, freemen and slaves; every native is allowed to purchase slaves and retain their children in servitude, and free persons sometimes forfeit their freedom on account of their crimes, or mortgage themselves into bondage. Fourth, the honorable and the mean, who cannot intermarry without the former forfeiting their privileges; the latter comprise, besides aliens and slaves, criminals, executioners, police-runners, actors, jugglers, beggars, and all other vagrant or vile persons, who are in general required to pursue for three generations some honorable and useful employment before they are eligible to enter the literary examinations. These four divisions extend over the whole body of the people, but really affect only a small minority.

It is worthy of note how few have been the slaves in China, and how easy has been their condition in comparison with what it was in Greece and Rome. Owing chiefly to the prevalence of education in the liberal principles of the Four Books, China has been saved from this disintegrating element. The proportion of slaves to freemen cannot be stated, but the former have never attracted notice by their numbers nor excited dread by their restiveness. Girls are more readily sold than boys; at Peking a healthy girl under twelve years brings from thirty to fifty taels, rising to two hundred and fifty or three hundred for one of seventeen to eighteen years old. In times of famine orphans or needy children are exposed for sale at the price of a few cash.[229]

There are also eight privileged classes, of which the privileges of imperial blood and connections and that of nobility are the only ones really available; this privilege affects merely the punishment of offenders belonging to either of the eight classes. The privilege of imperial blood is extended to all the blood relations of the Emperor, all those of the Empress-mother and grandmother within four degrees, of the Empress within three, and of the consort of the crown prince within two. Privileged noblemen comprise all officers of the first rank, all of the second holding office, and all of the third whose office confers a command. These ranks are distinct from titles of nobility, and are much thought of by officers as honorary distinctions. There are nine, each distinguished by a different colored ball placed on the apex of the cap, by a peculiar emblazonry of a bird for civilians and a beast for military officers on the breast, and a different clasp to the girdle.

Civilians of the first rank wear a precious ruby or transparent red stone; a Manchurian crane is embroidered on the back and breast of the robe, while the girdle clasp is jade set in rubies; military men have a unicorn, their buttons and clasps being the same as civilians.

Civilians of the second rank wear a red coral button, a robe embroidered with a golden pheasant, and a girdle clasp of gold set in rubies; the lion of India is emblazoned on the military.

Civilians of the third rank carry a sapphire and one-eyed peacock’s feather, a robe with a peacock worked on the breast, and a clasp of worked gold; military officers have a leopard.

Different Styles of Official Caps.

Civilians of the fourth rank are distinguished by a blue opaque stone, a wild goose on the breast, and a clasp of worked gold with a silver button; military officers carry a tiger in place of the embroidered wild goose.

Civilians of the fifth rank are denoted by a crystal button, a silver pheasant on the breast, and a clasp of plain gold with a silver button; the bear is the escutcheon of military men.

Civilians of the sixth rank wear an opaque white shell button, a blue plume, an egret worked on the breast, and a mother-of-pearl clasp; military men wear a tiger-cat.

Civilians of the seventh rank have a plain gold button, a mandarin duck on the breast, and a clasp of silver; a mottled bear designates the military, as it also does in the last rank.

The eighth rank wear a worked gold button, a quail on the breast, and a clasp of clear horn; military men have a seal.

The ninth rank are distinguished by a worked silver button, a long-tailed jay on the breast, and a clasp of buffalo’s horn; military men are marked by a rhinoceros embroidered on the robe. All under the ninth can embroider the oriole on their breasts, and unofficial Hanlin take the egret.

The mass of people show their democratic tendencies in many ways, some of them conservative and others disorganizing. They form themselves into clans, guilds, societies, professions, and communities, all of which assist them in maintaining their rights, and give a power to public opinion it would not otherwise possess. Legally, every subject is allowed access to the magistrates, secured protection from oppression, and can appeal to the higher courts, but these privileges are of little avail if he is poor or unknown. He is too deeply imbued with fear and too ignorant of his rights to think of organized resistance; his mental independence has been destroyed, his search after truth paralyzed, his enterprise checked, and his whole efforts directed into two channels, viz., labor for bread and study for office. The people of a village, for instance, will not be quietly robbed of the fruits of their industry; but every individual in it may suffer multiplied insults, oppressions, and cruelties, without thinking of combining with his fellows to resist. Property is held by a tolerably secure tenure, but almost every other right and privilege is shamefully trampled on.

Although there is nominally no deliberative or advisatory body in the Chinese government, and nothing really analogous to a congress, parliament, or tiers état, still necessity and law compel the Emperor to consult and advise with the heads of tribunals. There are two imperial councils, which are the organs of communication between the head and the body politic; these are the Cabinet, or Imperial Chancery, and the Council of State; both of them partake of a deliberative character, but the first has the least power. Subordinate to these two councils are the administrative parts of the supreme government, consisting of the six Boards, the Colonial Office, Censorate, Courts of Representation and Appeal, and the Imperial Academy; making in all thirteen principal departments, each of which will require a short description. It need hardly be added that there is nothing like an elective body in any part of the system; such a feature would be almost as incongruous to a Chinese as the election of a father by his family.

1. The Nui Koh, or Cabinet, sometimes called the Grand Secretariat, consists of four ta hioh-sz’, or principal, and two hiehpan ta hioh-sz’, or ‘joint assistant chancellors,’ half of them Manchus and half Chinese. Their duties, according to the Imperial Statutes, are to “deliberate on the government of the Empire, proclaim abroad the imperial pleasure, regulate the canons of state, together with the whole administration of the great balance of power, thus aiding the Emperor in directing the affairs of state.” Subordinate to these six chancellors are six grades of officers, amounting in all to upward of two hundred persons, of whom more than half are Manchus. Under the six Chancellors are ten assistants, called hioh-sz’, ‘learned scholars;’ some of the sixteen are constantly absent in the provinces or colonies, when their places are supplied by substitutes. What in other countries is performed by one person as prime minister, is in China performed by the four chancellors, of whom the first in the list is usually considered to be the premier, though perhaps the most influential man and the real leader of government holds another station.

The most prominent daily business of the Cabinet is to receive imperial edicts and rescripts, present memorials, lay before his Majesty the affairs of the Empire, procure his instructions thereon, and forward them to the appropriate office to be copied and promulgated. In order to expedite business in court, it is the custom, after the ministers have read and formed an opinion upon each document, to fasten a slip of paper at the foot—or more than one if elective answers are to be given—and thus present the document to his Majesty, in the presence-chamber, who, with a stroke of his pencil on the answer he chooses, decides its fate. The papers, having been examined and arranged, are submitted to the sovereign at daylight on the following morning; one of the six Manchu hioh-sz’ first reads each document and hands it over to one of the four Chinese hioh-sz’, who inscribes the answer dictated by the sovereign, or hands it to him to perform that duty with the vermilion pencil. By this arrangement a large amount of business can be summarily despatched; but it is also evident that much depends upon the manner in which the answer written upon the slip is drawn up, as to the reception or rejection of the paper, though care has been taken in this particular by requiring that codicils be prepared showing the reasons for each answer. The appointment, removal, and degradation of all officers throughout his vast dominions, orders respecting the apportionment or remittal of the revenue and taxes, disposition of the army, regulation of the nomadic tribes—in short, all concerns, from the highest appointments and changes down to petty police cases of crime, are in this way brought to the notice and action of the Emperor.

Besides these daily duties there are additional functions devolving upon the members of the Cabinet, who are likewise all attached to other bureaus, such as presiding on all state occasions and sacrifices, coronations, reception of embassies, etc.; these duties are fulfilled by the ten assistant hioh-sz’, who are all vice-presidents of the Board of Rites. They are the keepers of the twenty-five seals of government, each of which is of a different form and used for different and special purposes, according to the custom of orientals, who place so much dependence upon the seal for vouching for the authenticity of a document.[230] Attached to the Cabinet are ten subordinate offices, one of which is for translating documents into the various languages found in the Empire. The higher members of the Cabinet are familiarly called koh lao, i.e., elders of the council-room, from which the word colao, often met with in old books upon China, is derived.[231]

2. The Kiun-kí Chu, Council of State or General Council, was organized about 1730, but has now become the most influential body in the government; and, though quite unlike in its construction, corresponds to the ministry of western nations, more than does any other branch of the Chinese system. It can be composed of any grandees, as princes of the blood, chancellors, presidents and vice-presidents of the Six Boards, and chief officers of all the other metropolitan courts. They are selected at the Emperor’s pleasure, and unitedly called “great ministers directing the machinery of the army”—the army being here taken to signify the nation. Its duties are “to write imperial edicts and decisions, and determine such things as are of importance to the army and nation, in order to aid the sovereign in regulating the machinery of affairs.” The number of members of the General Council probably varies according to his Majesty’s pleasure, for no list of them is given in the Red Book; but latterly their number has been four, two of each nationality, and Prince Kung as the president. This body is one of the mainsprings of the government, and its composition shows the tendency of the national councils and polity.

The members of the General Council assemble daily in the Forbidden Palace, between five and six in the morning; when summoned by his Majesty into the council-chamber they sit upon mats or low cushions, no person being permitted to sit on chairs in the real or supposed presence of the Emperor. His Majesty’s commands being written down by them, are, if public, transmitted to the Inner Council to be promulgated; but on any matter requiring secrecy or expedition, a despatch is forthwith made up and sent under cover to the Board of War, to be forwarded. In all important consultations or trials this Council, either alone or in connection with the appropriate court, is called in; and in time of war it is formed into a committee of ways and means. Lists of officers entitled to promotion are kept by it, and the names of proper persons to supply vacancies furnished the Emperor. Many of the residents in the colonies are members of the Council, and communicate directly with his Majesty through it, and receive allowances and gifts with great formality from the throne—a device of statecraft designed to maintain an awe of the imperial character and name as much as possible among the mixed races under them.

The General Council fills an important station in the system, and tends greatly to consolidate the various branches of government, facilitating their harmonious action as well as supplying the deficiencies of an imbecile, or restraining the acts of a tyrannical monarch. The statutes speak of various record-books, both public and secret, kept by the members for noting down the opinions of his Majesty, and add that there are no fixed times for audiences, one or more sessions being held daily, according to the exigencies of the state. Besides these functions, its members are further charged with certain literary matters, and three subordinate offices are attached to the Council for their preparation. One is for drawing up narratives of important transactions—a few of those relating to the wars and negotiations with foreigners since 1839 would be of much interest now; a second is for translating documents; and the third, entitled “an office for observing that imperial edicts are carried into effect,” must be at times rather an arduous task, though probably its responsibility ends when the despatch goes forward. An office with this title shows that the Chinese government, with all its business-like arrangements, is still an Asiatic one.[232]

The duties of these supreme councils are general, comprising matters relating to all departments of the government, and serving to connect the head of the state with the subordinate bodies, not only at the capital, but throughout the provinces, so that he can, and probably does to a very great degree, thereby maintain a general acquaintance with what is done in all parts, and sooner rectify disorders and malpractices. The rivalry between their members, and the dislike entertained by the Chinese and Manchus composing them, cause, no doubt, some trouble to the Emperor; but this has some effect in thwarting conspiracies and intrigues. It must not be supposed, however, that every high officer in the Chinese government is wholly unprincipled, venal, and intriguing; most of them desire to serve and maintain their country. The personal character and knowledge of the monarch has much to do with the efficiency of his government, and the guidance of its affairs demands constant oversight. If he allows his ministers to conduct their trusts without restraint, they soon engross and misuse this power for selfish ends. In natural sequence every branch feels the fatal laxity, while its functionaries lose no time in imitating their superiors. This was the case during the reign of Hienfung, but matters have much improved under the regency since 1861. In ordinary times, the daily intercourse between the Emperor of China and his ministers presents very similar features of confidence, courtesy, and esteem between them as those seen in western lands.

The King Pao, i.e., ‘Metropolitan Reporter,’ usually called the Peking Gazette, is compiled from the papers presented before the General Council, and constitutes the principal source of information available to the people for ascertaining what is going on in the Empire. Every morning ample extracts from the papers decided upon or examined by the Emperor, including his own orders and rescripts, are placarded upon boards in a court of the palace, and form the materials for the annals of government and the history of the Empire. Couriers are despatched to all parts of the land, carrying copies of these papers to the high provincial officers; certain persons are also permitted to print these documents, but always without note or change, and circulate them at their own charges to their customers. This is the Peking Gazette, and such the mode of its compilation. It is simply a record of official acts, promotions, decrees, and sentences, without any editorial comments or explanations; and as such of great value in understanding the policy of government. It is very generally read and discussed by educated people in cities, and tends to keep them more acquainted with the character and proceedings of their rulers than ever the Romans were of their sovereigns and Senate. In the provinces thousands of persons find employment by copying and abridging the Gazette for readers who cannot afford to purchase the complete edition.[233]

The principal executive bodies under these two Councils are the Luh Pu, or ‘Six Boards,’ which were modelled on much the same plan during the ancient dynasties. At the head of each Board are two presidents, called shang-shu, and four vice-presidents, called shílang, alternately a Manchu and a Chinese; and over three of them—those of Revenue, War, and Punishment—are placed superintendents, who are frequently members of the Cabinet; sometimes the president of one Board is superintendent of another. There are three subordinate grades of officers in each Board, who may be called directors, under-secretaries, and controllers, with a great number of minor clerks, and their appropriate departments for conducting the details of the general and peculiar business coming under the cognizance of the Board, the whole being arranged and subordinated in the most business-like style. The detail of all the departments in the general and provincial governments is regulated in the same manner. For instance, each Board has a different style of envelope for its despatches, and the papers in the offices are filed away in them.

3. The Lí Pu, or Board of Civil Office, “has the government and direction of all the various officers in the civil service of the Empire, and thereby it assists the Emperor to rule all people;” these duties are further defined as including “whatever appertains to the plans of selecting rank and gradation, to the rules of determining degradation and promotion, to the ordinances of granting investitures and rewards, and the laws for fixing schedules and furloughs, that the civil service may be supplied.” Civilians are presented to the Emperor, and all civil and literary officers throughout the Empire distributed by this Board. The great power apparently thus entrusted is shared by the two preceding, whose members are made advisory overseers of the highest appointments, while the provincial authorities put men in vacant posts as fast as they are needed. The danger arising from the arrangement is noticed by Biot[234] as having early attracted criticism.

This Board is subdivided into four bureaus. The first attends to the distinctions, precedence, promotion, exchanging, etc., of officers. The second investigates their merits and worthiness to be recorded and advanced, or contrariwise; ascertains the character each officer bears and the manner in which he fulfils his duties, and prescribes his furloughs. The third regulates retirement from office on account of mourning or filial duties, and supervises the registration of official names; it is through this bureau that Hwang Ngăn-tung, the Governor of Kwangtung, was degraded in 1846 for not resigning his office on the death of his mother. The fourth regulates the distribution of titles, patents, and posthumous honors. The Chinese is the only government that ennobles ancestors for the merits of their descendants; the custom arose out of the worship paid them, in which the rites are proportionate to the rank of the deceased, not of the survivor; and if the deceased parent or grandparent were commoners, they receive proper titles in consequence of the elevation of their son or grandson. This custom is not a trick of state to get money, for commoners cannot buy these posthumous titles; they can only buy nominal titles for themselves. The usage, however, offers an unexpected illustration of the remark of Job, “His sons come to honor, and he knoweth it not.”

4. The Hu Pu, or Board of Revenue, “directs the territorial government of the Empire, and keeps the lists of population in order to aid the Emperor in nourishing all people; whatever appertains to the regulations for levying and collecting duties and taxes, to the plans for distributing salaries and allowances, to the rates for receipts and disbursements at the granaries and treasuries, and to the rights for transporting by land and water are reported to this Board, that sufficient supplies for the country may be provided.” Besides these duties, it obtains the admeasurement of all lands in the Empire, and proportions taxes and conscriptions, according to the divisions, population, etc., regulates the expenditure, and ascertains the latitude and longitude of places. One minor office prepares lists of all the Manchu girls fit to be introduced into the palace for selection as inmates of the harem, a duty which is enjoined on it because the allowances, outfits, and positions of these women come within its control. The injudicious mode of collecting revenue common under the Persian and Syrian kings, by which the sums obtained from single cities and provinces were apportioned among the royal family and favorites, and carried directly to them, has never been practised by the Chinese.

There are fourteen subordinate departments to attend to the receipt of the revenue from each of the provinces, each of which corresponds with the treasury department in its respective province. The revenue being paid in sundry ways and articles, as money, grain, manufactures, etc., the receipt and distribution of the various articles require a large force of assistants. This Board is moreover a court of appeal on disputes respecting property, and superintends the mint in each province; one bureau is called the “great ministers of the Three Treasuries,” viz., of metals, silks and dye-stuffs, and stationery.

5. The Lí Pu, or Board of Rites, “examines and directs concerning the performance of the five kinds of ritual observances, and makes proclamation thereof to the whole Empire, thus aiding the Emperor in guiding all people. Whatever appertains to the ordinances for regulating precedence and literary distinctions, to the canons for maintaining religious honor and fidelity, to the orders respecting intercourse and tribute, and to the forms of giving banquets and granting bounties, are reported to this Board in order to promote national education.” The five classes of rites are defined to be those of a propitious and those of a felicitous nature, military and hospitable rites, and those of an infelicitous nature. Among the subordinate departments is that of ceremonial forms, which “has the regulation of the etiquette to be observed at court on all occasions, on congratulatory attendances, in the performance of official duties, etc.; also the regulation of dresses, caps, etc.; as to the figure, size, color, and nature of their fabrics and ornaments, of carriages and riding accoutrements, their form, etc., with the number of followers and insignia of rank. It has also the direction of the entire ceremonial of personal intercourse between the various ranks or peers, minutely defining the number of bows and degree of attention which each is to pay to the other when meeting in official capacities, according as they are on terms of equality or otherwise. It has also to direct the forms of their written official intercourse, including those to be observed in addresses to and from foreign states. The regulation of the literary examinations, the number of the graduates, the distinction of their classes, the forms of their selection, and the privileges of successful candidates, with the establishment of governmental schools and academies, are all under this department.”

Another office superintends the rites to be observed in worshipping deities and spirits of departed monarchs, sages, and worthies, and in “saving the sun and moon” when eclipsed. The third, called “host and guest office,” looks after tribute and tribute-bearers, and takes the whole management of foreign embassies, supplying not only provisions, but translators, and ordering the mode of intercourse between China and other states. The fourth oversees the supplial of food for banquets and sacrifices. The details of all the multifarious ritual duties of this Board occupy fourteen volumes of the Statutes. “Truly nothing is without its ceremonies,” as Confucius taught, and no nation has paid so much attention to them in the ordering of its government as the Chinese. The Book of Rites is the foundation of ceremonies and the infallible standard as to their meaning; the importance attached to them has elevated etiquette and ritualism into a kind of crystallizing force which has molded Chinese character in many ways.

Connected with the Board of Rites is a Board of Music, containing an indefinite number of officers whose duties “are to study the principles of harmony and melody, to compose musical pieces and form instruments proper to play them, and then suit both to the various occasions on which they are required.” Nor are the graces of posture-making neglected by these ceremony-mongers; but it may with truth be said, that if no other nation ever had a Board of Music, and required so much official music as the Chinese, certainly none ever had less real melody.

6. The Ping Pu, or Board of War, “has the duty of aiding the sovereign to protect the people by the direction of all military affairs in the metropolis and the provinces, and to regulate the hinge of the state upon the reports received from the various departments regarding deprivation of, or appointment to, office; succession to, or creation of, hereditary military rank; postal or courier arrangements; examination and selection of the deserving, and accuracy of returns.” The navy is also under the control of this Board. The management of the post is confided to a special department, and the transmission of official despatches is performed with great efficiency and regularity. A minor bureau of the courier office is called “the office for the announcement of victories,” which, from a recital of its duties, appears to be rather a grande vitesse, whose couriers should hasten as if they announced a victory.

To enable this Board of War to discharge its duties, they are apportioned under four sz’, or bureaus, severally attending to promotion for various reasons; to the regulation of the distribution of rewards and punishments, inspection of troops and issue of general orders, answering to an adjutant-general’s department; to the supply and distribution of horses for the cavalry; and, lastly, to the examination of candidates, preparation of estimates and rosters, with all the details connected with equipments and ammunition. The conception of all government with the Manchus being military and not civil, they have developed this Board more than was the case during the last dynasty, the possessions in Central Asia having drawn greatly on their resources and prowess.

The Household troops and city Gendarmerie have already been noticed; their control is vested in the Nui-wu Fu, and the oversight of all the Bannermen in the Empire vests in the metropolitan office of the Tu-tung, or Captains-general, of whom there are twenty-four, one to every banner of each race. The Board of War has no control directly over this large portion of the Chinese army, and as the direction of the land and sea forces in each province is entrusted in a great degree to the local authorities, its duties are really more circumscribed than one would at first imagine. The singular subordination of military to civil power, which has ever distinguished the Chinese polity, makes the study of the army, as at present constituted, a very interesting feature of the national history; for while it has often proved inefficient to repress insurrection and defend the people against brigandage, it has never been used to destroy their institutions. In times of internal commotion the national soldiers have usually been loyal to their flag, though it must be confessed that discipline within the ranks is not so perfect as to prevent the soldiers from occasionally harassing and robbing those whom they are set to protect.[235]

7. The Hing Pu, or Board of Punishments, “has the government and direction of punishments throughout the Empire, for the purpose of aiding the sovereign in correcting all people. Whatever appertains to measures of applying the laws with leniency or severity, to the task of hearing evidence and giving decisions, to the rights of granting pardons, reprieves, or otherwise, and to the rate of fines and interest, are all reported to this Board, to aid in giving dignity to national manners.” The Hing Pu partakes of the nature of both a criminal and civil court; its officers usually meet with those of the Censorate and Talí Sz’, the three forming the San Fah Sz’, or ‘Three Law Chambers,’ which decide on capital cases brought before them. In the autumn these three unite with members from six other courts, forming collectively a Court of Errors, to revise the decisions of the provincial judges before reporting them to his Majesty. These precautions are taken to prevent injustice when life is involved, and the system shows an endeavor to secure a full and impartial consideration for all capital cases, which, although it may signally fail of its full effect, does the rulers high credit, when the small value set upon life generally by Asiatic governments is considered. These bodies are expected to conform their decisions to the law, nor are they permitted to cite the Emperor’s own decisions as precedents, without the law on these decisions has been expressly entered as a supplementary clause in the code.

It also belongs to sub-officers in the Board of Punishments to record all his Majesty’s decisions upon appeals from the provinces at the autumnal assizes, when the entire list is presented for his examination and ultimate decision, and see that these sentences are transmitted to the provincial judges. Another office superintends the publication of the code, with all the changes and additions; a third oversees jails and jailers; a fourth receives the fines levied by commutation of punishments, and a fifth registers the receipts and expenditures. If the administration of the law in China at all corresponded with the equity of most of its enactments, or the caution taken to prevent collusion, malversation, and haste on the part of the judges, it would be incomparably the best governed country out of Christendom; but the painful contrast between good laws and wicked rulers is such as to show the utter impossibility of securing the due administration of justice without higher moral principles than heathenism can teach.

The yamun of the Hing Pu in the capital is the most active of all the Boards, but little is known of what goes on within its walls. Its prisoners are mostly brought from the provinces, officers of high rank arrested for malfeasance or failure, and criminals convicted or condemned there who have appealed to the highest tribunals. Few of those who enter its gates ever return through them, and their sufferings seldom end as long as they have any property left. The narrative of the horrible treatment endured by Loch and his comrades in 1860, while confined within this yamun, gives a vivid picture of their sufferings, but native prisoners are not usually kept bound and pinioned. In the rear wall of the establishment is an iron door, through which dead bodies are thrust to be carried away to burial.

8. The Kung Pu, or Board of Works, “has the government and direction of the public works throughout the Empire, together with the current expenses of the same, for the purpose of aiding the Emperor to keep all people in a state of repose. Whatever appertains to plans for buildings of wood or earth, to the forms of useful instruments, to the laws for stopping up or opening channels, and to the ordinances for constructing the mausolea and temples, are reported to this Board in order to perfect national works.” Its duties are of a miscellaneous nature, and are performed in other countries by no one department, though the plan adopted by the Chinese is not without its advantages. One bureau takes cognizance of the condition of all city walls, palaces, temples, altars, and other public structures; sits as a prize-office, and furnishes tents for his Majesty’s journeys; supplies timber for ships, and pottery and glassware for the court. A second attends to the manufacture of military stores and utensils employed in the army; sorts the pearls from the fisheries according to their value; regulates weights and measures, furnishes “death-warrants” to governors and generals; and, lastly, takes charge of arsenals, stores, camp-equipage, and other things appertaining to the army. A third department has charge of all water-ways and dikes; it also repairs and digs canals, erects bridges, oversees the banks of rivers by means of deputies stationed at posts along their course, builds vessels of war, collects tolls, mends roads, digs the sewers in Peking and cleans out its gutters, preserves ice, makes book-cases for public records, and, lastly, looks after the silks sent as taxes. The fourth of these offices confines its attention chiefly to the condition of the imperial mausolea, the erection of the sepulchres and tablets of meritorious officers buried at public expense, and the adornment of temples and palaces, as well as superintending all workmen employed by the Board.

The mint is under the direction of two vice-presidents, and the manufacture of gunpowder is specially intrusted to two great ministers. One would think, from this recital, that the functions of the Board of Works were so diverse that it would be one of the most efficient parts of government; but if the condition of forts, ports, dikes, etc., in other parts of the country corresponds to those along the coast, there is, as the Emperor once said of the army, “the appearance of going to war, but not the reality”—most of the works being on record, and suffered to remain there, except when danger threatens, or his Majesty specially orders a public work, and, what is more important, furnishes the money.

9. The Lí Fan Yuen, or Court for the Government of Foreigners, commonly called the Colonial Office, “has the government and direction of the external foreigners, orders their emoluments and honors, appoints their visits to court, and regulates their punishments, in order to display the majesty and goodness of the state.” This is an important branch of the government, and has the superintendence of all the wandering and settled tribes in Mongolia, Cobdo, Ílí, and Koko-nor. All these are called wai fan, or ‘external foreigners,’ in distinction from the tributary tribes in Sz’chuen and Formosa, who are termed nui fan, or ‘internal foreigners.’ There are also nui í and wai í, or ‘internal and external barbarians,’ the former comprising the unsubdued mountaineers of Kweichau, and the latter the inhabitants of all foreign countries who do not choose to range themselves under the renovating influences of the Celestial Empire. The Colonial Office regulates the government of the nomads and restricts their wanderings, lest they trespass on each other’s pasture-grounds. Its officers are all Manchus and Mongols, having over them one president and two vice-presidents, Manchus, and one Mongolian vice-president appointed for life.

Besides the usual secretaries for conducting its general business, there are six departments, whose combined powers include every branch necessary for the management of these clans. The first two have jurisdiction over the numerous tribes and corps of the Inner Mongols, who are under more complete subjection than the others, and part have been placed under the control of officers in Chihlí and Shansí. The appointment of local officers, collecting taxes, allotting land to Chinese settlers, opening roads, paying salaries, arranging the marriages, retinues, visits to courts, and presents made by the princes and the review of the troops, all appertain to these two departments. The third and fourth have a similar, but less effectual control over the princes, lamas, and tribes of Outer Mongolia. At Urga reside two high ministers, organs of communication with Russia, and general overseers of the frontier. The oversight of the lama hierarchy in Mongolia is now completely under the control of this office; and in Tibet their power has been considerably abridged. The fifth department directs the actions, restrains the powers, levies the taxes, and orders the tributary visits of the Mohammedan begs in the Tien shan Nan Lu, who are quiet pretty much as they are paid by presents and flattered by honors. The sixth department regulates the penal discipline of the tributary tribes. The salaries paid the Mongolian princes are distributed according to an economical scale. A tsin wang annually receives $2,600 and twenty-five pieces of silk; a kiun wang receives about $1,666 and fifteen pieces of silk; and so on through the ranks of Beile, Beitse, Duke, etc., the last of whom gets a stipend of only $133 and four pieces of silk. The internal organization of these tribes is probably the same now as it was at first among the Scythians and Huns, and partakes of the features of the feudal and tribal system, modified by the nomadic lives they are obliged to lead. The Chinese government is endeavoring to reduce the influence and retinues of the khans and begs and elevate the people to positions of independent owners and cultivators of the soil.

10. The Tu-chah Yuen, or Censorate, i.e., ‘All-examining Court,’ is entrusted with the “care of manners and customs, the investigation of all public offices within and without the capital, the discrimination between the good and bad performance of their business, and between the depravity and uprightness of the officers employed in them; taking the lead of other censors, and uttering each his sentiments and reproofs, in order to cause officers to be diligent in attention to their daily duties, and to render the government of the Empire stable.” The Censorate, when joined with the Board of Punishments and Court of Appeal, forms a high court for the revision of criminal cases and hearing appeals from the provinces; and, in connection with the Six Boards and the Court of Representation and Appeal, makes one of the Kiu King, or ‘Nine Courts,’ which deliberate on important affairs of government.

The officers are two censors and four deputy censors, besides whom the governors, lieutenant-governors, and the governors of rivers and inland navigation are ex-officio deputy censors. A class of censors is placed over each of the Six Boards, whose duties are to supervise all their acts, to receive all public documents from the Cabinet, and after classifying them transmit them to the several courts to which they belong, and to make a semi-monthly examination of the papers entered on the archives of each court. All criminal cases in the provinces come under the oversight of the censors at the capital, and the department which superintends the affairs of the metropolis revises its municipal acts, settles the quarrels, and represses the crimes of its inhabitants. These are the duties of the Censorate, than which no part of the Chinese government has attracted more attention. The privilege of reproof given by the law to the office of censor has sometimes been exercised with remarkable candor and plainness, and many cases are recorded in history of these officers suffering for their fidelity, but such instances must be few indeed in proportion to the failures.

The celebrated Sung, who was appointed commissioner to accompany Lord Macartney, once remonstrated with the Emperor Kiaking upon his attachment to play-actors and strong drink, which degraded him in the eyes of his people and incapacitated him from performing his duties. The Emperor, highly irritated, called him to his presence, and on his confessing to the authorship of the memorial, asked him what punishment he deserved. He answered, “Quartering.” He was told to select some other; “Let me be beheaded;” and on a third command, he chose to be strangled. He was then ordered to retire, and the next day the Emperor appointed him governor in Ílí, thus acknowledging his rectitude, though unable to bear his censure.

History records the reply of another censor in the reign of an Emperor of the Tang dynasty, who, when his Majesty once desired to inspect the archives of the historiographer’s office, in order to learn what had been recorded concerning himself, under the excuse that he must know his faults before he could well correct them, was answered: “It is true your Majesty has committed a number of errors, and it has been the painful duty of our employment to take notice of them; a duty which further obliges us to inform posterity of the conversation which your Majesty has this day, very improperly, held with us.”

The censors usually attend on all state occasions by the side of his Majesty, and are frequently allowed to express their opinions openly, but in a despotic government this is little else than a fiction of state, for the fear of offending the imperial ear, and consequent disgrace, will usually prove stronger than the consciousness of right or the desires of a public fame and martyrdom for the sake of principle. The usual mode of advising is to send in a remonstrance against a proposed act, as when one of the body in 1832 remonstrated against the Emperor paying attention to anonymous accusations; or to suggest a different procedure, as the memorials of Chu Tsun against legalizing opium. The number of these papers inserted in the Peking Gazette for the information of the Empire, in many of which the acts of officers are severely reprehended, shows that the censors are not altogether idle. In 1833 a censor named Sü requested the Emperor to interdict official persons at court from writing private letters concerning public persons and affairs in the provinces. He stated that when candidates left the capital for their provincial stations, private letters were sent by them from their friends to the provincial authorities, “sounding the voice of influence and interest,” by which means justice was perverted. The Emperor ordered the Cabinet to examine the censor and get his facts in proof of these statements, but on inquiry he either would not or could not bring forward any cases, and he himself consequently received a reprimand. “These censors are allowed,” says the Emperor, “to tell me the reports they hear, to inform me concerning courtiers and governors who pervert the laws, and to speak plainly about any defect or impropriety which they may observe in the monarch himself; but they are not permitted to employ their pencils in writing memorials which are filled with vague surmises and mere probabilities or suppositions. This would only fill my mind with doubts and uncertainty, and I would not know what men to employ; were this spirit indulged, the detriment of government would be most serious. Let Sü be subjected to a court of inquiry.”

The suspension or disgrace of censors for their freedom of speech is a common occurrence, and among the forty or fifty persons who have this privilege a few are to be found who do not hesitate to lift up their voice against what they deem to be wrong; and there is reason for supposing that only a small portion of their remonstrances appears in the Gazette. With regard to this department of government, it is to be observed that although it may tend only in a partial degree to check oppression and reform abuses, and while a close examination of its real operations and influence and the character of its members may excite more contempt than respect, still the existence of such a body, and the publication of its memorials, can hardly fail to rectify misconduct to some degree, and check maladministration before it results in widespread evil. The Censorate is, however, only one of a number of checks upon the conduct of officers, and perhaps by no means the strongest.[236]

11. The Tung-ching Sz’, which may be called a Court of Transmission, consists of a small body of six officers, whose duty is to receive memorials from the provincial authorities and appeals from their judgment by the people and present them to the Cabinet. Attached to this Court is an office for attending at the palace-gate to await the beating of a drum, which, in conformity with an ancient custom, is placed there that applicants may by striking it obtain a hearing. It is also the channel through which the people can directly appeal to his Majesty, and cases occur of individuals, even women and girls, travelling to the capital from remote places to present their petitions for redress before the throne. The feeling of blood revenge prevails among the Chinese, and impels many of these weak and unprotected persons to undergo great hardships to obtain legal redress, when the lives of their parents have been unjustly taken by powerful and rich enemies.

12. The Ta-lí Sz’, or Court of Judicature and Revision, has the duty of adjusting all the criminal courts in the Empire, and forms the nearest approach to a Supreme Court in the government, though the cases brought before it are mostly criminal. When the crimes involve life, this and the preceding unite with the Censorate to form one court, and if the judges are not unanimous in their decisions they must report their reasons to the Emperor, who will pass judgment upon them. In a despotic government no one can expect that the executive officers of courts will exercise their functions with that caution and equity required in Christian countries, but considerable care has been taken to obtain as great a degree of justice as possible.

13. The Hanlin Yuen, or Imperial Academy, is entrusted “with the duty of drawing up governmental documents, histories, and other works; its chief officers take the lead of the various classes, and excite their exertions to advance in learning in order to prepare them for employments and fit them for attending upon the sovereign.” This body has, it is highly probable, some similarity to the collection of learned men to whom the King of Babylon entrusted the education of promising young men, for although the members of the Hanlin Yuen do not, to any great degree, educate persons, they are constantly referred to as the Chaldeans were by Belshazzar. Sir John Davis likens it to the Sorbonne, inasmuch as it expounds the sacred books of the Chinese. Its chief officers are two presidents or senior members, called chwang yuen hioh-sz’, who are usually appointed for life; they attend upon the Emperor, superintend the studies of graduates, and furnish semi-annual lists of persons to be “speakers” at the “classical feasts,” where the literary essays of his Majesty are translated from and into Manchu and read before him.

Subordinate to the two senior members are four grades of officers, five in each grade, together with an unlimited number of senior graduates, each forming a sort of college, whose duties are to prepare all works published under governmental sanction; these persons are subject from time to time to fresh examination, and are liable to lose their degrees or be altogether dismissed from office if found faulty or deficient. Subordinate to the Hanlin Yuen is an office consisting of twenty-two selected members, who in rotation attend on the Emperor and make a record of his words and actions. There is also an additional office for the preparation of national histories.

The situation of a member of the Hanlin is one of considerable honor and literary ease, and scholars look forward to a station in it as one which confers dignity in a government where all officers are appointed according to their literary merit, but much more from its being the body from which the Emperor selects his most responsible officers. A graduate of this rank is most likely to be nominated to a vacant office, though the possession of the title does not of itself warrant a place.[237]

Before proceeding to consider the provincial governments, notices of some of the other departments not connected with the general machinery of the state are here in place. The municipality of Peking has already been mentioned when describing the capital; it is intimately connected with the general government and forms an integral part of the machine. Among the courts not connected with the municipal rule of the metropolis, nor forming one of the great departments of state, is Tai-chang Sz’, or ‘Sacrificial Court,’ whose officers “direct the sacrificial observances and distinguish the various instruments and the quality of the sacrifices.” Their duties are of importance in connection with the state religion, and they rank high among the court dignitaries of the Empire, but as members of this, possess no power. The Tai-puh Sz’, or Superintendent of H. I. M.’s Stud, is an office for “rearing horses, taking account of their increase, and regulating their training;” large tracts of land beyond the Great Wall are appropriated to this purpose, and the clerks of this office, under the direction of the Board of War, oversee the herdsmen and grooms.

The Kwangluh Sz’, or ‘Banqueting House,’ has the charge of “feasting the meritorious and banqueting the deserving;” it is somewhat subordinate to the Board of Rites, and provides whatever is necessary for banquets given to literary graduates, foreign ambassadors, etc. The Hunglu Sz’, or ‘Ceremonial Court,’ regulates the forms to be observed at these banquets, which consist in little else than marshalling the guests according to their proper ranks and directing them when to make the kotow, called also san kwei kiu kao, “three kneelings and nine knockings.” The Kwoh-tsz’ Kien, or ‘National College,’ is a different institution from the Hanlin Yuen, and intended for teaching graduates of the lower degrees; the departments of study are the Chinese language, the classics and mathematics, each branch having its appropriate teachers, with some higher officers, both Chinese and Manchu.

The Kin Tien Kien, or ‘Imperial Astronomical College,’ as might be expected, is much more astrological than astronomical; its duties are defined to be “to direct the ascertainment of times and the movements of the heavenly bodies, in order to attain conformity with the celestial periods and to regulate the notation of time among men; all things relating to divination and the selection of days are under its charge.” The preparation of the almanac, in which, among other things, lucky and unlucky days are marked for the performance of all the important acts of life, and astrological and chiromantic absurdities inserted for the amusement of fortune-tellers and others, the instruction of a few pupils, and care of the observatory, occupy most of the time of its officers. It is now of no practical use, and as the Tung-wăn Kwan develops into a learned and efficient college, including astronomy and medicine and their kindred branches, these native Boards will gradually pass away.

The other local courts of the capital seem to have been subdivided and multiplied to a great degree for the purpose of affording employment to a larger number of persons, especially Manchus and graduates, so that the Emperor can attach them to himself and be surer of their support in case of any insurrection on the part of the people, and also that he may have them more under his control. The number of clerks and minor offices in all the general departments of state is doubtless more numerous than it would be in a European government. In the mutual relations of the great departments of the Chinese government the principles of responsibility and surveillance among the officers are plainly exhibited, while regard has been paid to such a division and apportionment of labor as would secure great efficiency and care, if every member of the machine faithfully did his duty. Two presidents are stationed over each Board to assist and watch each other, while the two presidents oversee the four vice-presidents; the president of one Board is sometimes the vice-president of another; and by means of the Censorate and the General Council every portion is brought under the cognizance of several independent officers, whose mutual jealousy and regard for individual advancement, or a partial desire for the well-being of the state, affords the Emperor some guarantee of fidelity. The seclusion in which he lives makes it difficult for any conspirator to approach his person, but his own fears regarding the management of such an immense Empire compel him to inform himself respecting the actions of ministers, generals, and proconsular governors. The conduct and devotion of hundreds of officers, both civil and military, during the wars with Great Britain and the suppression of rebellions within the last thirty years, afford proof enough that he has attached his subordinates to his service by some other principle than fear. The total number of civilians holding office is estimated at about fourteen thousand persons, but those dependent on the government are many times this amount.

The rulers of China have contrived the system of provincial governments in an admirable manner, considering the character of the people and the materials they had to work with; no better proof of their sagacity in this respect can be required than the general degree of good order which has been maintained for nearly two centuries, and the great progress the people have made in wealth, numbers, and power. By a well-arranged plan of checks and changes in the provincial authorities, the chances of their abusing position and power and combining to overthrow the supreme government have been reduced almost to an impossibility; the influence of mutual responsibility among them does something to prevent outrageous oppression of the people, by leading one to accuse another of high crimes in order to exonerate himself or obtain his place. The sons and relatives of the Emperor being excluded from civil office in the provinces, the high-spirited and talented native Chinese do not feel inclined to cabal against the government because every avenue to emolument and power is filled and closed against them by creatures and connections of the sovereign; nor when in office are they disposed to attempt the overthrow of the reigning family, lest they lose what has cost them many years of toilsome study and the wealth and influence of friends to attain. The examination of these pashaliks is furthermore entitled to notice from the degree of power delegated to their highest officers, and the shrewd manner in which its exercise has been circumscribed and rendered amenable to its imperial source.

The highest officers in the provinces are a tsungtuh, lit. ‘general director,’ or governor-general, and the futai or fuyuen, ‘soother’ or governor. The former is often called a viceroy, but that term seems to be quite inapplicable when used to denote an officer within the limits of the state; governor-general, or proconsul, is more analogous to his duties. A translation of these and many other Chinese titles does not convey their exact functions, but in some cases an equivalent is more intelligible than a translation.[238] The tsungtuh has rule over two provinces, or else fills two high offices in one province, while the futai is placed over one province, either independent of or in subordination to a tsungtuh, as enumerated in the table on page 61.

An examination of the Red Book for 1852 showed that out of a total of 20,327 names in it, 16,474 were Chinese, 3,295 were Manchus and Mongols, and 558 enrolled Chinese; in the copy for 1844, out of 12,758 names, 10,463 were Chinese, 1,768 Manchus, and 527 enrolled Chinese; these figures include only civilians and the employees in Peking. The Eighteen Provinces have altogether less than two thousand persons in office above the rank of assistant district magistrate, viz.: 8 governor-generals, 15 governors, 19 treasurers, 18 judges, 17 chancellors, 15 commanders of the forces, including 2 admirals and 1,740 prefects and magistrates. All those filling the high grades in this series report themselves to the Emperor twice every month, by sending him a salutatory card upon yellow paper, enclosed in a silken envelope; stating, for instance, that ‘Lin Tseh-sü, governor-general of Liang Kwang, humbly presents his duty to the throne, wishing his Majesty repose.’ The Emperor replies with the vermilion pencil, Chin ngan, i.e., ‘Ourself is well.’

The duties of the governor-general consist in the collective control of all affairs, civil and military, in the region under his jurisdiction; he occupies, in his sphere, under correction, the same authority that the Emperor does over the whole Empire. The futai has a similar control, but in an inferior degree when there is a tsungtuh, in the more special supervision of the administrative part of the civil government, as distinguished from the revenue, gabel, or literary branches.

The departments of the civil government are five, viz.: administrative, literary, gabel, commissariat, and excise; the first being also divided into the territorial and financial and the judicial branches. At the head of the first branch is the pu-ching sz’ (i.e., regulating-government commissioner), who is usually called the treasurer; the ngan-chah sz’, or ‘criminal judge,’ presides over the second. These two officers often unite their deliberations in the direction of any territorial or financial business, or the trial of important cases. The literary department is placed under the direction of an officer selected from among the members of the Hanlin Academy, called a hioh-ching, director of learning, or literary chancellor; there are seventeen of them altogether. The gabel and commissariat are usually supervised by certain intermediate officers called tao, or taotai, sometimes termed intendants of circuit, who have other functions in addition. The excise, or commercial department, is under kientuh, or superintendents, but the details of these three branches vary considerably in different provinces. The officers of the excise, either in the interior or on the coast, are made amenable to their superiors in the province, but their functions are exercised in an irregular manner; for the collection of the revenue is a difficult affair, and mostly entrusted to the local magistrates.

The military government of a province includes both the land and sea forces. It is under a títuh, or commander-in-chief, of which rank there are in all sixteen, twelve of them commanding one arm alone, and four controlling both land and sea forces. In five provinces the futai is commander-in-chief, and in Kansuh there are two. Above the títuh, in point of rank but not of power, are placed garrisons of Manchu Bannermen under a tsiang-kiun, or general, whose office is conferred, and his actions directly controlled, by the captains-general in Peking; he has jurisdiction, usually, only in the city itself, the principal object of the appointment, apparently, being to check any treasonable designs of the civil authorities.

The duties and relations of these various grades with one another require some further explanation, however, to be understood. The three officers, tsungtuh, futai, and tsiangkiun (if there be one), form a supreme council, and unite in deliberating upon a measure, calling in the subordinate officer to whose department it particularly belongs, and to whom its execution is to be committed, the whole forming a deliberative board, though the responsibility of the act rests with the two highest officers. By this means the various members of the provincial government become better acquainted with each other’s character and plans, though their intercourse is much restricted by precedence and rivalry. In the provincial courts civilians always take precedence of military officers; the governor-general and Banner commander, governor and major-general, the literary chancellor and collector of customs, rank with each other; then follow the treasurer, the judge, and other civilians. The authority of the governor-general extends to life and death, to the temporary appointment to all vacant offices in the province, to ordering the troops to any part of it, issuing such laws and taking such measures as are necessary for the security and peace of the region committed to his care, or any other steps he sees necessary. The futai also has the power of life and death, and attends to appeals of criminal cases; he oversees, moreover, the conduct of the lower civilians.

Next in rank to the pu-ching sz’ and ngan-chah sz’, who always reside in the provincial capital, are the intendants of circuit, who are located in the circuits consisting of two or three prefectures united for this purpose. They are deputies of the two highest functionaries, and their delegated power often includes military as well as civil authority, the chief object of their appointment being to relieve and assist those high functionaries in the discharge of their extensive duties. Some of the intendants are appointed to supervise the proceedings of the prefects and district magistrates; others are stationed at important posts to protect them, and those connected with foreign trade at the open ports have no territorial jurisdiction.

Subordinate to the governors, through the intendants of circuits, are the prefects or head magistrates of departments, called chífu, chíchau, and ting tungchí, i.e., ‘knowers’ of them, according as they are placed over fu, chau, or ting departments. It is the duty of these persons to make themselves acquainted with everything that takes place within their jurisdiction, and they are held responsible for the full execution of whatever orders are transmitted to them, all presenting their reports and receiving their orders through the intendants.

The practical efficiency of the Chinese government in promoting the welfare of the people and preserving the peace depends chiefly upon these officers. The people themselves are prone to quarrel and oppress each other; beggars, robbers, tramps, and shysters stir up disorders in various ways, and need wise and vigorous hands to repress and punish them; while all classes avoid and resist the tax-gatherer as much as is safe. The proverb, “A chífu can exterminate a family, a chíhien can confiscate a patrimony,” indicates the popular fear of their power.

The subdivisional parts of departments, called ting, chau, and hien, have each their separate officers, who report to the chífu and chíchau above them; these are called tungchí, chíchau, and chíhien, and may all be denominated district magistrates. The parts of districts called sz’ are placed under the control of siunkien, circuit-restrainers, or hundreders, who form the last in the regular series of descending rank—the last of the “commissioned officers,” as they might not improperly be called. The prefects sometimes have deputies directly under them, as the governor has his intendants, when their jurisdiction is very large or important, who are called kiunmin fu and tungchí, i.e., ‘joint-knowers.’ The deputies of district magistrates are termed chautung and chaupwan for the chíchau, and hienching and chufu for the chíhien; the last also have others called tso-tang and yu-tang, i.e., left-tenants and right-tenants.

Besides these assistants there are others, both in the departments and districts, having the oversight of the police, collection of the taxes and management of the revenue, care of water-ways, and many other subdivisions of legislative duties, which it is unnecessary to particularize. They are appointed whenever and wherever the territory is so large and the duties so onerous that one man cannot attend to all, or it is not safe to entrust him with them. They have nearly as much power as their superiors in the department entrusted to them, but none of them have judicial or legislative functions, and the routine of their offices affords them less scope for oppression. Nor is it worth while to notice the great number of clerks, registrars, and secretaries found in connection with the various ranks of dignitaries here mentioned, or the multitude of petty subordinates found in the provinces and placed over particular places or duties as necessity may require. Their number is very large, and the responsibility of their proceedings devolves upon the higher officers who receive their reports and direct their actions.

The common people suffer more from these “rats under the altar,” as a Chinese proverb calls them, than from their superiors, because, unlike them, they are usually natives of the place and better acquainted with the condition of the inhabitants, and are not so often removed. The fear of getting into their clutches restrains from evil doings perhaps more than all punishments, though the people soon complain of high-handed acts in a way not to be disregarded. One saying, “Underlings see money as a fly sees blood,” indicates their penchant, as another, “Cash drops into an underling’s paw as a sheep falls into a tiger’s jaw,” does the popular notion how to please them. Each intendant, prefect, and district magistrate has special secretaries in his office for filing papers, writing and transmitting despatches, investigating cases, recording evidence, keeping accounts, and performing other functions. All above the chíhien are allowed to keep private secretaries, called sz’ ye, who are usually personal friends, and accompany the officers wherever they go for the purpose of advising them and preparing their official documents. The ngan-chah sz’ have jailers under their control, as have also the more important prefects.

The appointment of officers being theoretically founded on literary merit, those to whom is committed the supervision of students and conferment of degrees would naturally be of a high grade. The hioh-ching, or literary chancellor, of the province, therefore ranks next to the governor, more, however, because he is specially appointed by his Majesty and oversees this branch of the government, than from the power committed to his hands. Under him are head-teachers of different degrees of authority, residing in the chief towns of departments and districts, the whole forming a similar series of functionaries to what exists in the civil department. These subordinates have merely a greater or less degree of supervision over the studies of students, and the colleges established for the promotion of learning in the chief towns of departments. The business of conferring the lower degrees appertains exclusively to the chancellor, who makes an annual circuit through the province for that purpose, and holds examinations in the chief town of each department, to which all students residing within its limits can come.

The gabel, or salt department, is under the control of a special officer, called a “commissioner for the transport of salt,” and forming in the five maritime provinces one of the san sz’, or three commissioners, of which the pu-ching sz’ and ngan-chah sz’ are the other two. There are, above these commissioners, eight directors of the salt monopoly, stationed at the dépôts in Chihlí and Shantung, who, however, also fill other offices, and have rather a nominal responsibility over the lower commissioners. The number and rank of the officers connected with the salt monopoly show its importance, and is proof of how large a revenue is derived from an article which will bear such an expensive establishment. At present its administration costs about as much as its receipts.

The commissariat and revenue department is unusually large in China compared with other countries, for the plan of collecting any part of the revenue in kind necessarily requires numerous vehicles for transporting and buildings for storing it, which still further multiplies the number of clerks and hands employed. The transportation of grain along the Yangtsz’ River is under the control of a tsungtuh, who also oversees the disposal and directs the collectors of it in eight of the provinces adjacent to this river. The office of liang-chu tao, or commissioner to collect grain, is found in twelve provinces, the pu-ching sz’ attending to this duty in six; the supervision of the subordinate agents of this department in the several districts is in the hands of the prefects and district magistrates. That feature of the Chinese system which makes officers mutually responsible, seems to lead the superior powers to confer such various duties upon one functionary, in order that he may thus have a general knowledge of what is going on about and under him, and report what he deems amiss. It is not, indeed, likely that such was the original arrangement, for the Chinese government has come to its present composition by slow degrees; but such is, so far as can be seen, the effect of it, and it serves in no little degree to accomplish the designs of the rulers to bind the main and lesser wheels of the huge machine to themselves and to one another.

The customs and excise are under the management of different grades of officers according to the importance of their posts. The transit duties levied at the excise stations placed in every town are collected by officers acting under the local authorities, and have nothing to do with the collection of maritime duties. This tax, called li-kin, or ‘a cash a catty,’ has lately been greatly increased, and the natural result has been to destroy the trade it preyed on, or divert it to other channels. The foreign merchants and officers have, too, protested against its imposition, seeing that their trade was checked.

Recapitulating in tabular form, we may say that outside of the Cabinet, Council, Boards, and Courts at the capital, the government (in the Eighteen Provinces) is in the hands of:

The military section of the provincial governments is under the control of a títuh, or major-general, who resides at a central post, and, in conjunction with the governor-general and governor, directs the movements of the forces, while these last have also an independent control over a certain body of troops belonging to them officially. The various grades of officers in the native army, and the portion of troops under each of them, stationed in the garrisons and forts in different parts of the provinces, are all arranged in a methodical manner, which will bear examination and comparison with the army of any country in the world. The native force in each province is distinct from the Manchu troops, and is divided somewhat according to the Roman plan of legion, cohort, maniple, and century, over each of which are officers, from colonel down to sergeant. Nothing is wanting to the Chinese army to make it fully adequate to the defence of the country but discipline and confidence in itself; for lack of practice and systematic drilling have made it an army of paper warriors against a resolute enemy. Nevertheless, the recent campaigns against the rebels in the extreme western colonies indicate the fact that its regeneration is already of some weight. On the other hand, it has no doubt been for the good of the Chinese people and government—the advance of the first in wealth, numbers, and security, and the consolidation and efficiency of the latter—that they have cultivated letters rather than arms, peace more than war.

All the general officers in the army have fixed places of residence, at which the larger portion of their respective brigades remain, while detachments are stationed at various points within their command. The governor, major-general, and Banner commandant have commands independent of each other, but the títuh, or major-general, exercises the principal military sway. The naval officers have the same names as those in the army, and the two are interchanged and promoted from one service to the other. Admirals and vice-admirals usually reside on shore, and despatch their subordinates in squadrons or single vessels wherever occasion requires. This system must, ere long, give place to a better division of the two arms with the building of steam vessels and management of arsenals, when junks are superseded.

The system of mutually checking the provincial officers is also exhibited in their location. For example, in the city of Canton the governor-general is stationed in the New city near the collector of customs, while the lieutenant-governor and Manchu general are so located in the Old city that should circumstances require they can act against the two first. The governor has the general command of all the provincial troops, estimated to be one hundred thousand men, but the particular command of only five thousand, and they are stationed fifty miles off, at Shauking fu. The tsiang kiun has five thousand men under him in the Old city, which, in an extreme case, would make him master of the capital, while his own allegiance is secured by the antipathy between the Manchus and Chinese preventing him from combining with the latter. Again, the governor-general has the power of condemning certain criminals to death, but the wang-ming, or death-warrant, is lodged with the futai, and the order for execution must be countersigned by him; his despatches to court must be also countersigned by his coadjutor. The general absence of resistance to the imperial sway on the part of these high officers during the two centuries of Manchu rule, when compared with the multiplied intrigues and rebellions of the pashas in the Turkish Empire, proves how well the system is concocted.

In order to enable the superior officers to exercise greater vigilance over their inferiors, they have the privilege of sending special messengers, invested with full power, to every part of their jurisdiction. The Emperor himself never visits the provinces judicially, nor has an Emperor been south of the capital during the present century; he therefore constantly sends commissioners or legates, called kinchai, to all parts of the Empire, ostensibly entrusted with the management of a particular business, but required also to take a general surveillance of what is going on. The ancient Persians had a similar system of commissioners, who were called the eyes and ears of the prince, and made the circuit of the empire to oversee all that was done. There are many points of resemblance between the structure of these two ancient monarchies, the body of councillors who assisted the prince in his deliberations, the presidents over the provinces, the satraps, etc.; but the Persians had not the elements of perpetuity which the system of common schools and official examinations give to the Chinese government.[239]

Governors in like manner send their deputies and agents, called weiyuen, over the province; and even the prefects and intendants despatch their messengers. All these functionaries, during the time of their mission, take rank with the highest officers according to the quality of their employers; but the imperial commissioners, who for one object or another are constantly passing and repassing through the Empire in every direction, exercise great influence in the government, and are powerful agents in the hands of the Emperor for keeping his proconsuls at their duty.

CHAPTER VIII. ADMINISTRATION OF THE LAWS.

The preceding chapter contains a general view of the plan upon which the central and provincial governments of the Empire are constructed; and if an examination of the conduct of officers in every department shows their extortion, cruelty, and venality, it will not, in the opinion of the liberal-minded reader, detract from the general excellence of the theory of the government, and the sagacity exhibited in the system of checks designed to restrain the various parts from interfering with the well-being of the whole. In addition to the division of power and the restrictions upon Chinese officers already mentioned, there are other means adopted in their location and alternation to prevent combination and resistance against the head of the state. One of them is the law forbidding a man to hold any civil office in his native province, which, besides stopping all intrigue where it would best succeed, has the further effect of congregating aspirants for office at Peking, where they come in hope of obtaining some post, or of succeeding in the examination for the highest literary degrees. The central government could not contrive a better plan for bringing all the ambitious and talented men in the country under its observation before appointing them to clerkships in the capital, or scattering them in the provinces.

Moreover, no officer is allowed to marry in the jurisdiction under his control, nor own land in it, nor have a son, brother, or near relative holding office under him; and he is seldom continued in the same station or province for more than three or four years. Manchus and Chinese are mingled together in high stations, and obligations are imposed on certain grandees to inform the Emperor of each other’s acts. Members of the imperial clan are required to attend the meetings of the Boards at the capital, and observe and report what they deem amiss or of interest to the Emperor and his council; while in all the upper departments of the general and provincial governments, a system of espionage is carried out, detrimental to all principles of honorable fidelity, such as we look for in officials, but not without some good effects in a weak despotism like China. There is, besides this constant surveillance, a triennial catalogue made out of the merits and demerits of all officers in the Empire, which is submitted to imperial inspection by the Board of Civil Office. In order to collect the details for this catalogue, it is incumbent upon every provincial officer to report upon the character and qualifications of those under him, and the list, when made out, is forwarded by the governor to the capital. The points of character are arranged under six different heads, viz.: those who are not diligent, the inefficient, the superficial, the untalented, superannuated, and diseased. According to the opinion given in this report, officers are elevated or degraded so many steps in the scale of merit, like school-boys in a class, and whenever they issue an edict are required to state how many steps they have been advanced or degraded, and how many times recorded. Officers are required to accuse themselves, when guilty of crime, either in their own conduct or that of their subordinates, and request punishment. The results of this peculiar and patriarchal mode of teaching officers their duty will be best exhibited by quoting from a rescript of Taukwang’s, issued in February, 1837, after one of the catalogues had been submitted to his Majesty.

The effect of such confessions and examination of character is to restrain the commission of outrageous acts of oppression; it is still further enforced by the privilege, common alike to censors and private subjects, of complaining to the Emperor of misdeeds done to them by persons in authority. Fear for their own security has suggested this multiplicity of checks, but the Emperor and his ministry have no doubt thereby impeded the efficiency of their subordinates, and compelled them to attend so much to their own standing that they care far less than they otherwise would for the prosperity of the people.

The position of an officer in the Chinese government can hardly be ascertained from the enumeration of his duties, nor can we easily appreciate, from a general account of the system, his temptations to oppress inferiors and deceive superiors. His duties, as indicated in the code, are so minute, and often so contradictory, as to make it impossible to fulfil them strictly; it is found, accordingly, that few or none have ascended the slippery heights of promotion without frequent relapses. Degradation, when to a step or two and temporary, carries with it of course no moral taint in a country where the award for bribery is graduated to the amount received, without any reference to moral violation; where the bamboo is the standard of punishment as well for error in judgment or remissness as for crime—only commuted to a fine in honor of official rank; where, as a distinction in favor of the imperial race, the bamboo is softened to the whip and banishment mitigated to the pillory.[241] The highest officers have of course the greatest opportunity to oppress, but their extortions are limited by the venality and mendacity of the agents they are compelled to employ. Inferiors also can carry on a system of exactions if they keep on the right side of those above them. The whole class form a body of men mutually jealous of each other’s advance, where every incumbent endeavors to supplant his associate; they all agree in regarding the people as the source of their profits, the sponge which all must squeeze, but differ in the degree to which they should carry on the same plan with each other. Although sprung from the mass of the people, the welfare of the community has little place in their thoughts. Their life is spent in ambitious efforts to rise upon the fall of others, though they do not lose all sense of character or become reckless of the means of advance, for this would destroy their chance of success. The game they play with each other and their imperial master is, however, a harmless one compared with what was done in old Rome or in Europe four or five centuries ago, or even lately among the pashas and viziers of the sultans and shahs in Western Asia. To the honor of the Chinese, life is seldom sacrificed for political crime or envious emulation; no officer dreads a bowstring or a poisoned cup from his lord paramount, nor is he on the watch against the dagger of an assassin hired by a vindictive competitor. Whatever heights of favor or depths of umbrage he may experience, the servant of the Emperor of China need not, in unproved cases of delinquency, fear for his life; but he not unfrequently takes it himself from conscious guilt and dread of just punishment.

The names and standing of all officers are published quarterly by permission of government in the Red Book (which by an unusual coincidence is bound in red), called the “Complete Record of the Girdle Wearers” (Tsin Shin Tsiuen Shu), comprised in four volumes, 12mo, to which are added two others of the Army and Bannermen. This publication was first issued at the command of Wanlih, of the Ming dynasty, about 1580, and mentions the native province of each person, whether Chinese, Manchu, Mongol, or enrolled Chinese, describes the title of the office, its salary, and gives much general information. The publishers of the book expect that officers will inform them of the changes that take place in their standing, and sometimes omit to mention those who do not thus report themselves.

A memoir of the public life of a high officer in China would present a singular picture of ups and downs, but, on account of their notorious disregard of truth, Chinese documents are unsafe to trust entirely in drawing such a sketch. One of the most conspicuous men in late times was Duke Ho, the premier in the time of Macartney’s embassy, who for many years exercised a greater control over the counsels of a Chinese sovereign than is recorded of any other man during the present dynasty. This man was originally a private person, who attracted the notice of the Emperor by his comeliness, and secured it by his zeal in discharging the offices entrusted to him. With but few interruptions he gradually mounted the ladder of promotion, and for some years before Kienlung’s death, when the latter’s energies had begun to fail from age, was virtual master of the country. Staunton describes him as possessing eminent abilities; “the manners of Hokwăn were not less pleasing than his understanding was penetrating and acute. He seemed indeed to possess the qualities of a perfect statesman.”[242] The favorite had gradually filled the highest posts with his friends, and his well-wishers were so numerous in the general and provincial governments that some began to apprehend a rising in his favor when the Emperor died. Kiaking, on coming to the throne, began to take those cautious measures for his removal which showed the great influence he possessed; one of these proceedings was to appoint him superintendent of the rites of mourning, in order, probably, that his official duties might bring him often to the palace. After four years the Emperor drew up sixteen articles of impeachment, most of them frivolous and vexatious, though of more consequence in the eyes of a Chinese prince than they would have been at other courts. One article alleged that he had ridden on horseback up to the palace gate; another, that he had appropriated to his own household the females educated for the imperial harem; a third, that he had detained the reports of officers in time of war from coming to the Emperor’s eye, and had appointed his own retainers to office, when they were notoriously incompetent; a fourth, that he had built many apartments of nan-muh, a kind of laurel-wood exclusively appropriated to royalty, and imitated regal style in his grounds and establishment; a fifth, that “on the day previous to our Royal Father’s announcement of our election as his successor, Hokwăn waited upon us and presented the insignia of the newly conferred rank—thereby betraying an important secret of state, in hopes of obtaining our favor.” He was also accused of having pearls and jewels of larger size than those even in the Emperor’s regalia. But so far as can be inferred from what was published, this Cardinal Wolsey of China was, comparatively speaking, not cruel in the exercise of his power, and the real cause of his fall was evidently his riches. In the schedule of his confiscated property it was mentioned that besides houses, lands, and other immovable property to an amazing extent, not less than one hundred and five millions of dollars in bullion and gems were found in his treasury. A special tribunal was instituted for his trial, and he was allowed to become his own executioner, while his constant associate was beheaded. These were the only deaths, the remainder of his relatives and dependents being simply removed and degraded. His power was no doubt too great for the safety of his master if he had proved faithless; but his wealth was too vast for his own security, even had he been innocent. The Emperor, in the edict which contains the sentence, cites as a precedent for his own acts similar condemnation of premiers by three of his ancestors in the present dynasty, but nothing definite is known of their crimes or trials.[243]

Taukwang was more clement, or more fortunate than his father, and upon coming to the throne continued Tohtsin in power; this statesman had held the premiership from 1815 to 1832, with but few interruptions, when he was allowed to retire at the age of seventy-five. He had served under three emperors, having risen step by step from the situation of clerk in one of the offices. His successor, Changling, experienced a far more checkered course, but remained in favor at last, and retired from the premiership in 1836, aged about seventy-nine. He became very popular with his master from his ability in quelling the insurrection of Jehangír in Turkestan in 1827. Even a few such instances of the honor in which an upright, energetic, and wise minister is regarded by prince and people have great influence in encouraging young men to act in the same way.

Few Chinese statesmen have been oftener brought into the notice of western foreigners than Sung, one of the commissioners attached to Lord Macartney’s embassy, and a favorite of all its members. His lordship speaks of him then as a young man of high quality, possessing an elevated mind; and adds that “during the whole time of our connection with him he has on all occasions conducted himself toward us in the most friendly and gentleman-like manner.” This was in 1793. In 1817 he is mentioned as one of the Cabinet; but not long after, for some unknown reason, he was degraded by Kiaking to the sixth rank, and appointed adjutant-general among the Tsakhar Mongols; from thence he memorialized his master respecting the ill conduct of some lamas, who had been robbing and murdering. Sung and his friends opposed the Emperor’s going to Manchuria, and were involved in some trouble on this account, the reasons of which it is difficult to understand. He was promoted, however, to be captain-general of Manchuria, but again fell under censure, and on his visit to his paternal estate at Mukden the Emperor took him back to the capital and appointed him to some important office. He soon got into new trouble with the Emperor, who in a proclamation remarks that “Sung is inadequate to the duties of minister of the imperial presence; because, although he formerly officiated as such, he is now upward of seventy years of age, and rides badly on horseback;” he is therefore sent to Manchuria to fill his old office of captain-general. The next year the ex-minister and his adherents were involved in a long trial about the loss of a seal, and he was deprived of his command and directed to retire to his own Banner; the real reasons of this disgrace were probably connected with the change of parties ensuent upon the accession of Taukwang.

Soon afterward Sung was restored to favor and made adjutant at Jeh ho, after having been president of the Censorate for a month. He was allowed to remain there longer than usual, and employed his spare time in writing a book upon the newly acquired territory in Turkestan. In 1824 he was reinstated as president of the Censorate, with admonitions not to confuse and puzzle himself with a multiplicity of extraneous matters. In 1826 he was sent on a special commission to Shansí, and when he returned was honored with a dinner at court on new year’s day. He then appears as travelling tutor to the crown-prince, but where his royal highness went for his education does not appear; from this post we find him made president of the Board of Rites, and appointed to inspect the victims for a state sacrifice. He is then ordered to Jeh ho, from whence, in a fit of penitence, or perhaps from fear of a dun, he memorialized the Emperor about a debt of $52,000 he had incurred nearly thirty years before, which he proposed to liquidate by foregoing his salary of $1,000 until the arrears were paid up; the Emperor was in good humor with the old man, and forgave him the whole amount, being assured, he says, of Sung’s pure official character. In this memorial, when recounting his services, the aged officer says that he has been twice commander-in-chief and governor of Ílí, governor-general at Nanking, Canton, etc., but had never saved much.

Shortly after this he is recalled from Jeh ho and made tí-tuh of Peking, then president of the Board of War; and in a few months he is ordered to proceed across the desert to Cobdo to investigate some affair of importance—a long and toilsome journey of fifteen hundred miles for a man over seventy-five years old. He returned the next year and resumed his post as president of the Board of War, in which capacity he acted as examiner of the students in the Russian College. In 1831 he was made president of the Colonial Office, and later received an appointment as superintendent of the Three Treasuries, but was obliged to resign from ill health. A month’s relaxation seems to have wonderfully restored him, for the Emperor, in reply to his petition for employment, expresses surprise that he should so soon be fit for official duties, and plainly intimates his opinion that the disease was all sham, though he accedes to his request so far as to nominate him commander of one of the eight Banners. In 1832 Sung again became involved in intrigues, and was reduced to the third degree of rank; the resignation of Tohtsin and the struggle for the vacant premiership was probably the real reason of this new reverse, though a frivolous accusation of two years’ standing was trumped up against him. He was restored again, after a few months’ disgrace, at the petition of a beg of a city in Turkestan, which illustrates, by the way, the influence which those princes exert. Old age now began to come upon the courtier in good earnest, and in 1833 he was ordered to retire with the rank and pay of adjutant, which he lived to enjoy only two years. Much of the success of Sung was said to be owing to his having had a daughter in the harem, but his personal character and kindness were evidently the main sources of his enduring influence among all ranks of people and officers; one account says the Manchus almost worshipped him, and beggars clung to his chair in the streets to ask alms. It is worthy of notice that in all his reverses there is no mention made of any severer punishment than degradation or banishment, and in this particular the political life of Sung is probably a fair criterion of the usual fortune of high Chinese statesmen. The leading events in the life of Changling, the successor of Tohtsin, together with a few notices of the governor of Canton in 1833, Lí Hung-pin, are given in the Repository.[244]

Commissioners Lin and Kíying became more famous among foreigners than their compeers in the capital, from the parts they acted in the war with England in 1840, but only a few notices of their lives are accessible. Lin Tseh-sü was born in 1785, in Fuhchau, and passed through the literary examinations, becoming a graduate of the second rank at the age of nineteen, and of the third when twenty-six. After filling an office or two in the Imperial Academy, he was sent as assistant literary examiner to Kiangsí in 1816, and during three subsequent years acted as examiner and censor in various places. In 1819 he filled the office of intendant of circuit, in Chehkiang; and after absence on account of health, he was, in 1823, appointed to the post of treasurer of Kiangsu, in the absence of the incumbent. In 1826 he was made overseer of the Yellow River, but hearing of his mother’s death, resigned his office to mourn for her. After the period of mourning was finished he went to Peking and received the office of judge in Shensí; but before he had been in it a month he was made treasurer of Kiangsu, and before he could enter upon this new office he heard of his father’s death, and was obliged to resign once more. In 1832 he was nominated treasurer in Hupeh, and five months later transferred to the same office in Honan, and six months after that sent to Kiangsu again. Three months after this third transfer he was reinstated overseer of the Yellow River, and within a short time elevated to be governor of Kiangsí, which he retained three years, and acted as governor-general of Liang Kiang two years more. In 1838 he was made governor-general of Hu Kwang; and shortly after this ordered to come to Peking to be admitted to an imperial audience, and by special favor permitted to ride on horseback within the palace.

He was at this audience appointed imperial commissioner to put down the opium trade and manage the affairs of the maritime frontier of Kwantung, receiving at the time such plenipotentiary powers to act for the Emperor as had only once before been committed to a subject since 1644, viz., when Changling was sent to Turkestan to quell the insurrection. Lin’s ill success in dealing with the opium trade and its upholders in the British government reflect no discredit on his own ability, for the task was beyond the powers of the Empire; but his fame even now stands high among the Cantonese. One incident showing his kindness to the crew of the Sunda, an English vessel lost on Hainan Island, on their arrival in Canton in October, 1839, while he was fighting their consular officers, gave a good insight into the candor of the man. In December, 1839, he was appointed governor-general of Liang Kiang; but succeeded to that of Liang Kwang in February, 1840. In October of the same year the seals of office were taken away, and he was ordered to return to Peking. He remained, however, till May of the next year to advise with Kíshen in his difficult negotiations with the English. Lin left Canton in May, 1841, leading two thousand troops to defend Ningpo, but this rôle was not his forte. In July, 1842, he was banished to Ílí, but the sentence was suspended for a season by giving him a third time the oversight of the Yellow River. However, in 1844 we find him in Ílí, holding an inferior appointment and trying to bring waste lands near the Mohammedan cities under cultivation; his zeal was rewarded the next year by a pardon, and the year after that by the high post of governor-general of Shensí and Kansuh, in which region he set himself to work to reform the civil service and increase the revenue. In 1847 the cares of office wore upon him, so that he asked for a furlough and went back to Fuhchau, aged sixty-two. His ambition was not yet satisfied, for he was made governor-general in Yunnan in 1848, but his strength was not equal to its duties, and he again retired in 1849. The young Emperor Hienfung, startled at the rapid rise of the Tai-ping rebels, applied to the aged statesman to help him as he had his father. Lin responded to the call of his sovereign, but death came upon him before he reached Kwangsí, on the 22d of November, 1850, at the age of sixty-seven. More enduring than some of his official acts was the preparation and publication of the History of Maritime Nations, with maps, in fifty books, in which he gave his countrymen all the details he could gather of other nations.[245]

Much less is known of the official life of Kíying than of Lin, but the Manchu proved himself superior to the Chinese in trimming his course to meet the inevitable and avoid the rocks his predecessor struck. In 1835 his name is mentioned as president of the Board of Revenue and controller of the Tsung-jin fu. He was detained at the capital as commander-in-chief of the forces there until 1842, when his Majesty sent him to Canton to take the place of Yihshan. He was ordered to stop at Hangchau, however, on his way, and make a report of the condition of affairs; his memorials seem to have had great influence, for he was appointed joint commissioner with Ílípu in April of that year. At the negotiations of Nanking Kíying acted as chief commissioner, and was mainly instrumental in bringing the war to a conclusion. He proceeded to Canton in May, 1843, to succeed Ílípu, and there acted as sole commissioner in negotiating the supplementary treaty and the commercial regulations with the British, returning to the capital in December, 1843. His prudence and vigor had great effect in calming the irritation of the people of Canton. On the arrival of the American plenipotentiary he was vested with full powers to treat with Mr. Cushing, and soon after with the French and Swedish envoys, with all of whom he signed treaties. During the progress of these negotiations Kí Kung died and Kíying succeeded him.

His administration as governor-general continued till January, 1848, when he returned to Peking to receive higher honors from the Emperor. In 1849 he went to Kiangsu to inquire into the salt department, and then to Northern Shansí to settle differences with the Mongols. From this period he held various posts in the cabinet and capital, busy in all court intrigues, and rather losing his good name, till he fell into disgrace. In 1856, when the envoys of the four western Powers were at Tientsin, he entered into some underhand dealings against the policy of Kweiliang and Hwashana, and was sent there as joint commissioner. He had hardly entered upon his functions by the presentation of his commission, when he suddenly returned to Peking against the Emperor’s will, and was ordered to take poison in the presence of the head of the Clan to avoid the ignominy of a public execution.[246] Few Chinese statesmen in modern times have borne a higher character for prudence, dignity, and intelligence than Kíying, and the confidence reposed in him is creditable to his imperial master. In his demeanor, says Sir Thomas Wade, “there was a combination of dignity and courtesy which more than balanced the deficiencies of a by no means attractive exterior.” The portrait of him has been engraved from a native painting made at Canton, and is a good one. It was kindly furnished for this work by J. R. Peters, Jr.

The facts of this man’s career are not all known, but his connection by birth with the Clan brought him into an entirely different set of influences from Lin, while his training removed him from the contact with the people which made the other so popular and influential. Both of them were good instances of Chinese statesmen, and their checkered lives as here briefly noticed resemble that of their compeers in the highest grades of official dignity. The sifting which the personnel of the Emperor’s employees in all their various grades receive generally brings the cleverest and most trustworthy to the top; no one can come in contact with them in state affairs without an increase of respect for their shrewdness, loyalty, and skill. One observable feature of the Chinese political world is the great age of the high officers, and it is not easy to account for their being kept in their posts, when almost worn out, by a monarch who wished to have efficient men around him, until we learn how little real power he can arbitrarily exert over the details of the branches of his government. It is somewhat explainable on the ground that, as long as the old incumbents are alive, the Emperor, being more habituated to their company and advice, prefers to retain those whose competency has been proven by their service. The patriarch, kept near the Emperor, is moreover a kind of hostage for the loyalty of his following; and the latter, scattered throughout the provinces, can be managed and moved about through him with less opposition: he is, still further, a convenient medium through which to receive the exactions of the younger members of the service, and convey such intimations as are thought necessary. The system of clientelage which existed among the Gauls and Franks is also found in China with some modifications, and has a tendency to link officers to one another in parties of different degrees of power. The Emperor published an order in 1833 against this system of patronage, and it is evident that he would find it seriously interfering with his power were it not constantly broken up by changing the relations of the parties and sending them away in different directions. Peking is almost the only place where the “teacher and pupils,” as the patron and client call each other, could combine to much purpose; and the principal safeguard the throne seems to have against intrigues and parties around it lies in the conflicting interests arising among themselves, though a long-established or unscrupulous favorite, as in the cases of Duke Ho and Suhshun in 1855-61, can sometimes manage to engross the whole power of the crown.

Notwithstanding the heavy charges of oppression, cruelty, bribery, and mendacity which are often brought against officers with more or less justice, it must not be inferred that no good qualities exist among them. Thousands of them desire to rule equitably, to clear the innocent and punish the guilty, and exert all the knowledge and power they possess to discharge their functions to the acceptance of their master and their own good name among the inhabitants. Such officers, too, generally rise, while the cruelties of others are visited with degradation. The pasquinades which the people stick up in the streets indicate their sentiments, and receive much more attention than would such vulgar expressions in other countries, because it is almost the only way in which their opinions can be safely uttered. The popularity which upright officers receive acts as an incentive to others to follow in the same steps, as well as a reward to the person himself. The governor of Kwangtung in 1833, Chu, was a very popular officer, and when he obtained leave to resign his station on account of age, the people vied with each other in showing their hearty regret at losing him. The old custom was observed of retaining his boots and presenting him with a new pair at every city he passed through, and many other testimonials of their regard were adopted. On leaving the city of Canton he circulated a few verses, “to console the people and excite them to virtue,” for he heard that some of them wept on learning of his departure.

Ílípu, Kí Kung, the late governor-general of Kwangtung, and Shu, the prefect of Ningpo in 1842, are other officers who have been popular in late years. When Lin passed through Macao in 1839, the Chinese had in several places erected honorary portals adorned with festoons of silk and laudatory scrolls; and when he passed the doors of their houses and shops they set out tables decorated with vases of flowers, “in order to manifest their profound gratitude for his coming to save them from a deadly vice, and for removing from them a dire calamity by the destruction and severe interdiction of opium.” Alas, that his efforts and intentions should have been so fruitless!

The Peking Gazette frequently contains petitions from old officers describing their ailments, their fear lest they shall not be able to perform their duties, the length of their official service, and requesting leave of absence or permission to retire. It is impossible to regard all the expressions of loyalty in these papers, coming as they do from every class of officers, as heartless and made out according to a prescribed form; but we are too ready to measure them by our own standard and fashion, forgetting that it is not the defects of a system which give the best standard of its value and efficiency. Let us rather, as an honest expression of feeling, quote a few lines from a memorial of Shí, a censor in 1824: “Reflecting within myself that, notwithstanding the decay of my strength, it has still pleased the imperial goodness to employ me in a high office instead of rejecting and discarding me at once, I have been most anxious to effect a cure, in order that, a weak old horse as I am, it might be still in my power, by the exertion of my whole strength, to recompense a ten-thousandth part of the benevolence which restored me to life.”[252]

Connected with the triennial schedule of official merits and demerits is the necessity the high officers of state are under of confessing their faults of government; and the two form a peculiar and somewhat stringent check upon their intrigues and malversation, making them, as Le Comte observes, “exceeding circumspect and careful, and sometimes even virtuous against their own inclinations.” The confessions reported in the Peking Gazette are, however, by no means satisfactory as to the real extent or nature of these acts; most of the confessors are censors, and perhaps it is in virtue of their office that they thus sit in judgment upon themselves. Examples of the crimes mentioned are not wanting. The governor-general of Chihlí requested severe punishment in 1832 for not having discovered a plotting demagogue who had collected several thousand adherents in his and the next provinces; his request was granted. An admiral in the same province demands punishment for not having properly educated his son, as thereby he went mad and wounded several people. Another calls for judgment upon himself because the Empress-dowager had been kept waiting at the palace gate by the porters when she paid her Majesty a visit. One officer accused himself for not being able to control the Yellow River; and his Majesty’s cook in 1830 requested punishment for being too late in presenting his bill of fare, but was graciously forgiven. The rarity of these confessions, compared with the actual sins, shows either that they are, like a partridge’s doublings, made to draw off attention from the real nest of malversation, or that few officers are willing to undergo the mortification.

The Emperor, in his character of vicegerent of heaven, occasionally imposes the duty of self-confession upon himself. Kiaking issued several public confessions during his reign, but the Gazette has not contained many such papers within the last thirty years. These confessions are drawn from him more by natural calamities, such as drought, freshets, epidemics, etc., than by political causes, though insurrections, fires, ominous portents, etc., sometimes induce them. The personal character of the monarch has much to do with their frequency and phraseology. On occasion of a drought in 1817 the Emperor Kiaking said: “The remissness and sloth of the officers of government constitute an evil which has long been accumulating. It is not the evil of a day; for several years I have given the most pressing admonitions on the subject, and have punished many cases which have been discovered, so that recently there appears a little improvement, and for several seasons the weather has been favorable. The drought this season is not perhaps entirely on their (the officers’) account. I have meditated upon it, and am persuaded that the reason why the azure Heavens above manifest disapprobation by withholding rain for a few hundred miles only around the capital, is that the fifty and more rebels who escaped are secreted somewhere near Peking. Hence it is that fertile vapors are fast bound, and the felicitous harmony of the seasons interrupted.” On the 14th of May, 1818, between five and six o’clock in the evening, a sudden darkness enveloped the capital, attended by a violent wind from the southeast and much rain. During its action two intervals occurred when the sky became a lurid red and the air offensive, terrible claps of thunder startling the people and frightening the monarch. His astrologers could not relieve his forebodings of evil, and he issued a manifesto to explain the matter to his subjects and discharge his own conscience. One sentence is worth quoting: “Calumnious accusations cause the ruin and death of a multitude of innocent people; they alone are capable of provoking a sign as terrible as this one just seen. The wind coming from the southeast is proof enough that some great crime has been committed in that region, which the officials, by neglecting their duties, have ignored, and thereby excited the ire of Heaven.”[253]

One of the most remarkable specimens of these papers is a prayer for rain issued by Taukwang, July 24, 1832, on occasion of a severe drought at the capital. Before publishing this paper he had endeavored to mollify the anger and heat of heaven by ordering all suspected and accused persons in the prisons of the metropolis to be tried, and their guilt or innocence established, in order that the course of justice might not be delayed, and witnesses be released from confinement. But these vicarious corrections did not avail, and the drought continuing, he was obliged, as high-priest of the Empire, to show the people that he was mindful of their sufferings, and would relieve them, if possible, by presenting the following memorial:

This paper apparently intimates some acknowledgment of a ruling power above, and before a despot like the Emperor of China would place himself in such an equivocal posture before his people, he would assure himself very thoroughly of their sentiments; for its effects as a state paper would be worse than null if the least ridicule was likely to be thrown upon it. In this case heavy showers followed the same evening, and appropriate thanksgivings were ordered and oblations presented before the six altars of heaven, earth, land, and grain, and the gods of heaven, earth, and the revolving year.

The orders of the court are usually transmitted in manuscript, except when some grand event or state ceremony requires a general proclamation, in which cases the document is printed on yellow paper and published in both the Chinese and Manchu languages, encircled with a border of dragons. The governors and their subordinates, imperial commissioners, and collectors of customs are the principal officers in the provinces who publish their orders to the people, consisting of admonitions, exhortations, regulations, laws, special ordinances, threatenings, and municipal requirements. Standing laws and local regulations are often superbly carved on tablets of black marble, and placed in the streets to be “held in everlasting remembrance,” so that no one can plead ignorance; a custom which recalls the mode of publishing the Twelve Tables at Rome. Several of these monuments, beautifully ornamented, are to be seen at Canton and Macao. The usual mode of publishing the commands of government is to print the document in large characters, and post copies at the door of the offices and in the streets in public places, with the seal of the officer attached to authenticate them. The sheets on which they are printed being common bamboo paper, and having no protection from the weather, are, however, soon destroyed; the people read them as they are thus exposed, and copy them if they wish, but it is not uncommon, too, for the magistrates to print important edicts in pamphlet form for circulation. These placards are written in an official style, differing from common writing as much as that does in English, but not involved or obscure. A single specimen of an edict issued at Canton will suffice to illustrate the form of such papers, and moreover show upon what subjects a Chinese ruler sometimes legislates, and the care he is expected to take of the people.

The concluding part of an edict affords some room for displaying the character of the promulgator. Among other endings are such as these: “Hasten! hasten! a special edict.” “Tremble hereat intensely.” “Lay not up for yourselves future repentance by disobedience.” “I will by no means eat my words.” “Earnestly observe these things.” In their state papers Chinese officers are constantly referring to ultimate truths and axioms, and deducing arguments therefrom in a peculiarly national grandiloquent manner, though some of their conclusions are preposterous non-sequiturs. Commissioner Lin addressed a letter to the Queen of England regarding the interdiction of opium, which began with the following preamble:

“Whereas, the ways of Heaven are without partiality, and no sanction is allowed to injure others in order to benefit one’s self, and that men’s natural feelings are not very diverse (for where is he who does not abhor death and love life?)—therefore your honorable nation, though beyond the wide ocean at a distance of twenty thousand lí, also acknowledges the same ways of Heaven, the same human nature, and has the like perceptions of the distinctions between life and death, benefit and injury. Our heavenly court has for its family all that is within the four seas; and as to the great Emperor’s heaven-like benevolence—there is none whom it does not overshadow; even regions remote, desert, and disconnected have a part in his general care of life and well-being.”

The edicts furnish almost the only exponents of the intentions of government. They present several characteristic features of the ignorant conceit and ridiculous assumptions of the Chinese, while they betray the real weakness of the authorities in the mixture of argument and command, coaxing and threatening, pervading every paragraph. According to their phraseology, there can possibly be no failure in the execution of every order; if they are once made known, the obedience of the people follows almost as a matter of course; while at the same time both the writer and the people know that most of them are not only perfunctory but nearly useless. The responsibility of the writer in a measure ceases with the promulgation of his orders, and when they reach the last in the series their efficiency has well nigh departed. Expediency is the usual guide for obedience; deceiving superiors and oppressing the people the rule of action on the part of many officials; and their orders do not more strikingly exhibit their weakness and ignorance than their mendacity and conceit. A large proportion of well-meaning officers are sensible too that all their efforts will be neutralized by the half-paid, unscrupulous retainers and clerks in the yamuns; and this checks their energy.

It is not easy, without citing many examples accompanied with particular explanations, to give a just idea of the actual execution of the laws, and show how far the people are secured in life and property by their rulers; and perhaps nothing has been the source of such differing views regarding the Chinese as the predominance writers give either to the theory or the practice of legislation. Old Magaillans has hit this point pretty well when he says: “It seems as if the legislators had omitted nothing, and that they had foreseen all inconveniences that were to be feared; so that I am persuaded no kingdom in the world could be better governed or more happy, if the conduct and probity of the officers were but answerable to the institution of the government. But in regard they have no knowledge of the true God, nor of the eternal rewards and punishments of the other world, they are subject to no remorses of conscience, they place all their happiness in pleasure, in dignity and riches; and therefore, to obtain these fading advantages, they violate all the laws of God and man, trampling under foot religion, reason, justice, honesty, and all the rights of consanguinity and friendship. The inferior officers mind nothing but how to defraud their superiors, they the supreme tribunals, and all together how to cheat the king; which they know how to do with so much cunning and address, making use in their memorials of words and expressions so soft, so honest, so respectful, so humble and full of adulation, and of reasons so plausible, that the deluded prince frequently takes the greatest falsehoods for solemn truths. So that the people, finding themselves continually oppressed and overwhelmed without any reason, murmur and raise seditions and revolts, which have caused so much ruin and so many changes in the Empire. Nevertheless, there is no reason that the excellency and perfection of the laws of China should suffer for the depravity and wickedness of the magistrates.”[256]

Magaillans resided in China nearly forty years, and his opinion may be considered on the whole as a fair judgment of the real condition of the people and the policy of their rulers. When one is living in the country itself, to hear the complaints of individuals against the extortion and cruelty of their rulers, and to read the reports of judicial murder, torture, and crime in the Peking Gazette, are enough to cause one to wonder how such atrocities and oppressions are endured from year to year, and why the sufferers do not rise and throw aside the tyrannous power which thus abuses them. But the people are generally conscious that their rulers are no better than themselves, and that they would really gain nothing by such a procedure, and their desire to maintain as great a degree of peace as possible leads them to submit to many evils, which in western countries would soon be remedied or cause a revolution. In order to restrain the officers in their misrule, Section CCX. of the code ordains that “If any officer of government, whose situation gives him power and control over the people, not only does not conciliate them by proper indulgence, but exercises his authority in a manner so inconsistent with the established laws and approved usages of the Empire, that the sentiments of the once loyal subjects being changed by his oppressive conduct, they assemble tumultuously and openly rebel, and drive him at length from the capital city and seat of his government; such officer shall suffer death.”

By the laws of China, every officer of the nine ranks must be previously qualified for duty by a degree; in the ninth are included village magistrates, deputy treasurers, jailers, etc., but the police, local interpreters, clerks, and other attendants on the courts are not considered as having any rank, and most of them are natives of the place where they are employed. The only degradation they can feel is to turn them out of their stations, but this is hardly a palliative of the evils the people suffer from them; the new leech is more thirsty than the old. The cause of many of the extortions the people suffer from their rulers is found in the system of purchasing office, at all times practised in one shape or other, but occasionally resorted to by the government. As the counterpart of this system, that of receiving bribes must be expected therefore to prevail, and being in fact practised by all grades of dignitaries, and sometimes even upheld by them as a “necessary evil,” it adds still more to the bad consequences resulting from this mode of obtaining office. Indeed, so far is the practice of “covering the eyes” carried in China, that the people seldom approach their rulers without a gift to make way for them.

One mode taken by the highest ranks to obtain money is to notify inferiors that there are certain days on which presents are expected, and custom soon increases these as much as the case will admit. Subscriptions for objects of public charity or disbursements, such as an inundation, a bad harvest, bursting of dikes, and other similar things which the government must look after, are not unfrequently made a source of revenue to the incumbents by requiring much more than is needed; those who subscribe are rewarded by an empty title, a peacock’s feather, or employment in some insignificant formality. The sale of titular rank is a source of revenue, but the government never attempts to subvert or interfere with the well-known channel of attaining office by literary merit, and it seldom confers much real power for money when unconnected with some degree of fitness. The security of its own position is not to be risked for the sake of an easy means of filling its exchequer, yet it is impossible to say how far the sale of office and title is carried. The censors inveigh against it, and the Emperor almost apologizes for resorting to it, but it is nevertheless constantly practised. The government stocks of this description were opened during the late rebellions and foreign wars, as the necessities of the case were a sufficient excuse for the disreputable practice. In 1835 the sons of two of the leading hong-merchants were promoted, in consequence of their donations of $25,000 each to repair the ravages of an inundation; subscribers to the amount of $10,000 and upward were rewarded by an honorary title, whose only privilege is that it saves its possessor from a bambooing, it being the law that no one holding any office can be personally chastised.[257]

Besides the lower officers, the clerks in their employ and the police, who are often taken from the garrison soldiery, are the agents in the hands of the upper ranks to squeeze the people. There are many clerks of various duties and grades about all the offices who receive small salaries, and every application and petition to their superiors, going through their hands, is attended by a bribe to pass them up. The military police and servants connected with the offices are not paid any regular salary, and their number is great. In the large districts, like those of Nanhai and Pwanyu, which compose the city of Canton and suburbs, it is said there are about a thousand unpaid police; in the middle-sized ones between three and four hundred, and in the smallest from one to two hundred. This number is increased by the domestics attending high officers as part of their suite, and by their old acquaintances, who make themselves known when there is any likelihood of being employed. Among other abuses mentioned by the censors is that of magistrates appointing their own creatures to fill vacancies until those nominated by his Majesty arrive; like a poor man oppressing the poor, such officers are a sweeping rain. A similar abuse arises when country magistrates leave their posts to go to the provincial capital to dance attendance upon their superiors, and get nominated to a higher place or taken into their service as secretaries, because they will work for nothing; the duties of their vacated offices are meantime usually left undone, and underlings take advantage of their absence to make new exactions. The governor fills vacant offices with his own friends, and recommends them to his Majesty to be confirmed; but this has little effect in consolidating a system of oppression from the constant changes going on. In fact, it is hard to say which feature of the Chinese polity is the least disastrous to good government, these constant changes which neutralize all sympathy with the people on the part of rulers, or on the other hand make it useless for seditious men to try to foment rebellion.

The retinues of high provincial officers contain many dependents and expectant supernumeraries, all subservient to them; among them are the descendants of poor officers; the sons of bankrupt merchants who once possessed influence; dissipated, well bred, unscrupulous men, who lend themselves to everything flagitious; and lastly, fortune-seekers without money, but possessing talents of good order to be used by any one who will hire them. Such persons are not peculiar to China, and their employment is guarded against in the code, but no law is more of a dead letter. Officers of government, too, conscious of their delinquencies, and afraid their posts will soon be taken from them, of course endeavor to make the most of their opportunities, and by means of such persons, who are usually well acquainted with the leading inhabitants of the district, harass and threaten such as are likely to pay well for being left in quiet. It does them little or no good, however, for if they are not removed they must fee their superiors, and if they are punished for their misdeeds they are still more certain of losing their wicked exactions.

In the misappropriation of public funds, and peculation of all kinds in materials, government stores, rations, wages, and salaries, the Chinese officials are skilled experts, and are never surprised at any disclosures.

Another common mode of plundering the people is for officers to collude with bands of thieves, and allow them to escape for a composition when arrested, or substitute other persons for the guilty party in case the real offenders are likely to be condemned. Sometimes these banditti are too strong even for an upright magistrate, and he is obliged to overlook what he cannot remedy; for, however much he may wish to arrest and bring them to justice, his policemen are too much afraid of their vengeance to venture upon attacking them. An instance of this occurred near Canton in 1839, when a boat, containing a clerk of the court and three or four police, came into the fleet of European opium-ships to hunt for some desperate opium smugglers who had taken refuge there. The fellows, hearing of the arrival of the boat, came in the night, and surrounding it took out the crew, bound their pursuers, and burned them alive with the boat in sight of the whole fleet, to whom the desperadoes looked for protection against their justly incensed countrymen.

A censor in 1819, complaining of flagrant neglect in the administration of justice in Chihlí, says: “Among the magistrates are many who, without fear or shame, connive at robbery and deceit. Formerly, horse-stealers were wont to conceal themselves in some secret place, but now they openly bring their plunder to market for sale. When they perceive a person to be weak, they are in the habit of stealing his property and returning it to him for money, while the officers, on hearing it, treat it as a trivial matter, and blame the sufferer for not being more cautious. Thieves are apprehended with warrants on them, showing that when they were sent out to arrest thieves they availed of the opportunity to steal for themselves. And at a village near the imperial residence are very many plunderers concealed, who go out by night in companies of twenty or thirty persons, carrying weapons with them; they frequently call up the inhabitants, break open the doors, and having satisfied themselves with what food and wine they can obtain, they threaten and extort money, which if they cannot procure they seize their clothes, ornaments, or cattle, and depart. They also frequently go to shops, and having broken open the shutters impudently demand money, which if they do not get they set fire to the shop with the torches in their hands. If the master of the house lay hold on a few of them and sends them to the magistrate, he merely imprisons and beats them, and before half a month allows them to run away.”[258]

The unpaid retainers about the yamuns are very numerous, and are more dreaded than the police; one censor says they are looked upon by the people as tigers and wolves; he effected the discharge of nearly twenty-four thousand of them in the province of Chihlí alone. They are usually continued in their places by the head magistrate, who, when he arrives, being ignorant of the characters of those he must employ, re-engages such as are likely to serve. In cases of serious accusation the clerks frequently subpœna all who are likely to be implicated, and demand a fee for liberating them when their innocence is shown. These myrmidons still fear the anger of their superiors and a recoil of the people so far as to endeavor to save appearances by hushing up the matter, and liberating those unjustly apprehended, with great protestations of compassion. It may be added that, as life is not lightly taken, thieves are careful not to murder or maltreat their victims dangerously, nor do the magistrates venture to take life outright by torture, though their cruelties frequently result in death by neglect or starvation. Money and goods are what both policemen and officials want, not blood and revenge. Parties at strife with each other frequently resort to legal implication to gratify their ill-will, and take a pitiful revenge by egging on the police to pillage and vex their enemy, though they themselves profit nowise thereby.

The evils resulting from a half-paid and venal magistracy are dreadful, and the prospects of their removal very slight. The governor of Chihlí, in 1829, memorialized the Emperor upon the state of the police, and pointed out a remedy for many abuses, one of which was to pay them fair salaries out of the public treasury; but it is plain that this remedy must begin with the monarch, for until an officer is released from sopping his superior he will not cease exacting from his inferiors. Experience has shown the authorities how far it can safely be carried; while many officers, seeing how useless it is to irritate the people, so far as ultimately enriching themselves is concerned, endeavor to restrain their policemen. One governor issued an edict, stating that none of his domestics were allowed to browbeat shopmen, and thus get goods or eatables below the market price, and permitted the seller to collar and bring them to him for punishment when they did so. When an officer of high rank, as a governor, treasurer, etc., takes the seals of his post, he ofttimes issues a proclamation, exhorting the subordinate ranks to do as he means to do—“to look up and embody the kindness of the high Emperor,” and attend to the faithful discharge of their duties. The lower officers, in their turn, join in the cry, and a series of proclamations, by turns hortative and mandatory, are echoed from mastiff, spaniel, and poodle, until the cry ends upon the police. Thus the prefect of Canton says: “There are hard-hearted soldiers and gnawing lictors who post themselves at ferries or markets, or rove about the streets, to extort money under various pretexts; or, being intoxicated, they disturb and annoy the people in a hundred ways. Since I came into office here I have repeatedly commanded the inferior magistrates to act faithfully and seize such persons, but the depraved spirit still continues.”

A censor, speaking of the police, says: “They no sooner get a warrant to bring up witnesses than they assail both plaintiff and defendant for money to pay their expenses, from the amount of ten taels to several scores. Then the clerks must have double what the runners get; if their demands be not satisfied they contrive every species of annoyance. Then, again, if there are people of property in the neighborhood, they will implicate them. They plot also with pettifogging lawyers to get up accusations against people, and threaten and frighten them out of their money.”[259]

One natural consequence of such a state of society and such a perversion of justice is to render the people afraid of all contact with the officers of government and exceedingly selfish in all their intercourse, though the latter trait needs no particular training to develop it in any heathen country. It also tends to an inhuman disregard of the life of others, and chills every emotion of kindness which might otherwise arise; for by making a man responsible for the acts of his neighbors, or by involving a whole village in the crimes of an individual, all sense of justice is violated. The terror of being implicated in any evil that takes place sometimes prevents the people from quenching fires until the superior authorities be first informed, and from relieving the distressed until it is often too late. Hence, too, it not unfrequently happens that a man who has had the ill fortune to be stabbed to death in the street, or who falls down from disease and dies, remains on the spot till the putrescence obliges the neighbors, for their own safety, to remove the corpse. A dead body floating down the river and washing ashore is likely to remain on the banks until it again drifts away or the authorities get it buried, for no unofficial person would voluntarily run the risk of being seen interring it. One censor reports that when he asked the people why they did not remove the loathsome object, they said: “We always let the bodies be either buried in the bellies of fishes or devoured by the dogs; for if we inform the magistrates they are sure to make the owner of the ground buy a coffin, and the clerks and assistants distress us in a hundred ways.” The usual end of these memorials and remonstrances is that the police are ordered to behave better, the clerks commanded to abstain from implicating innocent people and retarding the course of justice, and their masters, the magistrates, threatened with the Emperor’s displeasure in case the grievance is not remedied: after which all goes on as before, and will go on as long as both rulers and ruled are what they are.

The working out of the principle of responsibility accounts for many things in Chinese society and jurisprudence that otherwise appear completely at variance with even common humanity. It makes an officer careless of his duties if he can shift the responsibility of failure upon his inferiors, who, at the same time, he knows can never execute his orders; it renders the people dead to the impulses of relationship, lest they become involved in what they cannot possibly control and hardly know at the time of its commission. Mr. Lindsay states that when he was at Tsungming in 1832 the officers were very urgent that he should go out of the river, and in order to show him the effect of his non-compliance upon others a degraded subaltern was paraded in his sight. “His cap with its gold button was borne before him, and he marched about blindfolded in procession between two executioners, with a small flag on a bamboo pierced through each ear. Before him was a placard with the inscription, ‘By orders of the general of Su and Sung: for a breach of military discipline, his ears are pierced as a warning to the multitude.’ His offence was having allowed our boat to pass the fort without reporting it.”

During the first war with England, fear of punishment induced many of the subordinates to commit suicide when unable to execute their orders, and the same motive impelled their superiors to avoid the wrath of the Emperor in like fashion. The hong-merchants and linguists at Canton, during the old regime, were constantly liable, from the operation of this principle, to exactions and punishments for the acts of their foreign customers. One of them, Sunshing, was put in prison and ruined because Lord Napier came to Canton from Whampoa in the boat of a ship which the unhappy merchant had “secured” several weeks before, and the linguist and pilot were banished for allowing what they could not possibly have hindered even if they had known it.

Having examined in this general manner the various grades of official rank, we come to the people; and a close view will show that this great mass of human beings exhibits many equally objectionable traits, while oppression, want, clannish rivalry, and brigandage combine to keep it in a constant state of turmoil. The subdivisions into tithings and hundreds are better observed in rural districts than in cities, and the headmen of those communities, in their individual and collective character, possess great influence, from the fact that they represent the popular feeling. In all parts of the country this popular organization is found in some shape or other, though, as if everything was somehow perverted, it not unfrequently is an instrument of greater oppression than defence. The division of the people into clans is far more marked in the southern provinces than in those lying north of the Yangtsz’, and has had a depressing effect upon their good government. It resembles in general the arrangement of the Scottish clans, as do the evils arising from their dissensions and feuds those which history records as excited among the Highlanders by the rivalry between Campbells and Macgregors.

The eldership of villages has no necessary connection with the clans, for the latter are unacknowledged by the government, but the clan having the majority in a village generally selects the elders from among their number. This system is of very ancient date; its elementary details are given in the Chau-lí, one of the oldest works extant in China; Heeren furnishes the same details for India and Raffles for Java, reaching back in their duration to remote antiquity.[260] In the vicinity of Canton the elder is elected by a sort of town meeting, and holds his office during good behavior, receives such a salary as his fellow villagers give him, and may be removed to make way for another whenever the principal persons in the village are displeased with his conduct. His duties are limited to the supervision of the police and general oversight of what is done in the village, and to be a sort of agent or spokesman between the villagers and higher authorities; the duties, the power, and the rank of these officers vary almost indefinitely. The preponderance of one clan prevents much strife in the selection of the elder, but the degree of power reposed in his hand is so small that there is probably little competition to obtain the dignity. A village police is maintained by the inhabitants, under the authority of the elder; the Village of Whampoa, for instance, containing about eight thousand inhabitants, pays the elder $300 salary, and employs fourteen watchmen. His duties further consist in deciding upon the petty questions arising between the villagers and visiting the delinquents with chastisement, enforcing such regulations as are deemed necessary regarding festivals, markets, tanks, streets, collection of taxes, etc. The system of surveillance is, however, kept up by the superior officers, who appoint excise officers, grain agents, tide-waiters, or some other subordinate, as the case may require, to exercise a general oversight of the headmen.

The district magistrate, with the siunkien and their deputies over the hundred, are the officers to whom appeals are carried from the headmen; they also receive the reports of the elders respecting suspicious characters within their limits, or other matters which they deem worthy of reference or remonstrance. A similarity of interests leads the headmen of many villages to meet together at times in a public hall for secret consultation upon important matters, and their united resolutions are generally acted upon by themselves or by the magistrates, as the case may be. This system of eldership, and the influential position the headmen occupy, is an important safeguard the people possess against the extremity of oppressive extortion; while, too, it upholds the government in strengthening the loyalty of those who feel that the only security they possess against theft, and loss of all things from their seditious countrymen, is to uphold the institutions of the land, and that to suffer the evils of a bad magistracy is less dreadful than the horrors of a lawless brigandage.

The customs and laws of clanship perpetuate a sad state of society, and render districts and villages, otherwise peaceful, the scenes of unceasing turmoil and trouble. There are only about four hundred clans in the whole of China, but inasmuch as all of the same surname do not live in the same place, the separation of a clan answers the same purpose as multiplying it. Clannish feelings and feuds are very much stronger in Kwangtung and Fuhkien than in other provinces. As an instance which may be mentioned, the Gazette contains the petition of a man from Chauchau fu, in Kwangtung, relating to a quarrel, stating that “four years before, his kindred having refused to assist two other clans in their feuds, had during that period suffered most shocking cruelties. Ten persons had been killed, and twenty men and women, taken captives, had had their eyes dug out, their ears cut off, their feet maimed, and so rendered useless for life. Thirty houses were laid in ruins and three hundred acres of land seized, ten thousand taels plundered, ancestral temples thrown down, graves dug up, dikes destroyed, and water cut off from the fields. The governor had offered a reward of a thousand taels to any one who would apprehend these persons, but for the ten murders no one had been executed, for the police dare not seize the offenders, whose numbers have largely increased, and who set the laws at defiance.” This region is notorious for the turbulence of its inhabitants; it adjoins the province of Fuhkien, and the people, known at Canton as Hoklo, emigrate in large numbers to the Indian Archipelago or to other provinces. The later Gazettes contain still more dreadful accounts of the contests of the clans, and the great loss of life and property resulting from their forays, no less than one hundred and twenty villages having been attacked, and thousands of people killed. These battles are constantly occurring, and the authorities, feeling themselves too weak to put them down, are obliged to connive at them and let the clans fight it out.

Ill will is kept up between the clans, and private revenges gratified, by every personal annoyance that malice can suggest or opportunity tempt. If an unfortunate individual of one clan is met alone by his enemy, he is sure to be robbed or beaten, or both; the boats or the houses of each party are plundered or burned, and legal redress is almost impossible. Graves are defaced and tombstones injured, and on the annual visit to the family sepulchre perhaps a putrid corpse is met, placed there by the hostile clan; this insult arouses all their ire, and they vow deadly revenge. The villagers sally out with such arms as they possess, and death and wounds are almost sure to result before they separate. In Shunteh (a district between Canton and Macao) upward of a thousand men engaged with spears and firearms on one of these occasions, and thirty-six lives were lost; the military were called in to quell the riot. In Tungkwan district, southeast of Canton, thirty-six ringleaders were apprehended, and in 1831 it was reported that four hundred persons had been killed in these raids; only twenty-seven of their kindred appealed to government for redress.

When complaint is made to the prefect or governor, and investigation becomes inevitable, the villagers have a provision to meet the exigencies of the case, which puts the burden of the charges as equally as possible upon the whole clan. A band of “devoted men” are found—persons who volunteer to assume such crimes and run their chance for life—whose names are kept on a list, and they come forward and surrender themselves to government as the guilty persons. On the trial their friends employ witnesses to prove it a justifiable homicide, and magnify the provocation, and if there are several brought on the stand at once they try to get some of them clear by proving an alibi. It not unfrequently happens that the accused are acquitted—seldom that they are executed; transportation or a fine is the usual result. The inducement for persons to run this risk of their lives is security from the clan of a maintenance for their families in case of death, and a reward, sometimes as high as $300, in land or money when they return. This sum is raised by taxing the clan or village, and the imposition falls heavily on the poorer portion of it, who can neither avoid nor easily pay it. This system of substitution pervades all parts of society, and for all misdemeanors. A person was strangled in Macao in 1838 for having been engaged in the opium trade, who had been hired by the real criminal to answer to his name. Another mode of escape, sometimes tried in such cases when the person has been condemned, is to bribe the jailers to report him dead and carry out his body in a coffin; but this device probably does not often answer the end, as the turnkeys require a larger bribe than can be raised. There can be little doubt of the prevalence of the practice, and for crimes of even minor penalty.

To increase the social evils of clanship and systematized thieving, local tyrants occasionally spring up, persons who rob and maltreat the villagers by means of their armed retainers, who are in most cases, doubtless, members of the same clan. One of these tyrants, named Yeh, or Leaf, became quite notorious in the district of Tungkwan in 1833, setting at defiance all the power of the local authorities, and sending out his men to plunder and ravage whoever resisted his demands, destroying their graves and grain, and particularly molesting those who would not deliver up their wives or daughters to gratify him. He was arrested through craft by the district magistrate at Canton leaving his office and inducing him, for old acquaintance sake, to return with him to the provincial city; he was there tried and executed by the governor, although it was at the time reported that the Board of Punishments endeavored to save his life because he had been in office at the capital. In order that no attempt should be made to rescue him, he was left in ignorance of his sentence until he was put into the sedan to be carried to execution.

Clannish banditti often supply themselves with firearms, and prowling the country to revenge themselves on their enemies, soon proceed to pillage every one; in disarming them the government is sometimes obliged to resort to contemptible subterfuges, which conspicuously show its weakness and encourage a repetition of the evil. Parties of tramps, called hakka, or ‘guests,’ roam over Kwangtung province, squatting on vacant places along the shores, away from the villages, and forming small clannish communities; as soon as they increase, occupying more and more of the land, they begin to commit petty depredations upon the crops of the inhabitants, and demand money for the privilege of burying upon the unoccupied ground around them. The government is generally unwilling to drive them off by force, because there is the alternative of making them robbers thereby, and they are invited to settle in other waste lands, which they can have free of taxation, and leave those they have cultivated if strictly private property. This practice shows the populousness of the country in a conspicuous manner. To these evils must be also added the large bodies of floating banditti or dakoits, who rove up and down all the watercourses “like sneaking rats” and pounce upon defenceless boats. Hardly a river or estuary in the land is free from these miscreants, and lives and property are annually destroyed by them to a very great amount, especially on the Yangtsz’, the Pearl River, and other great thoroughfares.

The popular associations in cities and towns are chiefly based upon a community of interests, resulting either from a similarity of occupation, when the leading persons of the same calling form themselves into guilds, or from the municipal regulations requiring the householders living in the same street to unite to maintain a police and keep the peace of their division. Each guild has an assembly-hall, where its members meet to hold the festival of their patron saint, to collect and appropriate the subscriptions of the members and settle the rent or storage on the rooms and goods in the hall, to discuss all public matters as well as the good cheer they get on such occasions, and to confer with other guilds. The members often go to a great expense in emulating each other in their processions, and some rivalry exists regarding their rights, over which the government keeps a watchful eye, for all popular assemblies are its horror. The shopkeepers and householders in the same street are required to have a headman to superintend the police, watchmen, and beggars within his limits. The rulers are sometimes thwarted in their designs by both these forms of popular assemblies, and they no doubt tend in many ways to keep up a degree of independence and of mutual acquaintance, which compels the respect of the government. The governor of Canton in 1838 endeavored to search all the shops in a particular street, to ascertain if there was opium in them; but the shopmen came in a body at the head of the street, and told the policemen that they would on no account permit their shops to be searched. The governor deemed it best to retire. Those who will not join or agree to what the majority orders in these bodies occasionally experience petty tyranny, but in a city this must be comparatively trifling. Several of the leading men in the city are known to hold meetings for consultation in still more popular assemblies for different reasons of a public and pressing nature. There is a building at Canton called the Ming-lun Tang, or “Free Discussion Hall,” where political matters are discussed under the knowledge of government, which rather tries to mould than put them down, for the assistance of such bodies, rightly managed, in carrying out their intentions, is considerable, while discontent would be roused if they were forcibly suppressed. In October, 1842, meetings were held in this hall, at one of which a public manifesto was issued, here quoted entire as a specimen of the public appeals of Chinese politicians and orators:

This spirited paper was subsequently answered by the party desirous of peace, but the anti-English feeling prevailed, and the committee appointed by the meeting set the English consulate on fire a few days after, to prevent it being occupied. There were many reasons at the time for this dislike; its further exhibition, however, ended with this attack, and has now pretty much died out with the rising of a new generation.

The many secret associations existing among the people are mostly of a political character, but have creeds like religious sects, and differ slightly in their tenets and objects of worship. They are traceable to the system of clans, which giving the people at once the habit and spirit for associations, are easily made use of by clever men for their own purposes of opposition to government. Similar grievances, as local oppression, hatred of the Manchus, or hope of advantage, add to their numbers and strength, and were they founded on a full acquaintance with the grounds of a just resistance to despotism, they would soon overturn the government; but as out of an adder’s egg only a cockatrice can be hatched, so until the people are enlightened with regard to their just rights, no permanent melioration can be expected. It is against that leading feature in the Manchu policy, isolation, that these societies sin, which further prompts to systematic efforts to suppress them. The only objection the supreme government seems to have against the religion of the people is that it brings them together; they may be Buddhists, Rationalists, Jews, Mohammedans, or Christians, apparently, if they will worship in secret and apart. On the other hand, the people naturally connect some religious rites with their opposition and cabals in order to more securely bind their members together.

The name of the most powerful of these associations is mentioned in Section CLXII. of the code for the purpose of interdicting it; since then it has apparently changed its designation from the Pih-lien kiao, or ‘Water-lily sect,’ to the Tien-tí hwui or San-hoh hwui, i.e., ‘Triad society,’ though both names still exist, the former in the northern, the latter in the maritime provinces and Indian Archipelago; their ramifications take also other appellations. The object of these combinations is to overturn the reigning dynasty, and in putting this prominently forward they engage many to join them. About the beginning of the century a wide-spread rebellion broke out in the north-western and middle provinces, which was put down after eight years’ war, attended with desolation and bloodshed; since that time the Water-lily sect has not been so often spoken of. The Triad society has extended itself along the coasts, but it is not popular, owing more than anything else to its illegality, and the intimidation and oppression employed toward those who will not join it. The members have secret regulations and signs, and uphold and assist each other both in good and bad acts, but, as might be inferred from their character, screening evil doers from just punishment oftener than relieving distressed members. The original designs of the association may have been good, but what was allowable in them soon degenerated into a systematic plan for plunder and aim at power. The government of Hongkong enacted in 1845 that any Chinese living in that colony who was ascertained to belong to the Triad society should be declared guilty of felony, be imprisoned for three years, and after branding expelled the colony. These associations, if they cause the government much trouble by interfering with its operations, in no little degree, through the overbearing conduct of the leaders, uphold it by showing the people what may be expected if they should ever get the upper hand.[262]

The evils of mal-administration are to be learned chiefly from the memorials of censors, and although they may color their statements a little, very gross inaccuracies would be used to their own disadvantage, and contradicted by so many competitors, that most of their statements may be regarded as having some foundation. An unknown person in Kwangtung memorialized the Emperor in 1838 concerning the condition of that province, and drew a picture of the extortions of the lower agents of government that needs no illustrations to deepen its darkness or add force to its complaints. An extract from each of the six heads into which the memorial is divided will indicate the principal sources of popular insurrection in China, besides the exhibition they give of the tyranny of the officers.

In his preface, after the usual laudation of the beneficence and popularity of the monarch, the memorialist proceeds to express his regret that the imperial desires for the welfare of his subjects should be so grievously thwarted by the villany of his officers. After mentioning the calamities which had visited the province in the shape of freshets, insurrections, and conflagrations, he says that affairs generally had become so bad as to compel his Majesty to send commissioners to Canton repeatedly in order to regulate them. “If such as this be indeed the state of things,” he inquires, “what wonder is it if habits of plunder characterize the people, or the clerks and under officers of the public courts, as well as village pettifoggers, lay themselves out on all occasions to stir up quarrels and instigate false accusations against the good?” He recommends reform in six departments, under each of which he thus specifies the evils to be remedied:

First.—In the department of police there is great negligence and delay in the decision of judicial cases. Cases of plunder are very common, most of which are committed by banditti under the designations of Triad societies, Heaven and Earth brotherhoods, etc. These men carry off persons to extort a ransom, falsely assume the character of policemen, and in simulated revenue cutters pass up and down the rivers, plundering the boats of travellers and forcibly carrying off the women. Husbandmen are obliged to pay these robbers an “indemnity,” or else as soon as the crops are ripe they come and carry off the whole harvest. In the precincts of the metropolis, where their contiguity to the tribunals prevents their committing depredations in open day, they set fire to houses during the night, and under the pretence of saving and defending the persons and property carry off both of them; hence, of late years, calamitous fires have increased in frequency, and the bands of robbers multiplied greatly. In cases of altercations among the villagers, who can only use their local patois, it rests entirely with the clerks to interpret the evidence; and when the magistrate is lax or pressed with business, they have the evidence pre-arranged and join with bullies and strife-makers to subvert right and wrong, fattening themselves upon bribes extorted under the names of “memoranda of complaints,” “purchases of replies,” etc., and retarding indefinitely the decision of cases. They also instigate thieves to bring false accusations against the good, who are thereby ruined by legal expenses. While the officers of the government and the people are thus separated, how can it be otherwise than that appeals to the higher tribunals should be increased and litigation and strife prevail?

Second.—Magistrates overrate the taxes with a view to a deduction for their own benefit, and excise officers connive at non-payment. The revenue of Kwangtung is paid entirely in money, and the magistrates, instead of taking the commutation at a regular price of about five dollars for one hundred and fifty pounds of rice, have compelled the people to pay nine dollars and over, because the inundation and bad harvests had raised the price of grain. In order to avoid this extortion the police go to the villagers and demand a douceur, when they will get them off from all payment. But the imperial coffers are not filled by this means, and the people are by and by forced to pay up their arrearages, even to the loss of most of their possessions.

Third.—There is great mismanagement of the granaries, and instead of being any assistance to the people in time of scarcity, they are only a source of peculation for those who are charged with their oversight.

Fourth.—The condition of the army and navy is a disgrace; illicit traffic is not prevented, nor can insurrections be put down. The only care of the officers is to obtain good appointments, and reduce the actual number of soldiers below the register in order that they may appropriate the stores. The cruisers aim only to get fees to allow the prosecution of the contraband traffic, nor will the naval officers bestir themselves to recover the property of plundered boats, but rather become the protectors of the lawless and partakers of their booty. Robberies are so common on the rivers that the traders from the island of Hainan, and Chauchau near Fuhkien, prefer to come by sea, but the revenue cutters overhaul them under pretence of searching for contraband articles, and practise many extortions.

Fifth.—The monopoly of salt needs to be guarded more strictly, and the private manufacture of salt stopped, for thereby the revenue from this source is materially diminished.

Sixth.—The increase of smuggling is so great, and the evils flowing from it so multiplied, that strong measures must be taken to repress it. Traitorous Chinese combine with depraved foreigners to set the laws at defiance, and dispose of their opium and other commodities for the pure silver. In this manner the country is impoverished and every evil arises, the revenues of the customs are diminished by the unnecessary number of persons employed and by the fees they receive for connivance. If all these abuses can be remedied, “it will be seen that when there are men to rule well, nothing can be found beyond the reach of their government.”

The chief efforts of officials are directed to put down banditti, and maintain such a degree of peace as will enable them to collect the revenue and secure the people in the quiet possession of their property; but the people are too ready to resist their rulers, and this brings into operation a constant struggle of opposing desires. One side gets into the habit of resisting even the proper requisitions of the officers, who, on their part, endeavor in every way to reimburse their outlay in bribes to their superiors; and the combined action of the two proves an insurmountable impediment to the attainment of even that degree of security a Chinese officer wishes. The general commission of robbery and dakoity, and the prevalence of bands of thieves, therefore proves the weakness of the government, not the insurrectionary disposition of the people. In one district of Hupeh the governor reported in 1828 that “very few of the inhabitants have any regular occupation, and their dispositions are exceedingly ferocious; they fight and kill each other on every provocation. In their villages they harbor thieves who flee from other districts, and sally forth again to plunder.” In the northern parts of Kwangtung the people have erected high and strongly built houses to which they flee for safety from the attacks of robbers. These bands sometimes fall upon each other, and the feudal animosities of clanship adding fuel and rage to the rivalry of partisan warfare, the destruction of life and property is great. Occasionally the people zealously assist their rulers to apprehend them, though their exertions depend altogether upon the energy of the incumbent; an officer in Fuhkien is recommended for promotion because he had apprehended one hundred and seventy-three persons, part of a band of robbers which had infested the department for years, and tried and convicted one thousand one hundred and sixty criminals, most or all of whom were probably executed.

In 1821 there were four hundred robbers taken on the borders of Fuhkien; in 1827 two hundred were seized in the south of the province, and forty-one more brought to Canton from the eastward. The governor offered $1,000 reward for the capture of one leader, and $3,000 for another. The judge of the province put forth a proclamation upon the subject in the same year, in which he says there were four hundred and thirty undecided cases of robbery by brigands then on the calendar; and in 1846 there were upward of two thousand waiting his decision, for each of which there were perhaps five or six persons in prison or under constraint until the case was settled. These bands prowl in the large cities and commit great cruelties. In 1830 a party of five hundred openly plundered a rich man’s house in the western suburbs of Canton; and in Shunteh, south of the city, $600 were paid for the ransom of two persons carried off by them. The ex-governor, in 1831, was attacked by them near the Mei ling pass on his departure from Canton, and plundered of about ten thousand dollars. The magistrates of Hiangshan district, south of Canton, were ordered by their superiors the same year to apprehend five hundred of the robbers. Priests sometimes harbor gangs in their temples and divide the spoils with them, and occasionally go out themselves on predatory excursions. No mercy is shown these miscreants when they are taken, but the multiplication of executions has no effect in deterring them from crime.

Cruelty to individual prisoners does not produce so much disturbance to the general peace of the community as the forcible attempts of officers to collect taxes. The people have the impression that their rulers exact more than is legal, and consequently consider opposition to the demands of the tax-gatherer as somewhat justifiable, which compels, of course, more stringent measures on the part of the authorities, whose station depends not a little on their punctuality in remitting the taxes. Bad harvests, floods, or other public calamities render the people still more disinclined to pay the assessments. In 1845 a serious disturbance arose near Ningpo on this account, which with unimportant differences could probably be paralleled in every prefecture in the land. The people of Funghwa hien having refused to pay an onerous tax, the prefect of Ningpo seized three literary men of the place, who had been deputed to collect it, and put them in prison; this procedure so irritated the gentry that the candidates at the literary examination which occurred at Funghwa soon afterward, on being assembled at the public hall before the chíhien, rose upon him and beat him severely. They were still further incensed against him from having recently detected him in deceitful conduct regarding a petition they had made at court to have their taxes lightened; he had kept the answer and pocketed the difference. He was consequently superseded by another magistrate, and a deputy of the intendant of circuit was sent with the new incumbent to restore order. But the deputy, full of his importance, carried himself so haughtily that the excited populace treated him in the same manner, and he barely escaped with his life to Ningpo. The intendant and prefect, finding matters rising to such a pitch, sent a detachment of twelve hundred troops to keep the peace, but part of these were decoyed within the walls and attacked with such vigor that many of them were made prisoners, a colonel and a dozen privates killed, and two or three hundred wounded or beaten, and all deprived of their arms. In this plight they returned to Ningpo, and, as the distance is not great, apprehensions were entertained lest the insurgents should follow up their advantage by organizing themselves and marching upon the city to seize the prefect. The officers sent immediately to Hangchau for assistance, from whence the governor sent a strong force of ten thousand men to restore order, and soon after arrived himself. He demanded three persons to be given up who had been active in fomenting the resistance, threatening in case of non-compliance that he would destroy the town; the prefect and his deputy from the intendant’s office were suspended and removed to another post. These measures restored quiet to a considerable extent.[263]

The existence of such evils in Chinese society would rapidly disorganize it were it not for the conservative influence upon society of early education and training in industry. The government takes care to avail itself of this better element in public opinion, and grounds thereon a basis of action for the establishment of good order. But this, and ten thousand similar instances, only exhibit more strongly how great a work there is to be done before high and low, people and rulers, will understand their respective duties and rights; before they will, on the one hand, pay that regard to the authority of their rulers which is necessary for the maintenance of good order, and, on the other, resist official tyranny in preserving their own liberties.

If the character of the officers, therefore, be such as has been briefly shown—open to bribery, colluding with criminals, sycophantic toward superiors, and cruel to the people; and the constituents of society present so many repulsive features—opposing clans engaged in deadly feuds, bandits scouring the country to rob, policemen joining to oppress, truth universally disregarded, selfishness the main principle of action, and almost every disorganizing element but imperfectly restrained from violent outbreaks and convulsions, it will not be expected that the regular proceedings of the courts and the execution of the laws will prove on examination to be any better than the materials of which they are composed. As civil and criminal cases are all judged by one officer, one court tries nearly all the questions which arise. A single exception is provided for in the code, wherein it is ordered that “in cases of adultery, robbery, fraud, assaults, breach of laws concerning marriage, landed property or pecuniary contracts, or any other like offences committed by or against individuals in the military class—if any of the people are implicated or concerned, the military commanding officer and the civil magistrate shall have a concurrent jurisdiction.”[264]

At the bottom of the judicial scale are the village elders. This incipient element of the democratic principle has also existed in India in much the same form; but while its power ended in the local eldership there, in China it is only the lowest step of the scale. The elders give character to the village, and are expected to manage its public affairs, settle disputes among its inhabitants, arrange matters with other villages, and answer to the magistrates on its behalf. The code provides that all persons having complaints and informations address themselves in the first instance to the lowest tribunal of justice in the district, from which the cognizance of the affair may be transferred to the superior tribunals. The statement of the case is made in writing, and the officer is required to act upon it immediately; if the parties are dissatisfied with the award, the judgment of the lower courts is carried up to the superior ones. No case can be carried directly to the Emperor; it must go through the Board of Punishments; old men and women, however, sometimes present petitions to him on his journeys, but such appeals seldom occur, owing to the difficulty of access. The captains in charge of the gates of Peking, in 1831, presented a memorial upon the subject, in which they attribute the number of appeals to the obstinacy of many persons in pressing their cases and the remissness of local officers, so that even women and girls of ten years of age take long journeys to Peking to state their cases. The memorialists recommend that an order be issued requiring the two high provincial officers to adjudicate all cases, either themselves or by a court of errors, and not send the complainants back to the district magistrates. These official porters must have been much troubled with young ladies coming to see his Majesty, or perhaps were advised to present such a paper to afford a text for the Emperor to preach from; to confer such power upon the governor and his associates would almost make them the irresponsible sovereigns of the provinces. Appeals frequently arise out of delay in obtaining justice, owing to the amount of business in the courts; for the calendar may be expected to increase when the magistrate leaves his post to curry favor with his superiors. The almost utter impossibility of learning the truth of the case brought before them, either from the principal parties or the witnesses, must be borne in mind when deciding upon the oppressive proceedings of the magistrates to elicit the truth. Mention is made of one officer promoted for deciding three hundred cases in a year; again of a district magistrate who tried upward of a thousand within the same period; while a third revised and decided more than six hundred in which the parties had appealed. What becomes of the appeals in such cases, or whose decision stands, does not appear; but if such proceedings are common, it accounts for the constant practice of sending appeals back to be revised, probably after a change in the incumbent.

Few or no civil cases are reported in the Gazette as being carried up to higher courts, and probably only a small proportion of them are brought before the authorities, the rest being settled by reference. Appeals to court receive attention, and it may be inferred, too, that many of them are mentioned in the Gazette in order that the carefulness of the supreme government in revising the unjust decrees against the people should be known through the country, and this additional check to malversation on the part of the lower courts be of some use. Many cases are reported of widows and daughters, sons and nephews, of murdered persons, to whom the revenge of kindred rightly belongs, appealing against the unjust decrees of the local magistrates, and then sent back to the place they came from; this, of course, was tantamount to a nolle prosequi. At other times the wicked judges have been degraded and banished. One case is reported of a man who found his way to the capital from Fuhkien to complain against the magistracy and police, who protected a clan by whom his only son had been shot, in consideration of a bribe of $2,000. His case could not be understood at Peking in consequence of his local pronunciation, which indicates that all cases are not reported in writing. One appeal is reported against the governor of a province for not carrying into execution the sentence of death passed on two convicted murderers; and another appellant requests that two persons, who were bribed to undergo the sentence of the law instead of the real murderers, might not be substituted—he, perhaps, fearing their subsequent vengeance.

All officers of government are supposed to be accessible at any time, and the door of justice to be open to all who claim a hearing; and in fact, courts are held at all hours of night and day, though the regular time is from sunrise to noonday. The style of address varies according to the rank; tajin, or magnate, for the highest, ta laoyé, or great Sir, and laoyé, Sir, for the lower grade, are the most common. A drum is said to be placed at the inferior tribunals, as well as before the Court of Representation in Peking, which the plaintiff strikes in order to make his presence known, though from the number of hangers-on about the doors of official residences, the necessity of employing this mode of attracting notice is rare. At the gate of the governor-general’s palace are placed six tablets, having appropriate inscriptions for those who have been wronged by wicked officers; for those who have suffered from thieves; for persons falsely accused; for those who have been swindled; for such as have been grieved by other parties; and lastly, for those who have secret information to impart. The people, however, are aware how useless it would be to inscribe their appeals upon these tablets; they write them out and carry them up to his excellency, or to the proper official—seldom forgetting the indispensable present.

Mode of Carrying High Officers in Sedan.

Magistrates are not allowed to go abroad in ordinary dress and without their official retinue, which varies for the different grades of rank. The usual attendants of the district magistrates are lictors with whips and chains—significant of the punishments they inflict; they are preceded by two gong-bearers, who every few moments strike a certain number of raps to intimate their master’s rank, and by two avant-couriers, who howl out an order for all to make room for the great man. A servant bearing aloft a lo, or state umbrella (of which a drawing is given on the title-page), also goes before him, further to increase his display and indicate his rank.[265] A subaltern usually runs by the side of his sedan, and his secretary and messengers, seated in more ordinary chairs or following on foot, make up the cortége. The highest officers are carried by eight bearers, others by four, and the lowest by two. Lanterns are used at night and red tablets in the daytime, to indicate his rank. Officers of higher ranks are attended by a few soldiers in addition, and in the capital are required to have mounted attendants if they ride in carts; those who bear the sedan are usually in a uniform of their master’s devising. The parade and noise seen in the provinces are all hushed in Peking, where the presence of majesty subdues the glory of the officers which it has created. When in court the officer sits behind a desk upon which are placed writing materials; his secretaries, clerks, and interpreters being in waiting, and the lictors with their instruments of punishment and torture standing around. Persons who are brought before him kneel in front of the tribunal. His official seal, and cups containing tallies which are thrown down to indicate the number of blows to be given the culprits, stand upon the table, and behind his seat a kí-lin, or unicorn, is depicted on the wall. There are inscriptions hanging around the room, one of which exhorts him to be merciful. There is little pomp or show, either in the office or attendants, compared with our notions of what is usual in such matters among Asiatics. The former is a dirty, unswept, tawdry room, and the latter are beggarly and impertinent.

No counsel is allowed to plead, but the written accusations, pleas, or statements required must be prepared by licensed notaries, who may also read them in court, and who, no doubt, take opportunity to explain circumstances in favor of their client. These notaries buy their situations, and repay themselves by a fee upon the documents; they are the only persons who are analogous to the lawyers in western countries, and most of them have the reputation of extorting largely for their services. Of course there is no such thing as a jury, or a chief justice stating the case to associate judges to learn their opinion; nor is anything like an oath required of the witnesses.

The presiding officer can call in others to assist him in the trial to any extent he pleases. In one Canton court circular it is stated that no less than sixteen officers assisted the governor-general and governor in the trial of one criminal. The report of the trial is as summary as the recital of the bench of judges is minute: “H. E. Gov. Tăng arrived to join the futai in examining a criminal; and at 8 A.M., under a salute of guns, the doors of the great hall of audience were thrown open, and their excellencies took their seats, supported by all the other functionaries assembled for the occasion. The police officers of the judge were then directed to bring forward the prisoner, Yeh A-shun, a native of Tsingyuen hien; he was forthwith brought in, tried, and led out. The futai then requested the imperial death-warrant, and sent a deputation of officers to conduct the criminal to the market-place and there decapitate him. Soon after the officers returned, restored the death-warrant to its place, and reported that they had executed the criminal.” The prisoner, or his friends for him, are allowed to appear in every step of the inquiry prior to laying the case before the Emperor, and punishment is threatened to all the magistrates through whose hands it passes if they neglect the appeal; but this extract shows the usage of the courts.

PRISONER CONDEMNED TO THE CANGUE, IN COURT.

(His son praying to take his place.)

The general policy of officers is to quash cases and repress appeals, and probably they do so to a great degree by bringing extorted confessions of the accused party and the witnesses in proof of the verdict. Governor Lí of Canton issued a prohibition in 1834 against the practice of old men and women presenting petitions—complaining of the nuisance of having his chair stopped in order that a petition might be forced into it, and threatening to seize and punish the presumptuous intruders if they persisted in this custom. He instructs the district magistrates to examine such persons, to ascertain who pushed them forward, and to punish the instigators, observing, “if the people are impressed with a due dread of punishment, they will return to respectful habits.” It seems to be the constant effort on the part of the officers to evade the importunities of the injured and shove by justice, and were it not owing to the perseverance of the people, a system of irremediable oppression would soon be induced. But the poor have little chance of being heard against the rich, and if they do appeal they are in most cases remanded to the second judgment of the very officer against whom they complain; and of course as this is equivalent to a refusal from the high grades to right them at all, commotions gradually grow out of it, which are managed according to the exigencies of the case by those who are likely to be involved in their responsibility. The want of an irresistible police to compel obedience has a restraining effect on the rulers, who know that Lynch law may perhaps be retaliated upon them if they exasperate the people too far. A prefect was killed in Chauchau fu some years ago for his cruelty, and the people excused their act by saying that it was done because the officer had failed to carry out the Emperor’s good rule, and they would not endure it longer. Amid such enormities it is no wonder if the peaceably disposed part of the community prefer to submit in silence to petty extortions and robberies, rather than risk the loss of all by unavailing complaints.

The code contains many sections regulating the proceedings of courts, and provides heavy punishments for such officers as are guilty of illegalities or cruelty in their decisions, but the recorded cases prove that most of these laws are dead letters. Section CCCCXVI. ordains that “after a prisoner has been tried and convicted of any offence punishable with temporary or perpetual banishment or death, he shall, in the last place, be brought before the magistrate, together with his nearest relations and family, and informed of the offence whereof he stands convicted, and of the sentence intended to be pronounced upon him in consequence; their acknowledgment of its justice or protest against its injustice, as the case may be, shall then be taken down in writing: and in every case of their refusing to admit the justice of the sentence, their protest shall be made the ground of another and more particular investigation.” All capital cases must be reviewed by the highest authorities at the metropolis and in the provinces, and a final report of the case and decision submitted to the Emperor’s notice. Section CCCCXV. requires that the law be quoted when deciding. The numerous wise and merciful provisions in the code for the due administration of justice only place the conduct of its authorized executives in a less excusable light, and prove how impossible it is to procure an equitable magistracy by mere legal requirements and penalties.

The confusion of the civil and criminal laws in the code, and the union of both functions in the same person, together with the torture and imprisonment employed to elicit a confession, serve as an indication of the state of legislation and jurisprudence. The common sense of a truthful people would revolt against the infliction of torture to get out the true deposition of a witness, and their sense of honor would resist the disgraceful exposure of the cangue for not paying debts. As the want of truth among a people indicates a want of honor, the necessity of more stringent modes of procedure suggests the practice of torture; its application is allowed and restricted by several sections of the code, but in China, as elsewhere, it has always been abused. Torture is practised upon both criminals and witnesses, in court and in prison; and the universal dread among the people of coming before courts, and having anything to do with their magistrates, is owing in great measure to the illegal sufferings they too often must endure. It has also a powerful deterrent effect in preventing crime and disorder. Neither imprisonment nor torture are ranked among the five punishments, but they cause more deaths, probably, among arrested persons than all other means.

Among the modes of torture employed in court, and reported in the Gazette, are some revolting to humanity, but which of them are legal does not appear. The clauses under Section I. in the code describe the legal instruments of torture; they consist of three boards with proper grooves for compressing the ankles, and five round sticks for squeezing the fingers, to which may be added the bamboo; besides these no instruments of torture are legally allowed, though other ways of putting the question are so common as to give the impression that some of them at least are sanctioned. Pulling or twisting the ears with roughened fingers, and keeping them in a bent position while making the prisoner kneel on chains, or making him kneel for a long time, are among the illegal modes. Striking the lips with sticks until they are nearly jellied, putting the hands in stocks before or behind the back, wrapping the fingers in oiled cloth to burn them, suspending the body by the thumbs and fingers, tying the hands to a bar under the knees, so as to bend the body double, and chaining by the neck close to a stone, are resorted to when the prisoner is contumacious. One magistrate is accused of having fastened up two criminals to boards by nails driven through their palms; one of them tore his hands loose and was nailed up again, which caused his death; using beds of iron, boiling water, red hot spikes, and cutting the tendon Achilles are also charged against him, but the Emperor exonerated him on account of the atrocious character of the criminals. Compelling them to kneel upon pounded glass, sand, and salt mixed together, until the knees become excoriated, or simply kneeling upon chains is a lighter mode of the same infliction. Mr. Milne mentions seeing a wretch undergoing this torture, his hands tied behind his back to a stake held in its position by two policemen; if he swerved to relieve the agony of his position, a blow on his head compelled him to resume it. The agonies of the poor creature were evident from his quivering lips, his pallid and senseless countenance, and his tremulous voice imploring relief, which was refused with a cold, mocking command, “Suffer or confess.”[266]

Flogging is one of the five authorized punishments, but it is used more than any other means to elicit confession; the bamboo, rattan, cudgel, and whip are all employed. When death ensues the magistrate reports that the criminal died of sickness, or hushes it up by bribing his friends, few of whom are ever allowed access within the walls of the prison to see and comfort the sufferers. From the manner in which such a result is spoken of it may be inferred that immediate death does not often take place from torture. A magistrate in Sz’chuen being abused by a man in court, who also struck the attendants, ordered him to be put into a coffin which happened to be near, when suffocation ensued; he was in consequence dismissed the service, punished one hundred blows, and transported three years. One check on outrageous torture is the fear that the report of their cruelty will come to the ears of their superiors, who are usually ready to avail of any mal-administration to get an officer removed, in order to fill the post. In this case, as in other parts of Chinese government, the dread of one evil prevents the commission of another.

The five kinds of punishment mentioned in the code are from ten to fifty blows with the lesser bamboo, from fifty to one hundred with the greater, transportation, perpetual banishment, and death, each of them modified in various ways. The small bamboo weighs about two pounds, the larger two and two-thirds pounds. Public exposure in the kia, or cangue, is considered rather as a kind of censure or reprimand than a punishment, and carries no disgrace with it, nor comparatively much bodily suffering if the person be fed and screened from the sun. The frame weighs between twenty and thirty pounds, and is so made as to rest upon the shoulders without chafing the neck, but so broad as to prevent the person feeding himself. The name, residence, and offence of the delinquent are written upon it for the information of every passer-by, and a policeman is stationed over him to prevent escape. Branding is applied to deserters and banished persons. Imprisonment and fines are not regarded as legal punishments, but rather correctives; and flogging, as Le Comte says, “is never wanting, there being no condemnation in China without this previous disposition, so that it is unnecessary to mention it in their condemnation; this being always understood to be their first dish.” When a man is arrested he is effectually prevented from breaking loose by putting a chain around his neck and tying his hands.

Mode of Exposure in the Cangue.

Most punishments are redeemable by the payment of money if the criminal is under fifteen or over seventy years of age, and a table is given in the code for the guidance of the magistrate in such cases. An act of grace enables a criminal condemned even to capital punishment to redeem himself, if the offence be not one of wilful malignity; but better legislation would have shown the good effects of not making the punishments so severe. It is also ordered in Section XVIII., that “any offender under sentence of death for a crime not excluded from the contingent benefit of an act of grace, who shall have infirm parents or grandparents alive over seventy years of age, and no other male child over sixteen to support them, shall be recommended to the mercy of his Majesty; and if only condemned to banishment, shall receive one hundred blows and redeem himself by a fine.” Many atrocious laws may be forgiven for one such exhibition of regard for the care of decrepid parents. Few governments exhibit such opposing principles of actions as the Chinese: a strange blending of cruelty to prisoners with a maudlin consideration of their condition, and a constant effort to coax the people to obedience while exercising great severity upon individuals, are everywhere manifest. One who has lived in the country long, however, knows well that they are not to be held in check by rope-yarn laws or whimpering justices, and unless the rulers are a terror to evil-doers, the latter will soon get the upper hand. Dr. Field well considers this point in his interesting notes describing his visit to a yamun at Canton.[267] The general prosperity of the Empire proves in some measure the equity of its administration.

Banishment and slavery are punishments for minor official delinquencies, and few officers who live long in the Emperor’s employ do not take an involuntary journey to Mongolia, Turkestan, or elsewhere, in the course of their lives. The fates and conduct of banished criminals are widely unlike; some doggedly serve out their time, others try to ingratiate themselves with their masters in order to alleviate or shorten the time of service, while hundreds contrive to escape and return to their homes, though this subjects them to increased punishment. Persons banished for treason are severely dealt with if they return without leave, and those convicted of crime in their place of banishment are increasingly punished; one man was sentenced to be outlawed for an offence at his place of banishment, but seeing that his aged mother had no other support than his labor, the Emperor ordered that a small sum should be paid for her living out of the public treasury. Whipping a man through the streets as a public example to others is frequently practised upon persons detected in robbery, assault, or some other minor offences. The man is manacled, and one policeman goes before him carrying a tablet, on which are written his name, crime, and punishment, accompanied by another holding a gong. In some cases little sticks bearing flags are thrust through his ears, and the lictor appointed to oversee the fulfilment of the sentence follows the executioner, who strikes the criminal with his whip or rattan as the rap on the gong denotes that the appointed number is not yet complete.

Publicly Whipping a Thief through the Streets.

Decapitation and strangling are the legal modes of executing criminals, though Kí Kung having taken several incendiaries at Canton, in 1843, who were convicted of firing the city for purposes of plunder, starved them to death in the public squares of the city. The least disgraceful mode of execution is strangulation, which is performed by tying a man to a post and tightening the cord which goes round his neck by a winch; the infliction is very speedy, and apparently less painful than hanging. The least crime for which death is awarded appears to be a third and aggravated theft, and defacing the branding inflicted for former offences. Decollation is considered more disgraceful than strangling, owing to the dislike the Chinese have of dissevering the bodies which their parents gave them entire. There are two modes of decapitation, that of simple decollation being considered, again, as less disgraceful than being “cut into ten thousand pieces,” as the phrase ling chih has been rendered. The military officer who superintends the execution is attended by a guard, to keep the populace from crowding upon the limits and prevent resistance on the part of the prisoners. The bodies are given up to the friends, except when the head is exposed as a warning in a cage where the crime was committed. If no one is present to claim the corpse it is buried in the public pit. The criminals are generally so far exhausted that they make no resistance, and submit to their fate without a groan—much more, without a dying speech to the spectators. In ordinary cases the executions are postponed until the autumnal assize, when the Emperor revises and confirms the sentences of the provincial governors; criminals guilty of extraordinary offences, as robbery attended with murder, arson, rape, breaking into fortifications, highway robbery, and piracy, may be immediately beheaded without reference to court, and as the expense of maintenance and want of prison room are both to be considered, it is the fact that criminals condemned for one or other of these crimes comprise the greater part of the unreferred executions in the provinces.

It is impossible to ascertain the number of persons executed in China, for the life of a condemned criminal is thought little of; in the court circular it is merely reported that “the execution of the criminals was completed,” without mentioning their crimes, residences, or names. At the autumnal revises at Peking the number sentenced is given in the Gazette; 935 were sentenced in 1817, of which 133 were from the province of Kwangtung; in 1826 there were 581; in 1828 the number was 789, and in the next year 579 names were marked off, none of whose crimes, it is inferrible, are included in the list of offences mentioned above. The condemnations are sent from the capital by express, and the executions take place immediately. Most of the persons condemned in a province are executed in its capital, and to hear of the death of a score or more of felons on a single day is no uncommon thing. The trials are more speedy than comports with our notions of justice, and the executions are performed in the most summary manner. It is reported on one occasion that the governor-general of Canton ascended his judgment-seat, examined three prisoners brought before him, and having found them guilty, condemned them, asked himself for the death-warrant (for he temporarily filled the office of governor), and, having received it, had the three men carried away in about two hours after they were first brought before him. A few days after he granted the warrant to execute a hundred bandits in prison. During the terrible rebellion in Kwangtung, in 1854-55, the prisoners taken by the Imperialists were usually transported to Canton for execution. In a space of fourteen months, up to January, 1856, about eighty-three thousand malefactors suffered death in that city alone, besides those who died in confinement; these men were arrested and delivered to execution by their countrymen, who had suffered untold miseries through their sedition and rapine.

When taken to execution the prisoners are clothed in clean clothes.[268] A military officer is present, and the criminals are brought on the ground in hod-like baskets hanging from a pole borne of two, or in cages, and are obliged to kneel toward the Emperor’s residence, or toward the death-warrant, which indicates his presence, as if thanking their sovereign for his care. The list is read aloud and compared with the tickets on the prisoners; as they kneel, a lictor seizes their pinioned hands and jerks them upward so that the head is pushed down horizontally, and a single down stroke with the heavy hanger severs it from the neck. In the slow and ignominious execution, or ling chih, the criminal is tied to a cross and hacked to pieces; the executioner is nevertheless often hired to give the coup-de-grace at the first blow. It is not uncommon for him to cut out the gall-bladder of notorious robbers and sell it, to be eaten as a specific for courage. There is an official executioner besides the real one, the latter being sometimes a criminal taken out of the prisons.

Probably the number of persons who suffer by the sword of the executioner is not one-half of those who die from the effects of torture and privations in prisons. Not much is known of the internal arrangement of the hells, as prisons are called; they seem to be managed with a degree of kindness and attention to the comfort of the prisoners, so far as the intentions of government are concerned, but the cruelties of the turnkeys and older prisoners to exact money from the new comers are terrible. In Canton there are jails in the city under the control of four different officers, the largest covering about an acre, and capable of holding upward of five hundred prisoners. Since it is the practice of distant magistrates to send their worst prisoners up to the capital, these jails are not large enough, and jail distempers arise from over-crowding; two hundred deaths were reported in 1826 from this and other causes, and one hundred and seventeen cases in 1831. Private jails were hired to accommodate the number, and one governor reports having found twenty-two such places in Canton where every kind of cruelty was practised. The witnesses and accusers concerned in appellate causes had, he says, also been brought up to the city and imprisoned along with the guilty party, where they were kept months without any just reason. In one case, where a defendant and plaintiff were imprisoned together, the accuser fell upon the other and murdered him. Sometimes the officer is unable from press of business to attend to a case, and confines all the principals and witnesses concerned until he can examine them, but the government takes no means to provide for them during the interval, and many of the poorer ones die. No security or bail is obtainable on the word of a witness or his friends, so that if unable to fee the jailers he is in nearly as bad a case as the criminal. Extending bail to an accused criminal is nearly unknown, but female prisoners are put in charge of their husbands or parents, who are held responsible for their appearance. The constant succession of criminals in the provincial head prison renders the posts of jailers and turnkeys very lucrative. The letters of the Roman Catholic missionaries from China during the last century, found in the Lettres Édifiantes and Annales de la Foi, contain many sad pictures of the miseries of prison life there.

The prisons are arranged somewhat on the plan of a large stable, having an open central court occupying nearly one-fourth of the area, and small cribs or stalls covered by a roof extending nearly around it, so contrived that each company of prisoners shall be separated from its neighbors on either side night and day, though more by night than by day. The prisoners cook for themselves in the court, and are secured by manacles and gyves, and a chain joining the hands to the neck; one hand is liberated in the daytime in order to allow them to take care of themselves. Heinous criminals are more heavily ironed, and those in the prisons attached to the judge’s office are worse treated than the others. Each criminal should receive a daily ration of two pounds of rice, and about two cents with which to buy fuel, but the jailer starves them on half this allowance if they are unable to fee him; clothing is also scantily provided, but those who have money can procure almost every convenience. Each crib full of criminals is under the control of a turnkey, who with a few old offenders spends much time torturing newly arrived persons to force money from them, by which many lose their lives, and all suffer far more in this manner than they do from the officers of government. Well may the people call their prisons hells, and say, when a man falls into the clutches of the jailers or police, “the flesh is under the cleaver.”

There are many processes for the recovery of debts and fulfilment of contracts, some legal and others customary, the latter depending upon many circumstances irrelevant to the merits of the case. The law allows that debtors be punished by bambooing according to the amount of the debt. A creditor often resorts to illegal means to recover his claim, which give rise to many excesses; sometimes he quarters himself upon the debtor’s family or premises, at others seizes him or some of his family and keeps them prisoners, and, in extreme cases, sells them. Unscrupulous debtors are equally skilful and violent in eluding, cheating, and resisting their incensed creditors, according as they have the power. They are liable, when three months have expired after the stipulated time of payment, to be bambooed, and their property attached. In most cases, however, disputes of this sort are settled without recourse to government, and if the debtor is really without property, he is not imprisoned till he can procure it. The effects of absconding debtors are seized and divided by those who can get them. Long experience, moreover, of each other’s characters has taught them, in contracting debts, to have some security at the outset, and therefore in settling up there is not so much loss as might be supposed considering the difficulty of collecting debts. Accusations for libel, slander, breach of marriage contract, and other civil or less criminal offences are not all brought before the authorities, but are settled by force or arbitration among the people themselves and their elders.

The nominal salaries of Chinese officers have already been stated (p. 294). It is a common opinion among the people that on an average they receive about ten times their salaries; in some cases they pay thirty, forty and more thousand dollars beforehand for the situation. One encouragement to the harassing vexations of the official secretaries and police is the dislike of the people to carry their cases before officers who they know are almost compelled to fleece and peel them; they think it cheaper and safer to bear a small exaction from an underling than run the risk of a greater from his master.

If the preventives against popular violence which the supreme government has placed around itself could be strengthened by an efficient military force, its power would be well secured indeed; but then, as in Russia, it would probably become, by degrees, an intolerable tyranny. The troops are, in fact, everywhere present, ostensibly to support the laws, protect the innocent, and punish the guilty; such of them as are employed by the authorities as guards and policemen are, on the whole, efficient and courteous, though miserably paid, while the regiments in garrison are contemptible to both friend and foe.

The efficacy of the system of checks upon the high courts and provincial officers is increased by their intrigues and conflicting ambition, and long experience has shown that the Emperor’s power has little to fear from proconsular rebellion. The inefficiency of the army is a serious evil to the people in one respect, for more power in that arm would repress banditti and pirates; while the sober part of the community would coöperate in a hearty effort to quell them. The greatest difficulty the Emperor finds in upholding his authority lies in the general want of integrity in the officers he employs; good laws may be made, but he has few upright agents to execute them. This has been abundantly manifested in the laws against opium and gambling; no one could be found to carry them into execution, though everybody assented to their propriety.

The chief security on the side of the people against an unmitigated oppression such as now exists in Turkey, besides those already pointed out, lies as much as anywhere in their general intelligence of the true principles on which the government is founded and should be executed. With public opinion on its side the government is a strong one, but none is less able to execute its designs when it runs counter to that opinion, although those designs may be excellent and well intended. Elements of discord are found in the social system which would soon effect its ruin were they not counteracted by other influences, and the body politic goes on like a heavy, shackly, lumbering van, which every moment threatens a crashing, crumbling fall, yet goes on still tottering, owing to the original goodness of its construction. From the enormous population of this ancient van, it is evident that any attempt to remodel it must seriously affect one or the other of its parts, and that when once upset it may be impossible to reconstruct it in its original form. There is encouragement to hope that the general intelligence and shrewdness of the government and people of China, their language, institutions, industry, and love of peace, will all act as powerful conservative influences in working out the changes which cannot now be long delayed; and that she will maintain her unity and industry while going through a thorough reform of her political, social, and religious systems.

It is very difficult to convey to the reader a fair view of the administration of the laws in China. Notwithstanding the cruelty of officers to the criminals before them, they are not all to be considered as tyrants; because insurrections arise, attended with great loss of life, it must not be supposed that society is everywhere disorganized; the Chinese are so prone to falsify that it is difficult to ascertain the truth, yet it must not be inferred that every sentence is a lie; selfishness is a prime motive for their actions, yet charity, kindness, filial affection, and the unbought courtesies of life still exist among them. Although there is an appalling amount of evil and crime in every shape, it is mixed with some redeeming traits; and in China, as elsewhere, good and bad are intermingled. Some of the evils in the social system arise from the operation of the principles of mutual responsibility, while this very feature produces sundry good effects in restraining people who have no higher motive than the fear of injuring the innocent. We hear so much of the shocking cruelties of courts and prisons that the vast number of cases before the bench are all supposed to exhibit the same fatiguing reiteration of suffering, injustice, bribery, and cruelty. One must live in the country to see how the antagonistic principles found in Chinese society act and react upon each other, and are affected by the wicked passions of the heart. Officers and people are bad almost beyond belief to one conversant only with the courtesy, justice, purity, and sincerity of Christian governments and society; and yet we think they are not as bad as the old Greeks and Romans, and have no more injustice or torture in their courts, nor impurity or mendacity in their lives. As in our own land we are apt to forget that the recitals of crimes and outrages which the daily papers bring before our eyes furnish no index of the general condition of society, so in China, where that condition is immeasurably worse, we must be mindful that this is likewise true.

CHAPTER IX. EDUCATION AND LITERARY EXAMINATIONS.

Among the points relating to the Chinese people which have attracted the attention of students in the history of intellectual development, their long duration and literary institutions have probably taken precedence. To estimate the causes of the first requires much knowledge of the second, and from them one is gradually led onward to an examination of the government, religion, and social life of this people in the succeeding epochs of their existence. The inquiry will reveal much that is instructive, and show us that, if they have not equalled many other nations in the arts and adornments of life, they have attained a high degree of comfort and developed much that is creditable in education, the science of rule, and security of life and property.

Although the powers of mind exhibited by the greatest writers in China are confessedly inferior to those of Greece and Rome for genius and original conceptions, the good influence exerted by them over their countrymen is far greater, even at this day, than was ever obtained by western sages, as Plato, Aristotle, or Seneca. The thoroughness of Chinese education, the purity and effectiveness of the examinations, or the accuracy and excellency of the literature must not be compared with those of modern Christian countries, for there is really no common measure between the two; they must be taken with other parts of Chinese character, and comparisons drawn, if necessary, with nations possessing similar opportunities. The importance of generally instructing the people was acknowledged even before the time of Confucius, and practised to a good degree at an age when other nations in the world had no such system; and although in his day feudal institutions prevailed, and offices and rank were not attainable in the same manner as at present, on the other hand magistrates and noblemen deemed it necessary to be well acquainted with their ancient writings. It is said in the Book of Rites (B.C. 1200), “that for the purposes of education among the ancients, villages had their schools, districts their academies, departments their colleges, and principalities their universities.” This, so far as we know, was altogether superior to what obtained among the Jews, Persians, and Syrians of the same period.

The great stimulus to literary pursuits is the hope thereby of obtaining office and honor, and the only course of education followed is the classical and historical one prescribed by law. Owing to this undue attention to the classics, the minds of the scholars are not symmetrically trained, and they disparage other branches of literature which do not directly advance this great end. Every department of letters, except jurisprudence, history, and official statistics, is disesteemed in comparison; and the literary graduate of fourscore will be found deficient in most branches of general learning, ignorant of hundreds of common things and events in his national history, which the merest schoolboy in the western world would be ashamed not to know in his. This course of instruction does not form well-balanced minds, but it imbues the future rulers of the land with a full understanding of the principles on which they are to govern, and the policy of the supreme power in using those principles to consolidate its own authority.

Centralization and conservatism were the leading features of the teachings of Confucius which first recommended them to the rulers, and have decided the course of public examinations in selecting officers who would readily uphold these principles. The effect has been that the literary class in China holds the functions of both nobles and priests, a perpetual association, gens æterna in qua memo nascitur, holding in its hands public opinion and legal power to maintain it. The geographical isolation of the people, the nature of the language, and the absence of a landed aristocracy, combine to add efficiency to this system; and when the peculiarities of Chinese character, and the nature of the class-books which do so much to mould that character, are considered, it is impossible to devise a better plan for insuring the perpetuity of the government, or the contentment of the people under that government.

It was about A.D. 600, that Taitsung, of the Tang dynasty, instituted the present plan of preparing and selecting civilians by means of study and degrees, founding his system on the facts that education had always been esteemed, and that the ancient writings were accepted by all as the best instructors of the manners and tastes of the people. According to native historians, the rulers of ancient times made ample provision for the cultivation of literature and promotion of education in all its branches. They supply some details to enable us to understand the mode and the materials of this instruction, and glorify it as they do everything ancient, but probably from the want of authentic accounts in their own hands, they do not clearly describe it. The essays of M. Édouard Biot on the History of Public Instruction in China, contains well-nigh all the information extant on this interesting subject, digested in a very lucid manner. Education is probably as good now as it ever was, and its ability to maintain and develop the character of the people as great as at any time; it is remarkable how much it really has done to form, elevate, and consolidate their national institutions. The Manchu monarchs were not at first favorably disposed to the system of examinations, and frowned upon the literary hierarchy who claimed all honors as their right; but the next generation saw the advantages and necessity of the concours, in preserving its own power.

Boys commence their studies at the age of seven with a teacher; for, even if the father be a literary man he seldom instructs his sons, and very few mothers are able to teach their offspring to read. Maternal training is supposed to consist in giving a right direction to the morals, and enforcing the obedience of the child; but as there are few mothers who do more than compel obedience by commands, or by the rod, so there are none who can teach the infantile mind to look up to its God in prayer and praise.

Among the many treatises for the guidance of teachers, the Siao Hioh, or ‘Juvenile Instructor,’ is regarded as most authoritative. When establishing the elements of education, this book advises fathers to “choose from among their concubines those who are fit for nurses, seeking such as are mild, indulgent, affectionate, benevolent, cheerful, kind, dignified, respectful, and reserved and careful in their conversation, whom they will make governesses over their children. When able to talk, lads must be instructed to answer in a quick, bold tone, and girls in a slow and gentle one. At the age of seven, they should be taught to count and name the cardinal points; but at this age the sexes should not be allowed to sit on the same mat nor eat from the same table. At eight, they must be taught to wait for their superiors, and prefer others to themselves. At ten, the boys must be sent abroad to private tutors, and there remain day and night, studying writing and arithmetic, wearing plain apparel, learning to demean themselves in a manner becoming their age, and acting with sincerity of purpose. At thirteen, they must attend to music and poetry; at fifteen, they must practise archery and charioteering. At the age of twenty, they are in due form to be admitted to the rank of manhood, and learn additional rules of propriety, be faithful in the performance of filial and fraternal duties, and though they possess extensive knowledge, must not affect to teach others. At thirty, they may marry and commence the management of business. At forty, they may enter the service of the state; and if their prince maintains the reign of reason, they must serve him, but otherwise not. At fifty, they may be promoted to the rank of ministers; and at seventy, they must retire from public life.”

Another injunction is, “Let children always be taught to speak the simple truth; to stand erect and in their proper places, and listen with respectful attention.” The way to become a student, “is, with gentleness and self-abasement, to receive implicitly every word the master utters. The pupil, when he sees virtuous people, must follow them, when he hears good maxims, conform to them. He must cherish no wicked designs, but always act uprightly; whether at home or abroad, he must have a fixed residence, and associate with the benevolent, carefully regulating his personal deportment, and controlling the feelings of his heart. He must keep his clothes in order. Every morning he must learn something new, and rehearse the same every evening.” The great end of education, therefore, among the ancient Chinese, was not so much to fill the head with knowledge, as to discipline the heart and purify the affections. One of their writers says, “Those who respect the virtuous and put away unlawful pleasures, serve their parents and prince to the utmost of their ability, and are faithful to their word; these, though they should be considered unlearned, we must pronounce to be educated men.” Although such terms as purity, filial affection, learning, and truth, have higher meanings in a Christian education than are given them by Chinese masters, the inculcation of them in any degree and so decided a manner does great credit to the people, and will never need to be superseded—only raised to a higher grade.[269]

In intercourse with their relatives, children are taught to attend to the minutest points of good breeding; and are instructed in everything relating to their personal appearance, making their toilet, saluting their parents, eating, visiting, and other acts of life. Many of these directions are trivial even to puerility, but they are none too minute in the ideas of the Chinese, and still form the basis of good manners, as much as they did a score of centuries ago; and it can hardly be supposed that Confucius would have risked his influence upon the grave publication of trifles, if he had not been well acquainted with the character of his countrymen. Yet nothing is trifling which conduces to the growth of good manners among a people, though it may not have done all that was wished.[270]

Rules are laid down for students to observe in the prosecution of their studies, which reflect credit on those who set so high a standard for themselves. Dr. Morrison has given a synopsis of a treatise of this sort, called the ‘Complete Collection of Family Jewels,’ and containing a minute specification of duties to be performed by all who would be thorough students. The author directs the tyro to form a fixed resolution to press forward in his studies, setting his mark as high as possible, and thoroughly understanding everything as he goes along. “I have always seen that a man who covets much and devotes himself to universal knowledge, when he reads he presumes on the quickness and celerity of his genius and perceptions, and chapters and volumes pass before his eyes, and issue from his mouth as fluently as water rolls away; but when does he ever apply his mind to rub and educe the essence of a subject? In this manner, although much be read, what is the use of it? Better little and fine, than much and coarse.” He also advises persons to have two or three good volumes lying on their tables, which they can take up at odd moments, and to keep commonplace books in which they can jot down such things as occur to them. They should get rid of distracting thoughts if they wish to advance in their studies; as “if a man’s stomach has been filled by eating greens and other vegetables, although the most precious dainties with exquisite tastes should be given him, he cannot swallow them, he must first get rid of a few portions of the greens; so in reading, the same is true of the mixed thoughts which distract the mind, which are about the dusty affairs of a vulgar world.” The rules given by these writers correspond to those laid down among ourselves, in such books as Todd’s Manual for Students, and reveal the steps which have given the Chinese their intellectual position.[271]

For all grades of scholars, there is but one mode of study; the imitative nature of the Chinese mind is strikingly exhibited in the few attempts on the part of teachers to improve upon the stereotyped practice of their predecessors, although persons of as original minds as the country affords are constantly engaged in education. When the lad commences his studies, an impressive ceremony takes place—or did formerly, for it seems to have fallen into desuetude: the father leads his son to the teacher, who kneels down before the name of some one or other of the ancient sages, and supplicates their blessing upon his pupil; after which, seating himself, he receives the homage and petition of the lad to guide him in his lessons.[272] As is the case in Moslem countries, a present is expected to accompany this initiation into literary pursuits. In all cases this event is further marked by giving the lad his shu ming or ‘book name,’ by which he is called during his future life. The furniture of the school merely consists of a desk and a stool for each pupil, and an elevated seat for the master, for maps, globes, black-boards, diagrams, etc., are yet to come in among its articles of furniture. In one corner is placed a tablet or an inscription on the wall, dedicated to Confucius and the god of Letters; the sage is styled the ‘Teacher and Pattern for All Ages,’ and incense is constantly burned in honor of them both.

The location of school-rooms is usually such as would be considered bad elsewhere, but by comparison with other things in China, is not so. A mat shed which barely protects from the weather, a low, hot upper attic of a shop, a back room in a temple, or rarely a house specially built for the purpose, such are the school-houses in China. The chamber is hired by the master, who regulates his expenses and furnishes his apartment according to the number and condition of his pupils; their average number is about twenty, ranging between ten and forty in day schools, and in private schools seldom exceeding ten. The most thorough course of education is probably pursued in the latter, where a well-qualified teacher is hired by four or five persons living in the same street, or mutually related by birth or marriage, to teach their children at a stipulated salary. In such cases the lads are placed in bright, well-aired apartments, superior to the common school-room. The majority of teachers have been unsuccessful candidates for literary degrees, who having spent the prime of their days in fruitless attempts to attain office, are unfit for manual labor, and unable to enter on mercantile life. In Canton, a teacher of twenty boys receives from half a dollar to a dollar per month from each pupil; in country villages, three, four or five dollars a year are given, with the addition, in most cases, of a small present of eatables from each scholar three or four times a year. Private tutors receive from $150 to $350 or more per annum, according to particular engagement. There are no boarding-schools, nor anything answering to infant schools; nor are public or charity schools established by government, or by private benevolence for the education of the poor.

The first hours of study are from sunrise till ten A.M., when the boys go to breakfast; they reassemble in an hour or more, and continue at their books till about five P.M., when they disperse for the day. In summer, they have no lessons after dinner, but an evening session is often held in the winter, and evening schools are occasionally opened for mechanics and others who are occupied during the day. When a boy comes into school in the morning, he bows reverentially before the tablet of Confucius, salutes his teacher, and then takes his seat. The vacations during the year are few; the longest is before new year, at which time the engagement is completed, and the school closes, to be reöpened after the teacher and parents have made a new arrangement. The common festivals, of which there are a dozen or more, are regarded as holydays, and form very necessary relaxations in a country destitute of the rest of the Sabbath. The requisite qualifications of a teacher are gravity, severity, and patience, and acquaintance with the classics; he has only to teach the same series of books in the same fashion in which he learned them himself and keep a good watch over his charge.

When the lads come together at the opening of the school, their attainments are ascertained; the teacher endeavors to have his pupils nearly equal in this respect, but inasmuch as they are all put to precisely the same tasks, a difference is not material. If the boys are beginners, they are brought up in a line before the desk, holding the San-tsz’ King, or ‘Trimetrical Classic,’ in their hands, and taught to read off the first lines after the teacher until they can repeat them without help. He calls off the first four lines as follows:

when his pupils simultaneously cry out:

Mispronunciations are corrected until each can read the lesson accurately; they are then sent to their seats to commit the sounds to memory. As the sounds are all entire words (not letters, nor syllables, of which they have no idea), the boys are not perplexed, as ours are, with symbols which have no meaning. All the children study aloud, and when one is able to recite the task, he is required to back it—come up to the master’s desk, and stand with his back toward him while rehearsing it.

The San-tsz’ King was compiled by Wang Pih-hao of the Sung dynasty (A.D. 1050) for his private school. It contains ten hundred and sixty-eight words, and half that number of different characters, arranged in one hundred and seventy-eight double lines. It has been commented upon by several persons, one of whom calls it “a ford which the youthful inquirer may readily pass, and thereby reach the fountain-head of the higher courses of learning, or a passport into the regions of classical and historical literature.” This hornbook begins with the nature of man, and the necessity and modes of education, and it is noticeable that the first sentence, the one quoted above, which a Chinese learns at school, contains one of the most disputed doctrines in the ancient heathen world:

The importance of filial and fraternal duties are then inculcated by precept and example, to which succeeds a synopsis of the various branches of learning in an ascending series, under several heads of numbers; the three great powers, the four seasons and four cardinal points, the five elements and five constant virtues, the six kinds of grain and six domestic animals, the seven passions, the eight materials for music, nine degrees of kindred, and ten social duties. A few extracts will exhibit the mode in which these subjects are treated.

To this technical summary succeed rules for a course of academical studies, with a list of the books to be learned, and the order of their use, followed by a synopsis of the general history of China, in an enumeration of the successive dynasties. The work concludes with incidents and motives to learning drawn from the conduct of ancient sages and statesmen, and from considerations of interest and glory. The examples cited are curious instances of pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, and form an inviting part of the treatise.

These quotations illustrate the character of the Trimetrical Classic, and show its imperfections as a book for young minds. It is a syllabus of studies rather than a book to be learned, and ill suited to entice the boy on in his tasks by giving him mental food in an attractive form. Yet its influence has been perhaps as great as the classics during the last four dynasties, from its general use in primary schools, where myriads of lads have “backed” it who have had no leisure to study much more, and when they had crossed this ford could travel no farther. The boy commences his education by learning these maxims; and by the time he has got his degree—and long before, too—the highest truths and examples known in the land are more deeply impressed on his mind than are ever Biblical truths and examples on graduates of Yale, Oxford, Heidelberg or the Sorbonne. Well was it for them that they had learned nothing in it which they had better forget, for its deficiencies, pointed out by Bridgman in his translation, should not lead us to overlook its suggestive synopsis of principles and examples. The commentary explains them very fully, and it is often learned as thoroughly as the text. Many thousands of tracts containing Christian truths written in the same style and with the same title, have been taught with good effect in the mission schools in China.[273]

The next hornbook put into the boy’s hands is the Pih Kia Sing, or ‘Century of Surnames.’ It is a list of the family or clan names commonly in use. Its acquisition also gives him familiarity with four hundred and fifty-four common words employed as names, a knowledge, too, of great importance lest mistakes be made in choosing a wrong character among the scores of homophonous characters in the language. For instance, out of eighty-three common words pronounced kí, six only are clan names, and it is necessary to have these very familiar in the daily intercourse of life. The nature of the work forbids its being studied, but the usefulness of its contents probably explains its position in this series.[274]

The third in the list is the Tsien Tsz’ Wăn, or ‘Millenary Classic,’ unique among all books in the Chinese language, and whose like could not be produced in any other, in that it consists of just a thousand characters, no two of which are alike in form or meaning. The author, Chau Hing-tsz’, flourished about A.D. 550, and according to an account given in the history of the Liang dynasty, wrote it at the Emperor’s request, who had ordered his minister Wang Hí-chí to write out a thousand characters, and give them to him, to see if he could make a connected ode with them. This he did, and presented his performance to his majesty, who rewarded him with rich presents in token of his approval. Some accounts (in order that so singular a work might not want for corresponding wonders) add that he did the task in a single night, under the fear of condign punishment if he failed, and the mental exertion was so great as to turn his hair white. It consists of two hundred and fifty lines, in which rhyme and rhythm are both carefully observed, though there is no more poetry in it than in a multiplication table. The contents of the book are similar but more discursive than those of the Trimetrical Classic. Up to the one hundred and second line, the productions of nature and virtues of the early monarchs, the power and capacities of man, his social duties and mode of conduct, with instructions as to the manner of living, are summarily treated. Thence to the one hundred and sixty-second line, the splendor of the palace, and its high dignitaries, with other illustrious persons and places, are referred to. The last part of the work treats of private and literary life, the pursuits of agriculture, household government, and education, interspersed with some exhortations, and a few illustrations. A few disconnected extracts from Dr. Bridgman’s translation[275] will show the mode in which these subjects are handled. The opening lines are,

after which it takes a survey of the world and its products, and Chinese history, in a very sententious manner, down to the thirty-seventh line, which opens a new subject.

The commentary on the Thousand Character Classic contains many just observations and curious anecdotes to explain this book, whose text is so familiar to the people at large that its lines or characters are used as labels instead of figures, as they take up less room. If Western scholars were as familiar with the acts and sayings of King Wăn, of Su Tsin, or of Kwan Chung, as they are with those of Sesostris, Pericles, or Horace, these incidents and places would naturally enough be deemed more interesting than they now are. But where the power of genius, or the vivid pictures of a brilliant imagination, are wanting to illustrate or beautify a subject, there is comparatively little to interest Europeans in the authors and statesmen of such a distant country and remote period.[276]

The fourth in this series, called Yin Hioh Shí-tieh, or ‘Odes for Children,’ is written in rhymed pentameters, and contains only thirty-four stanzas of four lines. A single extract will show its character, which is, in general, a brief description and praise of literary life, and allusion to the changes of the season, and the beauties of nature.

The examples of intelligent youth rising to the highest offices of state are numerous in all the works designed for beginners, and stories illustrative of their precocity are sometimes given in toy-books and novels. One of the most common instances is here quoted, that of Confucius and Hiang Toh, which is as well known to every Chinese as is the story of George Washington barking the cherry-tree with his hatchet to American youth.

Next in course to this rather trifling primer comes the Hiao King, or ‘Canons of Filial Duty,’ a short tractate of only 1,903 characters, which purports to be the record of a conversation held between Confucius and his disciple Tsăng Tsan on the principles of filial piety. Its authenticity has been disputed by critics, but their doubts are not shared by their countrymen, who commit it to memory as the words of the sage. The legend is that a copy was discovered in the wall of his dwelling, and compared with another secreted by Yen Chí at the burning of the books; from the two Liu Hiang chose eighteen of the chapters contained in it as alone genuine, and in this shape it has since remained. The sixth section of the Imperial Catalogue is entirely devoted to writers on the Hiao King, one of whom was Yuentsung, an emperor of the Tang dynasty (A.D. 733). Another comment was published in 32 volumes in Kanghí’s reign, discussing the whole subject in one hundred chapters. Though it does not share in critical eyes the confidence accorded to the nine classics, the brevity and subject matter of this work have commended it to teachers as one of the best books in the language to be placed in the hands of their scholars; thus its influence has been great and enduring. It has been translated by Bridgman, who regards the first six sections as the words of Confucius, while the other twelve contain his ideas. Two quotations are all that need be here given to show its character.

The highest place in the list of virtues and obligations is accorded to filial duty, not only in this, but in other writings of Confucius and those of his school. “There are,” to quote from another section, “three thousand crimes to which one or the other of the five kinds of punishment is attached as a penalty; and of these no one is greater than disobedience to parents. When ministers exercise control over the monarch, then there is no supremacy; when the maxims of the sages are set aside, then the law is abrogated; and so those who disregard filial duty are as though they had no parents. These three evils prepare the way for universal rebellion.”

This social virtue has been highly lauded by all Chinese writers, and its observance inculcated upon youth and children by precept and example. Stories are written to show the good effects of obedience, and the bad results of its contrary sin, which are put into their hands, and form also subjects for pictorial illustration, stanzas for poetry, and materials for conversation. The following examples are taken from a toy-book of this sort, called the Twenty-four Filials, one of the most popular collections on the subject.

The last book learned before entering on the classics has had almost as great an influence as any of them, and none of the works of later scholars are so well calculated to show the ideas of the Chinese in all ages upon the principles of education, intercourse of life, and rules of conduct as this; precepts are illustrated by examples, and the examples referred back to precepts for their moving cause. This is the Siao Hioh, or “Juvenile Instructor,” and was intended by Chu Hí, its author, as a counterpart of the Ta Hiao, on which he had written a commentary. It has had more than fifty commentators, one of whom says, “We confide in the Siao Hioh as we do in the gods, and revere it as we do our parents.” It is divided into two books, the “fountain of learning,” and “the stream flowing from it,” arranged in 20 chapters and 385 short sections. The first book has four parts and treats of the first principles of education; of the duties we owe our kindred, rulers, and fellow-men, of those we owe ourselves in regard to study, demeanor, food, and dress; and lastly gives numerous examples from ancient history, beginning with very early times down to the end of the Chau dynasty, B.C. 249, confirmatory of the maxims inculcated, and the good effects resulting from their observance. The second book contains, in its first part, a collection of wise sayings of eminent men who flourished after B.C. 200, succeeded by a series of examples of distinguished persons calculated to show the effects of good principles; both designed to establish the truth of the teachings of the first book. One or two quotations, themselves extracted from other works, will suffice to show something of its contents.

The great influence which these six school-books have had is owing to their formative power on youthful minds, a large proportion of whom never go beyond them (either from want of time, means, or desire), but are really here furnished with the kernel of their best literature.

The tedium of memorizing these unmeaning sounds is relieved by writing the characters on thin paper placed over copy slips. The writing and the reading lessons are the same, and both are continued for a year or two until the forms and sounds of a few thousand characters are made familiar, but no particular effort is taken to teach their meanings. It is after this that the teacher goes over the same ground, and with the help of the commentary, explains the meaning of the words and phrases one by one, until they are all understood. It is not usual for the beginner to attend much to the meaning of what he is learning to read and write, and where the labor of committing arbitrary characters is so great and irksome, experience has probably shown that it is not wise to attempt too many things at once. The boy has been familiarizing himself with their shapes as he sees them all the time around him, and he learns what they mean in a measure before he comes to school. The association of form with ideas, as he cons his lesson and writes their words, gradually strengthens, and results in that singular interdependence of the eye and ear so observable among the scholars of the far East. They trust to what is read to help in understanding what is heard much more than is the case in phonetic languages. No effort is made to facilitate the acquisition of the characters by the boys in school by arranging them according to their component parts; they are learned one by one, as boys are taught the names and appearance of minerals in a cabinet. The effects of a course of study like this, in which the powers of the tender mind are not developed by proper nourishment of truthful knowledge, can hardly be otherwise than to stunt the genius, and drill the faculties of the mind into a slavish adherence to venerated usage and dictation, making the intellects of Chinese students like the trees which their gardeners so toilsomely dwarf into pots and jars—plants, whose unnaturalness is congruous to the insipidity of their fruit.

The number of years spent at school depends upon the means of the parents. Tradesmen, mechanics, and country gentlemen endeavor to give their sons a competent knowledge of the usual series of books, so that they can creditably manage the common affairs of life. No other branches of study are pursued than the classics and histories, and what will illustrate them, meanwhile giving much care and practice to composition. No arithmetic or any department of mathematics, nothing of the geography of their own or other countries, of natural philosophy, natural history, or scientific arts, nor the study of other languages, are attended to. Persons in these classes of society put their sons into shops or counting-houses to learn the routine of business with a knowledge of figures and the style of letter-writing; they are not kept at school more than three or four years, unless they mean to compete at the examinations. Working men, desirous of giving their sons a smattering, try to keep them at their books a year or two, but millions must of course grow up in utter ignorance. It is, however, an excellent policy for a state to keep up this universal honor paid to education where the labor is so great and the return so doubtful, for it is really the homage paid to the principles taught.

Besides the common schools, there are grammar or high schools and colleges, but they are far less effective. In Canton, there are fourteen grammar schools and thirty colleges, some of which are quite ancient, but most of them are neglected. Three of the largest contain each about two hundred students and two or three professors. The chief object of these institutions is to instruct advanced scholars in composition and elegant writing; the tutors do a little to turn attention to general literature, but have neither the genius nor the means to make many advances. In rural districts students are encouraged to meet at stated times in the town-house, where the headman, or deputy of the sz’ or township, examines them on themes previously proposed by him.[280] In large towns, the local officers, assisted by the gentry and graduates, hold annual examinations of students, at which premiums are given to the best essayists. At such an examination in Amoy in March, 1845, there were about a thousand candidates, forty of whom received sums varying from sixty to sixteen cents.

One of the most notable, as well as the most ancient of collegiate institutions, is the Kwoh-tsz’ Kien, or ‘School for the Sons of the State,’ whose extensive buildings in Peking, now empty and dilapidated, show how much easier it is to found and plan a good thing than to maintain its efficiency. This state school originated as early as the Chau dynasty, and the course of study as given in the Ritual of Chau was much the same three thousand years ago as at present. Its officers consisted of a rector, usually a high minister of state, aided by five councillors, two directors, two proctors, two secretaries, a librarian, two professors in each of the six halls, and latterly five others for each of the colleges for Bannermen. These halls are named Hall of the Pursuit of Wisdom, the Sincere of Heart, of True Virtue, of Noble Aspiration, of Broad Acquirements, and the Guidance of Nature. The curriculum was not intended to go beyond the classics and the six liberal arts of music, charioteering, archery, etiquette, writing, and mathematics; but as if to encourage the professors to “seek out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven,” as Solomon advises, they were told to take their students to the original sources of strategy, astronomy, engineering, music, law, and the like, and point out the defects and merits of each author. The Kwoh-tsz’ Kien possesses now only the husk of its ancient goodness; and if its professors were not honored, and made eligible to be distinct magistrates after three years’ term, the buildings would soon be left altogether empty. Instead of reviving and rearranging it, the Chinese Government has wisely supplanted it by a new college with its new professors and new course of studies—the Tung-wăn Kwan mentioned on p. 436. Native free schools, established by benevolent persons in city or country, are not uncommon, and serve to maintain the literary spirit; some may not be very long-lived, but others take their place. In Peking, each of the Banners has its school, and so has the Imperial Clan; retired officials contribute to schools opened for boys connected with their native districts living in the capital. Such efforts to promote education are expected from those who have obtained its high prizes.

How great a proportion of the people in China can read, is a difficult question to answer, for foreigners have had no means of learning the facts in the case, and the natives never go into such inquiries. More of the men in cities can read than in the country, and more in some provinces than in others. In the district of Nanhai, which forms part of the city of Canton, an imperfect examination led to the belief that nearly all the men are able to read, except fishermen, agriculturists, coolies, boat-people, and fuelers, and that two or three in ten devote their lives to literary pursuits. In less thickly settled districts, not more than four- or five-tenths, and even less, can read. In Macao, perhaps half of the men can read. From an examination of the hospital patients at Ningpo, one of the missionaries estimated the readers to form not more than five per cent. of the men; while another missionary at the same place, who made inquiry in a higher grade of society, reckoned them at twenty per cent. The villagers about Amoy are deplorably ignorant; one lady who had lived there over twenty years, writes that she had never found a woman who could read, but these were doubtless from among the poorer classes. It appears that as one goes north, the extent and thoroughness of education diminishes. Throughout the Empire the ability to understand books is not commensurate with the ability to read the characters, and both have been somewhat exaggerated. Owing to the manner in which education is commenced—learning the forms and sounds of characters before their meanings are understood—it comes to pass that many persons can call over the names of the characters while they do not comprehend in the least the sense of what they read. They can pick out a word here and there, it may be a phrase or a sentence, but they derive no clearer meaning from the text before them than a lad, who has just learned to scan, and has proceeded half through the Latin Reader, does from reading Virgil; while in both cases an intelligent audience, unacquainted with the facts, might justly infer that the reader understood what he was reading as well as his hearers did. Moreover, in the Chinese language, different subjects demand different characters; and although a man may be well versed in the classics or in fiction, he may be easily posed by being asked to explain a simple treatise in medicine or in mathematics, in consequence of the many new or unfamiliar words on every page. This is a serious obstacle in the way of obtaining a general acquaintance with books. The mind becomes weary with the labor of study where its toil is neither rewarded by knowledge nor beguiled by wit; consequently, few Chinese are well read in their natural literature. The study of books being regarded solely as the means wherewith to attain a definite end, it follows naturally that when a cultivated man has reached his goal he should feel little disposed to turn to these implements of his profession for either instruction or pleasure.

Wealthy or official parents, who wish their sons to compete for literary honors, give them the advantages of a full course in reading and rhetoric under the best masters. Composition is the most difficult part of the training of a Chinese student, and requires unwearied application and a retentive memory. He who can most readily quote the classics, and approach the nearest to their terse, comprehensive, energetic diction and style, is, cæteris paribus, most likely to succeed; while the man who can most quickly throw off well rhythmed verses takes the palm from all competitors. In novels, the ability to compose elegant verses as fast as the pencil can fly is usually ascribed to the hero of the plot. How many of those who intend to compete for degrees attend at the district colleges or high schools is not known, but they are resorted to by students about the time of the examinations in order to make the acquaintance of those who are to compete with them. No public examinations take place in either day or private schools, nor do parents often visit them, but rewards for remarkable proficiency are occasionally conferred. There is little gradation of studies, nor are any diplomas conferred on students to show that they have gone through a certain course. Punishments are severe, and the rattan or bamboo hangs conspicuously near the master, and its liberal use is considered necessary: “To educate without rigor, shows the teacher’s indolence,” is the doctrine, and by scolding, starving, castigation, and detention, the master tries to instil habits of obedience and compel his scholars to learn their task.

Notwithstanding the high opinion in which education is held, the general diffusion of knowledge, and the respect paid to learning in comparison with mere title and wealth, the defects of the tuition here briefly described, in extent, means, purposes, and results, are very great. Such, too, must necessarily be the case until new principles and new information are infused into it. Considered in its best point of view, this system has effected all that it can in enlarging the understanding, purifying the heart, and strengthening the minds of the people; but in none of these, nor in any of the essential points at which a sound education aims (as we understand the matter), has it accomplished half that is needed. The stream never rises even as high as its source, and the teachings of Confucius and Mencius have done all that is possible to make their countrymen thinking, useful, and intelligent men.

Turn we now from this brief sketch of primary education among the Chinese, to a description of the mode of examining students and conferring the degrees which have been made the passport to office, and learn what are the real merits of the system. Persons from almost every class of society may become candidates for degrees under the certificates of securities, but none are eligible for the second diploma who have not already received the first. It therefore happens that the republican license apparently allowed to well-nigh every subject, in reality reserves the prizes for the few most talented or wealthy persons in the community. A majority of the clever, learned, ambitious, and intelligent spirits in the land look forward to these examinations as the only field worthy of their efforts, and where they are most likely to find their equals and friends. How much better for the good of society, too, is this arena than the camp or the feudal court, the tournament or the monastery!

There are four regular literary degrees, with some intermediate steps of a titular sort. The first is called siu-tsai, meaning ‘flowering talent,’ because of the promise held out of the future success of the scholar; it has often been rendered ‘bachelor of arts’ as its nearest equivalent. The examinations to obtain it are held under the supervision of the chíhien in a public building belonging to the district situated near his yamun; and the chief literary officer, called hioh-ching, ‘corrector of learning,’ or kiao-yu, ‘teacher of the commands,’ has the immediate control. When assembled at the hall of examination, the district magistrate, the deputy chancellor, and prefect, having prepared the lists of the undergraduates and selected the themes, allow only one day for writing the essays. The number of candidates depends upon the population and literary spirit of the district; in the districts of Nanhai and Pwanyu, upward of two thousand persons competed for the prize in 1832, while in Hiangshan not half so many came together. The rule for apportioning them was at first according to the annual revenue. When the essays are handed in, they are looked over by the board of examiners, and the names of the successful students entered on a roll, and pasted upon the walls of the magistrate’s hall; this honor is called hien ming, i.e., ‘having a name in the village.’ Out of the four thousand candidates referred to above, only thirteen in one district, and fourteen in the other, obtained a name in the village; the entire population of these two districts is not much under a million and a half. Many of the competitors at this primary tripos are unable to finish their essays in the day, others make errors in writing, and others show gross ignorance, all of which so greatly diminish their numbers, that only those who stand near the head of the list of hien ming do really or usually enter on the next trial before the prefect. But all have had an equal chance, and few complain that their performances were disregarded, for they can try as often as they please.

Those who pass the first examination are entered as candidates for the second, which takes place in the chief town of the department before the literary chancellor and the prefect, assisted by a literary magistrate called kiao-shao, ‘giver of instructions;’ it is more rigorous than that held before the chíhien, though similar to it in nature. The prefect arranges the candidates from each district by themselves according to their standing on their several lists, and it is this vantage ground which makes the first trial in one’s native place so important to the ambitious scholar. The themes on which they have tested their scholarship are published for the information of friends and the other examiners. If the proportion given above of successful candidates at the district examinations hold for each district, there would not be more than two hundred students assembled at the prefect’s hall, but the number is somewhat increased by persons who have purchased the privilege; still the second trial is made among a small number in proportion to the first, and yet more trifling when compared with the amount of population. The names of the successful students at the second trial are exposed on the walls of the office, which is called fu ming, i.e., ‘having a name in the department,’ and these only are eligible as candidates for the third trial. In addition to their knowledge of the classics, the candidates at this trial are often required to write off the text of the Shing Yu, or ‘Sacred Edict,’ from memory, as this work consists of maxims for the guidance of officers. The literary chancellor exercises a superintendence over the previous examinations, and makes the circuit of the province to attend them in each department, twice in three years. There are various ranks among these educational officials, corresponding to the civilians in the province; transfers are occasionally made from one service to the other, and the oversight of the latter is always given at the examinations wherever they are held. Most of the literary officers, however, remain in their own line, as it is highly honorable and more permanent. At the third trial in the provincial capital, he confers the first degree of siu-tsai upon those who are chosen out of the whole list as the best scholars.

There are several classes of bachelors, depending somewhat on the manner in which they obtained their degree; those who get it in the manner here described take the precedence. The possession of this degree protects the person from corporeal punishment, raises him above the common people, renders him a conspicuous man in his native place, and eligible to enter the triennial examination for the second degree. Those who have more money than learning, purchase this degree for sums varying from $200 up to $1,000, and even higher; in later years, according to the necessities of the government, diplomas have been sold as low as $25 to $50, but such men seldom rise. They are called kien-săng, and, as might be supposed, are looked upon somewhat contemptuously by those who have passed through the regular examinations, and “won the battle with their own lance.” A degree called kung-săng is purchased by or bestowed upon the siu-tsai, but is so generally recognized that it has almost become a fifth degree, which does not entitle them to the full honors of a kü-jin. What proportion of scholars are rewarded by degrees is not known, but it is a small number compared with the candidates. A graduate of considerable intelligence at Ningpo estimated the number of siu-tsai in that city at four hundred, and in the department at nearly a thousand. In Canton City, the number of shin-kin, or gentry, who are allowed to wear the sash of honor, and have obtained literary degrees, is not over three hundred; but in the whole province there are about twelve thousand bachelors in a population of nineteen millions. Those who have not become siu-tsai are still regarded as under the oversight of the kiao-yu and others of his class, who still receive their essays; but the body of provincial siu-tsai are obliged to report themselves and attend the prefectural tripos before the chancellor, under penalty of losing all the privileges and rank obtained. This law brings them before those who may take cognizance of misdeeds, for these men are often very oppressive and troublesome to their countrymen. The graduates in each district are placed under the control of a chief, whose power is almost equal to the deputy chancellor’s; from them are taken the two securities required by each applicant to enter the tripos.

The candidates for siu-tsai are narrowly examined when they enter the hall, their pockets, shoes, wadded robes, and ink-stones, all being searched, lest precomposed essays or other aids to composition be smuggled in. When they are all seated in the hall in their proper places, the wickets, doors, windows, and other entrances are all guarded, and pasted over with strips of paper. The room is filled with anxious competitors arranged in long seats, pencil in hand, and ready to begin. The theme is given out, and every one immediately writes off his essay, carefully noting how many characters he erases in composing it, and hands it up to the board of examiners; the whole day is allotted to the task, and a signal-gun announces the hour when the doors are thrown open, and the students can disperse. A man is liable to lose his acquired honor of siu-tsai if at a subsequent inspection he is found to have discarded his studies, and he is therefore impelled to pursue them in order to maintain his influence, even if he does not reach the next degree.[281]

Since the first degree is sometimes procured by influence and money, it is the examination for the second, called kü-jin, or ‘promoted men,’ held triennially in the provincial capitals before two imperial commissioners, that separates the candidates into students and officers, though all the students who receive a diploma by no means become officers. This examination is held at the same time in all the eighteen provincial capitals, viz., on the 9th, 12th, and 15th days of the eighth moon, or about the middle of September; while it is going on, the city appears exceedingly animated, in consequence of the great number of relatives and friends assembled with the students. The persons who preside at the examination, besides the imperial commissioners, are ten provincial officers, with the futai at their head, who jointly form a board of examiners, and decide upon the merits of the essays. The number of candidates who entered the lists at Canton in the years 1828 and 1831 was 4,800; in 1832 there were 6,000, which is nearer the usual number. In the largest provinces it reaches as many as 7,000, 8,000, and upward.

INTERIOR OF KUNG YUEN, OR ‘EXAMINATION HALL,’ PEKING.

Previous to entering the Kung Yuen, each candidate has given in all the necessary proofs and particulars, which entitle him to a cell, and receives the ticket which designates the one he is to occupy. He enters the night before, and is searched to see that no manuscript essay, “skinning paper,” or miniature edition of the classics, is secreted on his person. If anything of the sort is discovered, he is punished with the cangue, degraded from his first degree, and forbidden again to compete at the examination; his father and tutor are likewise punished. Some of the pieces written for this purpose are marvels of penmanship, and the most finished compositions; one set contained an essay on every sentence in the Four Books, each of the sheets covered with hundreds of characters, and the paper so thin that they could be easily read through it. The practice is, however, quite common, notwithstanding the penalties, and one censor requested a law to be passed forbidding small editions to be printed, and booksellers’ shops to be searched for them.

The general arrangement of the examination halls in all the provincial capitals is alike. A description of that at Canton, given on page 166, is typical of them all.

The Hall at Peking, situated on the eastern side, not far from the observatory, contains ten thousand cells, and these do not always suffice for the host which assembles. The Hall at Fuhchau is equally large; each cell is a little higher than a man’s head, and is open on but one side—letting in more rain and wind during inclement days than is comfortable. Confinement in these cramped cells is so irksome as to frequently cause the death of aged students, who are unable to sustain the fatigue, but who still enter the arena in hopes of at last succeeding. Cases have occurred where father, son, and grandson, appeared at the same time to compete for the same prize. Dr. Martin[282] found that out of a list of ninety-nine successful competitors for the second degree, sixteen were over forty years of age, one sixty-two, and one eighty-three. The average age of the whole number was over thirty—while in comparison with like statistics for the third degree, a proportionate increase might be looked for. The unpleasantness of the strait cell is much increased by the smoke arising from the cooking, and by the heat of the weather. All servants are provided by government, but each candidate takes in the rice and fuel which he needs, together with cakes, tea, candles, bedding, etc., as he can afford; no one can go in with him. The enclosure presents a bustling scene during the examination, and its interest intensifies until the names of the successful scholars are published. Should a student die in his cell, the body is pulled through a hole made in the wall of the enclosure, and left there for his friends to carry away. Whenever a candidate breaks any of the prescribed regulations of the contest, his name and offence are reported, and his name is “pasted out” by placarding it on the outer door of the hall, after which he is not allowed to enter until another examination comes around. More than a hundred persons are thus “pasted out” each season, but no heavy disgrace seems to attach to them in consequence.

On the first day after the doors have been sealed up, four themes are selected by the examiners from the Four Books, one of which subjects must be discussed in a poetical essay. The minimum length of the compositions is a hundred characters, and they must be written plainly and elegantly, and sent in without any names attached. In 1828, the acumen of four thousand eight hundred candidates was exercised during the first day on these themes: “Tsăng-tsz’ said, ‘To possess ability, and yet ask of those who do not; to know much, and yet inquire of those who know little; to possess, and yet appear not to possess; to be full, and yet appear empty.’”—“He took hold of things by the two extremes, and in his treatment of the people maintained the golden medium.”—“A man from his youth studies eight principles, and when he arrives at manhood, he wishes to reduce them to practice.”—The fourth essay, to be written in pentameters, had for its subject, “The sound of the oar, and the green of the hills and water.” Among the themes given out in 1843, were these: “He who is sincere will be intelligent, and the intelligent man will be faithful.”—“In carrying out benevolence, there are no rules.” In 1835, one was, “He acts as he ought, both to the common people and official men, receives his revenue from Heaven, and by it is protected and highly esteemed.” Among other more practical texts are the following: “Fire-arms began with the use of rockets in the Chau dynasty; in what book do we first meet with the word for cannon? Is the defence of Kaifung fu its first recorded use? Kublai khan, it is said, obtained cannon of a new kind; from whom did he obtain them? When the Ming Emperors, in the reign of Yungloh, invaded Cochinchina, they obtained a kind of cannon called the weapons of the gods; can you give an account of their origin?”

The three or five themes (for the number seems to be optional) selected from the Five Classics are similar to these, but as those works are regarded as more recondite than the Four Books, so must the essayists try to take a higher style. An officer goes around to gather in the papers, which are first handed to a body of scholars in waiting, who look them over to see if the prescribed rules have all been observed, and reject those which infringe them. The rest are then copied in red ink, to prevent recognition of the handwriting, and the original manuscripts given to the governor. The copies are submitted to another class of old scholars for their criticism, each of whom marks the essays he deems best with a red circle, and these only are placed in the hands of the chancellors sent from Peking for their decision. The examining board are aided by twelve scholars of repute, to each of whom forty or fifty essays are given to read. The students are dismissed during the night of the ninth day, and reassemble before sunrise of the eleventh; all whose essays were rejected on the first review are refused entrance to their cells. At the second tripos, five themes are given out from the Five Classics, and everything proceeds as before in respect to the disposal of the manuscripts. The students are liberated early on the thirteenth as before by companies, under a salute and music as they leave the great door; their number has been much reduced by this time. On the next morning the roll is called, and those who answer to their names for the last struggle are furnished with five themes for essays, one for poetry, taken from the classics or histories, upon doubtful matters of government, or such problems as might arise in law and finance. These questions take even a more extended range, including topics relating to the laws, history, geography, and customs of the Empire in former times, doubtful points touching the classical works, and the interpretation of obscure passages, and biographical notices of statesmen. It is forbidden, however, to discuss any points relating to the policy of the present family, or the character and learning of living statesmen; but the conduct of their rulers is now and then alluded to by the candidates. Manuals of questions on such subjects as candidates are examined in, are commonly exposed for sale in shops about the time of these examinations.[283] By noon of the sixteenth day of the eighth moon, all the candidates throughout the Empire have left their halls, and the examination is over.

The manner in which subjects are handled may be readily illustrated by introducing an essay upon this theme: “When persons in high stations are sincere in the performance of relative and domestic duties, the people generally will be stimulated to the practice of virtue.” It is a fair specimen of the jejune style of Chinese essayists, and the mode of reasoning in a circle which pervades their writings.

The discipline of mind and memory which these examinations draw out furnishes a grade of intellect which only needs the friction and experience of public life to make statesmen out of scholars, and goes far to account for the influence of Chinese in Asia. The books studied in preparation for such trials must be remembered with extraordinary accuracy, though we may wish they contained more truth and better science. The following are among the questions proposed in 1853, and must be taken as an average: “In the Han dynasty, there were three commentators on the Yih King, whose explanations, and divisions into chapters and sentences were all different: can you give an account of them?”—“Sz’ma Tsien took the classics and ancient records in arranging his history according to their facts; some have accused him of unduly exalting the Taoists and thinking too highly of wealth and power. Pan Ku is clear and comprehensive, but on Astronomy and the Five Elements, he has written more than enough. Give examples and proof of these two statements.”—“Chin Shao had admirable abilities for historical writings. In his San Kwoh Chí he has depreciated Chu-koh Liang, and made very light of Í and Í, two other celebrated characters. What does he say of them?” This kind of question involves a wide range of reading within the native literature, though it of course contracts the mind to look upon that literature as containing all that is worth anything in the world.

Twenty-five days are allowed for the examining board to decide on the essays; and few tasks can be instanced more irksome to a board of honest examiners than the perusal of between fifty and seventy-five thousand papers on a dozen subjects, through which the most monotonous uniformity must necessarily run, and out of which they have to choose the seventy or eighty best—for the number of successful candidates cannot vary far from this, according to the size of the province. The examiners, as has already been described, are aided by literary men in sifting this mass of papers, which relieves them of most of the labor, and secures a better decision. If the number of students be five thousand, and each writes thirteen essays, there will be sixty-five thousand papers, which allots two hundred and sixty essays for each of the ten examiners. With the help of the assistants who are intrusted with their examination, most of the essays obtain a reading, no doubt, by some qualified scholar. There is, therefore, no little sifting and selection, so that when at the last the commissioners choose three rolls of essays and poems from each of the sessions belonging to the same scholar, to pass their final judgment, the company of candidates likely to succeed has been reduced as small in proportion as those in Gideon’s host who lapped water. One of the examining committee, in 1832, who sought to invigorate his nerves or clear his intellect for the task by a pipe of opium, fell asleep in consequence, and on awaking, found that many of the essays had caught fire and been consumed. It is generally supposed that hundreds of them are unread, but the excitement of the occasion, and the dread on the part of the examining board to irritate the body of students, act as checks against gross omissions. Very trivial errors are enough to condemn an essay, especially if the examiners have not been gained to look upon it kindly. Section LII. of the code regulates the conduct of the examiners, but the punishments are slight. One candidate, whose essay had been condemned without being read, printed it, which led to the punishment of the examiner, degradation of the graduate, and promulgation of a law forbidding this mode of appealing to the public. Another essay was rejected because the writer had abbreviated a single character.

When the names of the successful wranglers are known, they are published by a crier at midnight, on or before the tenth of the ninth moon; at Canton, he mounts the highest tower, and, after a salute, announces them to the expectant city; the next morning, lists of the lucky scholars are hawked about the streets, and rapidly sent to all parts of the province. The proclamation which contains their names is pasted upon the governor’s office under a salute of three guns; his excellency comes out and bows three times towards the names of the promoted men, and retires under another salute. The disappointed multitude must then rejoice in the success of the few, and solace themselves with the hope of better luck next time; while the successful ones are honored and feasted in a very distinguished manner, and are the objects of flattering attention from the whole city. On an appointed day, the governors, commissioners, and high provincial officers banquet them all at the futai’s palace; inferior officers attend as servants, and two lads, fantastically dressed, and holding fragrant branches of the olive (Olea fragrans) in their hands grace the scene with this symbol of literary attainments. The number of A.M., licentiates, or kü-jin, who triennially receive their degrees in the Empire, is upwards of thirteen hundred: the expense of the examinations to the government in various ways, including the presents conferred on the graduates, can hardly be less than a third of a million of taels. Besides the triennial examinations, special ones are held every ten years, and on extraordinary occasions, as a victory, a new reign, or an imperial marriage. One was granted in 1835 because the Empress-dowager had reached her sixtieth year.

The third degree of tsin-sz’, ‘entered scholars,’ or doctors, is conferred triennially at Peking upon the successful licentiates who compete for it, and only those among the kü-jin, who have not already taken office, are eligible as candidates. On application at the provincial treasury, they are entitled to a part of their travelling expenses to court, but it doubtless requires some interest to get the mileage granted, for many poor scholars are detained from the metropolitan examination, or must beg or borrow in order to reach it. The procedure on this trial is the same as in the provinces, but the examiners are of higher rank; the themes are taken from the same works, and the essays are but little else than repetitions of the same train of thought and argument. After the degrees are conferred upon all who are deemed worthy, which varies from one hundred and fifty to four hundred each time, the doctors are introduced to the Emperor, and do him reverence, the three highest receiving rewards from him. At this examination, candidates, instead of being promoted, are occasionally degraded from their acquired standing for incompetency, and forbidden to appear at them again. The graduates are all inscribed upon the list of candidates for promotion, by the Board of Civil Office, to be appointed on the first vacancy; most of them do in fact enter on official life in some way or other by attaching themselves to high dignitaries, or getting employment in some of the departments at the capital. One instance is recorded of a student taking all the degrees within nine months; and some become hanlin before entering office. Others try again and again, till gray hairs compel them to retire. There are many subordinate offices in the Academy, the Censorate, or the Boards, which seem almost to have been instituted for the employment of graduates, whose success has given them a partial claim upon the country. The Emperor sometimes selects clever graduates to prepare works for the use of government, or nominates them upon special literary commissions;[284] it can easily be understood that no small address in managing and appeasing such a crowd of disciplined active minds is required on the part of the bureaucracy, and only the long experience of many generations of the graduates could suffice to keep the system so vigorous as it is.

The fourth and highest degree of hanlin is rather an office than a degree, for those who attain it are enrolled as members of the Imperial Academy, and receive salaries. The triennial examination for this distinction is held in the Emperor’s palace, and is conducted on much the same plan as all preceding ones, though being in the presence of the highest personages in the Empire, it exceeds them in honor.[285] Manchus and Mongols compete at these trials with the Chinese, but many facts show that the former are generally favored at the expense of the latter; the large proportion of men belonging to these races filling high offices indicates who are the rulers of the land. The candidates are all examined at Peking; one instance is recorded of a Chinese who passed himself off for a Manchu, but afterward confessed the dissimulation; the head of the division was tried in consequence of his oversight. It is the professed policy of the government to discourage literary pursuits among them, in order to maintain the ancient energy of the race; but where the real power is lodged in the hands of civilians, it is impossible to prevent so powerful a component of the population from competing with the others for its possession.

The present dynasty introduced examinations and gradations among the troops on the same principles as obtain in the civil service; nothing more strikingly proves the power of literary pursuits in China, than this vain attempt to harmonize the profession of arms in all its branches with them. Their enemies were, however, no better disciplined and equipped than they themselves were. Candidates for the first degree present themselves before the district magistrate, with proper testimonials and securities. On certain days they are collected on the parade-grounds, and exhibit their skill in archery (on foot and in the saddle), in wielding swords and lifting weights, graduated to test their muscle. The successful men are assembled afterward before the prefect; and again at a third trial before the literary chancellor, who at the last tripos tests them on their literary attainments, before giving them their degrees of siu-tsai. The number of successful military siu-tsai is the same as the literary. They are triennially called together by the governor at the provincial capital to undergo further examination for kü-jin in four successive trials of the same nature. These occasions are usually great gala days, and three or four scores of young warriors who carry off prizes at these tournaments receive honors and degrees in much the same style as their literary compeers. The trials for the highest degree are held at Peking; and the long-continued efforts in this service generally obtain for the young men posts in the body-guard of the governors or staff appointments. The forty-nine successful candidates out of several thousands at the triennial examination for kü-jin in Canton, November, 1832, all hit the target on foot six times successively, and on horseback six times; once with the arrow they hit a ball lying on the ground as they passed it at a gallop; and all were of the first class in wielding the iron-handled battle-axe, and lifting the stone-loaded beam. The candidates are all persons of property, who find their own horses, dresses, arms, etc., and are handsomely dressed, the horses, trimmings, and accoutrements in good order—the arrows being without barbs, to prevent accidents. One observer says, “the marks at which they fired, covered with white paper, were about the height of a man and somewhat wider, placed at intervals of fifty yards; the object was to strike these marks successively with their three arrows, the horses being kept at full speed. Although the bull’s-eye was not always hit, the target was never missed: the distance did not exceed fifteen or twenty feet.”[286]

Since military honors depend so entirely on personal skill, it may partly account for the inferior rank the graduates hold in comparison with civilians. No knowledge of tactics, gunnery, engineering, fortifications, or even letters in general, seems to be required of them; and this explains the inefficiency of the army, and the low estimation its officers are held in. Sir J. Davis mentions one military officer of enormous size and strength, whom he saw on the Pei ho, who had lately been promoted for his personal prowess; and speaks of another attached to the guard on one of the boats, who was such a foolish fellow that none of the civilians would associate with him.[287] All the classes eligible to civil promotion can enter the lists for military honors; the Emperor is present at the examination for the highest, and awards prizes, such as a cap decorated with a peacock’s feather; but no system of prizes or examinations can supply the want of knowledge and courage. Military distinctions not being much sought by the people, and conferring but little emolument or power, do not stand as high in public estimation as the present government wishes. The selection of officers for the naval service is made from the land force, and a man is considered quite as fit for that branch after his feats of archery, as if the trials had been in yacht-sailing or manning the yards.

Such is the outline of the system of examinations through which the civil and military services of the Chinese government are supplied, and the only part of their system not to be paralleled in one or other of the great monarchies of past or present times; though the counterpart of this may have also existed in ancient Egypt. “It is the only one of their inventions,” as has been remarked, “which is perhaps worth preserving, and has not been adopted by other countries, and carried to greater perfection than they were equal to.” But such a system would be unnecessary in an enlightened Christian country, where the people, pursuing study for its own sake, are able and willing to become as learned as their rulers desire without any such inducement. Nor would they submit to the trammels and trickery attendant on competition for office; the ablest politicians are by no means found among the most learned scholars. The honor and power of official position have proved to be ample stimulus and reward for years of patient study. Not one in a score of graduates ever obtains an office, not one in a hundred of competitors ever gets a degree; but they all belong to the literary class, and share in its influence, dignity, and privileges. Moreover, these books render not only those who get the prizes well acquainted with the true principles on which power should be exercised, but the whole nation—gentry and commoners—know them also. These unemployed literati form a powerful middle class, whose members advise the work-people, who have no time to study, and aid their rulers in the management of local affairs. Their intelligence fits them to control most of the property, while few acquire such wealth as gives them the power to oppress. They make the public opinion of the country, now controlling it, then cramping it; alternately adopting or resisting new influences, and sometimes successfully thwarting the acts of officials, when the rights of the people are in danger of encroachment; or at other times combining with the authorities to repress anarchy or relieve suffering.

This class has no badge of rank, and is open to every man’s highest talent and efforts, but its complete neutralization of hereditary rights, which would have sooner or later made a privileged oligarchy and a landed or feudal aristocracy, proves its vitalizing, democratic influence. It has saved the Chinese people from a second disintegration into numerous kingdoms, by the sheer force of instruction in the political rights and duties taught in the classics and their commentaries. While this system put all on equality, human nature, as we know, has no such equality. At its inception it probably met general support from all classes, because of its fitness for the times, and soon the resistance of multitudes of hopeful students against its abrogation and their consequent disappointment in their life-work aided its continuance. As it is now, talent, wealth, learning, influence, paternal rank, and intrigue, each and all have full scope for their greatest efforts in securing the prizes. If these prizes had been held by a tenure as slippery as they are at present in the American Republic, or obtainable only by canvassing popular votes, the system would surely have failed, for “the game would not have been worth the candle.” But in China the throne gives a character of permanency to the government, which opposes all disorganizing tendencies, and makes it for the interest of every one in office to strengthen the power which gave it to him. This loyalty was remarkably shown in the recent rebellion, in which, during the eighteen years of that terrible carnage and ruin, not one imperial official voluntarily joined the Tai-pings, while hundreds died resisting them.

There is no space here for further extracts from the classics which will adequately show their character. They would prove that Chinese youth, as well as those in Christian lands, are taught a higher standard of conduct than they follow. The former are, however, drilled in the very best moral books the language affords; if the Proverbs of Solomon and the New Testament were studied as thoroughly in our schools as the Four Books are in China, our young men would be better fitted to act their part as good and useful citizens.

In this way literary pursuits have taken precedence of warlike, and no unscrupulous Cæsar or Napoleon has been able to use the army for his own aggrandizement. The army of China is contemptible, certainly, if compared with those of Western nations, and its use is rather like a police, whose powers of protection or oppression are exhibited according to the tempers of those who employ them. But in China the army has not been employed, as it was by those great captains, to destroy the institutions on which it rests; though its weakness and want of discipline often make it a greater evil than good to the people. But had the military waxed strong and efficient, it would certainly have become a terror in the hands of ambitious monarchs, a drain on the resources of the land, perhaps a menace to other nations, or finally a destroyer of its own. The officials were taught, when young, what to honor in their rulers; and, now that they hold those stations, they learn that discreet, upright magistrates do receive reward and promotion, and experience has shown them that peace and thrift are the ends and evidence of good government, and the best tests of their own fitness for office.

Another observable result of this republican method of getting the best-educated men into office is the absence of any class of slaves or serfs among the population. Slavery exists in a modified form of corporeal mortgage for debt, and thousands remain in this serfdom for life through one reason or another. But the destruction of a feudal baronage involved the extinction of its correlative, a villein class, and the oppression of poor debtors, as was the case in Rome under the consuls. Only freemen are eligible to enter the concours, but the percentage of slaves is too small to influence the total. To this cause, too, may, perhaps, to a large degree, be ascribed the absence of anything like caste, which has had such bad effects in India.

The system could not be transplanted; it is fitted for the genius of the Chinese, and they have become well satisfied with its workings. Its purification would do great good, doubtless, if the mass of the people are to be left in their present state of ignorance, but their elevation in knowledge would, ere long, revolutionize the whole. There can be no doubt as to the important and beneficial results it has accomplished, with all its defects, in perpetuating and strengthening the system of government, and securing to the people a more equitable and vigorous body of magistrates than they could get in any other way. It offers an honorable career to the most ambitious, talented, or turbulent spirits in the country, which demands all their powers; and by the time they enter upon office, those aspirations and powers have been drilled and molded into useful service, and are ever after devoted to the maintenance of the system they might otherwise have wrecked. Most of the real benefits of Chinese education and this system of examinations are reached before the conferment of the degree of kü-jin. These consist in diffusing a general respect and taste for letters among the people; in calling out the true talent of the country to the notice of the rulers in an honorable path of effort; in making all persons so thoroughly acquainted with the best moral books in the language that they cannot fail to exercise some salutary restraint; in elevating the general standard of education so much that every man is almost compelled to give his son a little learning in order that he may get along in life; and finally, through all these influences, powerfully contributing to uphold the existing institutions of the Empire.

From the intimate knowledge thus obtained of the writings of their best minds, Chinese youth learn the principles of democratic rule as opposed to personal authority; and from this instruction it has resulted that no monarch has ever been able to use a standing army to enslave the people, or seize the proceeds of their industry for his own selfish ends. Nothing in Chinese politics is more worthy of notice than the unbounded reverence for the Emperor, while each man resists unjust taxation, and joins in killing or driving away oppressive officials. Educated men form the only aristocracy in the land; and the attainment of the first degree, by introducing its owner into the class of gentry, is considered ample compensation for all the expense and study spent in getting it. On the whole, it may safely be asserted that these examinations have done more to maintain the stability, and explain the continuance, of the Chinese government than any other single cause.

The principal defects and malversations in the system can soon be shown. Some are inherent, but others rather prove the badness of the material than of the system and its harmonious workings. One great difficulty in the way of the graduated students attaining office according to their merits is the favor shown to those who can buy nominal and real honors. Two censors, in 1822, laid a document before his Majesty, in which the evils attendant on selling office are shown; viz., elevating priests, highwaymen, merchants, and other unworthy or uneducated men, to responsible stations, and placing insurmountable difficulties in the way of hard-working, worthy students reaching the reward of their toil. They state that the plan of selling offices commenced during the Han dynasty, but speak of the greater disgrace attendant upon the plan at the present time, because the avails all go into the privy purse instead of being applied to the public service; they recommend, therefore, a reduction in the disbursements of the imperial establishment. Among the items mentioned by these oriental Joseph Humes, which they consider extravagant, are a lac of taels (100,000) for flowers and rouge in the seraglio, and 120,000 in salaries to waiting-boys; two lacs were expended on the gardens of Yuenming, and almost half a million of taels upon the parks at Jeh ho, while the salaries to officers and presents to women at Yuenming were over four lacs. “If these few items of expense were abolished,” they add, “there would be a saving of more than a million of taels of useless expenditure; talent might be brought forward to the service of the country, and the people’s wealth be secured.”

In consequence of the extensive sale of offices, they state that more than five thousand tsin-sz’ doctors, and more than twenty-seven thousand kü-jin licentiates, are waiting for employment; and those first on the list obtained their degrees thirty years ago, so that the probability is that when at last employed, they will be too old for service, and be declared superannuated in the first examination of official merits and demerits. The rules to be observed at the regular examinations are strict, but no questions are asked the buyers of office; and they enter, too, on their duties as soon as the money is paid. The censors quote three sales, whose united proceeds amounted to a quarter of a million of taels, and state that the whole income from this source for twenty years was only a few lacs. Examples of the flagitious conduct of these purse-proud magistrates are quoted in proof of the bad results of the plan. “Thus the priest Siang Yang, prohibited from holding office, bought his way to one; the intendant at Ningpo, from being a mounted highwayman, bought his way to office; besides others of the vilest parentage. But the covetousness and cruelty of these men are denominated purity and intelligence; they inflict severe punishments, which make the people terrified, and their superiors point them out as possessing decision: these are our able officers!”

After animadverting on the general practice “of all officers, from governor-generals down to village magistrates, combining to gain their purposes by hiding the truth from the sovereign,” and specifying the malversations of Tohtsin, the premier, in particular, they close their paper with a protestation of their integrity. “If your Majesty deems what we have now stated to be right, and will act thereon in the government, you will realize the designs of the souls of your sacred ancestors; and the army, the nation, and the poor people, will have cause for gladness of heart. Should we be subjected to the operation of the hatchet, or suffer death in the boiling caldron, we will not decline it.”

These censors place the proceeds of “button scrip” far too low, for in 1826, the sale produced about six millions of taels, and was continued at intervals during the three following years. In 1831, one of the sons of Howqua was created a kü-jin by patent for having subscribed nearly fifty thousand dollars to repair the dikes near Canton; and upon another was conferred the rank and title of “director of the salt monopoly” for a lac of taels toward the war in Turkestan. Neither of these persons ever held any office of power, nor probably did they expect it; and such may be the case with many of those who are satisfied with the titles and buttons, feathers and robes, which their money procures. The sale of office is rather accepted as a State necessity which does not necessarily bring tyrants upon the bench; but when, as was the case in 1863, Peiching, head of the Examining Board at Peking, fraudulently issued two or three diplomas, his execution vindicated the law, and deterred similar tampering with the life-springs of the system. During the present dynasty, military men have been frequently appointed to magistracies, and the detail of their offices intrusted to needy scholars, which has tended, still further, to disgust and dishearten the latter from resorting to the literary arena.

The language itself of the Chinese, which has for centuries aided in preserving their institutions and strengthening national homogeneity amid so many local varieties of speech, is now rather in the way of their progress, and may be pointed to as another unfortunate feature which infects this system of education and examination; for it is impossible for a native to write a treatise on grammar about another language in his own tongue, through which another Chinese can, unaided, learn to speak that language. This people have, therefore, no ready means of learning the best thoughts of foreign minds. Such being the case, the ignorance of their first scholars as regards other races, ages, and lands has been their misfortune far more than their fault, and they have suffered the evils of their isolation. One has been an utter ignorance of what would have conferred lasting benefit resulting from the study of outside conceptions of morals, science, and politics. Inasmuch as neither geography, natural history, mathematics, nor the history or languages of other lands forms part of the curriculum, these men, trained alone in the classics, have naturally grown up with distorted views of their own country. The officials are imbued with conceit, ignorance, and arrogance as to its power, resources, and comparative influence, and are helpless when met by greater skill or strength. However, these disadvantages, great as they are and have been, have mostly resulted naturally from their secluded position, and are rapidly yielding to the new influences which are acting upon government and people. To one contemplating this startling metamorphosis, the foremost wish, indeed, must be that these causes do not disintegrate their ancient economies too fast for the recuperation and preservation of whatever is good therein.

Another evil is the bribery practised to attain the degrees. By certain signs placed on the essays, the examiner can easily pick out those he is to approve; $8,000 was said to be the price of a bachelor’s degree in Canton, but this sum is within the reach of few out of the six thousand candidates. The poor scholars sell their services to the rich, and for a certain price will enter the hall of examination, and personate their employer, running the risk and penalties of a disgraceful exposure if detected; for a less sum they will drill them before examination, or write the essays entirely, which the rich booby must commit to memory. The purchase of forged diplomas is another mode of obtaining a graduate’s honors, which, from some discoveries made at Peking, is so extensively practised, that when this and other corruptions are considered, it is surprising that any person can be so eager in his studies, or confident of his abilities, as ever to think he can get into office by them alone. In 1830, the Gazette contained some documents showing that an inferior officer, aided by some of the clerks in the Board of Revenue, during the successive superintendence of twenty presidents of the Board had sold twenty thousand four hundred and nineteen forged diplomas; and in the province of Nganhwui, the writers in the office attached to the Board of Revenue had carried on the same practice for four years, and forty-six persons in that province were convicted of possessing them. All the principal criminals convicted at this time were sentenced to decapitation, but these cases are enough to show that the real talent of the country does not often find its way into the magistrate’s seat without the aid of money; nor is it likely that the tales of such delinquencies often appear in the Gazette. Literary chancellors also sell bachelors’ degrees to the exclusion of deserving poor scholars; the office of the hiohching of Kiangsí was searched in 1828 by a special commission, and four lacs of taels found in it; he hung himself to avoid further punishment, as did also the same dignitary in Canton in 1833, as was supposed, for a similar cause. It is in this way, no doubt, that the ill-gotten gains of most officers return to the general circulation.

Notwithstanding these startling corruptions, which seem to involve the principle on which the harmony and efficiency of the whole machinery of state stand, it cannot be denied, judging from the results, that the highest officers of the Chinese government do possess a very respectable rank of talent and knowledge, and carry on the unwieldy machine with a degree of integrity, patriotism, industry, and good order which shows that the leading minds in it are well chosen. The person who has originally obtained his rank by a forged diploma, or by direct purchase, cannot hope to rise or to maintain even his first standing, without some knowledge and parts. One of the three commissioners whom Kíying associated with himself in his negotiations with the American minister in 1844, was a supernumerary chíhien of forbidding appearance, who could hardly write a common document, but it was easy to see the low estimation the ignoramus was held in. It may therefore be fairly inferred that enough large prizes are drawn to incite successive generations of scholars to compete for them, and thus to maintain the literary spirit of the people. At these examinations the superior minds of the country are brought together in large bodies, and thus they learn each others views, and are able to check official oppressions with something like a public opinion. In Peking the concourse of several thousands, from the remotest provinces, to compete at or assist in the triennial examinations, exerts a great and healthy influence upon their rulers and themselves. Nothing like it ever has been seen in any other metropolis.

The enjoyment of no small degree of power and influence in their native village, is also to be considered in estimating the rewards of studious toil, whether the student get a diploma or not; and this local consideration is the most common reward attending the life of a scholar. In those villages where no governmental officer is specially appointed, such men are almost sure to become the headmen and most influential persons in the very spot where a Chinese loves to be distinguished. Graduates are likewise allowed to erect flag-staffs, or put up a red sign over the door of their houses showing the degree they have obtained, which is both a harmless and gratifying reward of study; like the additions of Cantab. or Oxon., D.D. or LL.D., to their owner’s names in other lands.

The fortune attending the unsuccessful candidates is various. Thousands of them get employment as school-teachers, pettifogging notaries, and clerks in the public offices, and others who are rich return to their families. Some are reduced by degrees to beggary, and resort to medicine, fortune-telling, letter-writing, and other such shifts to eke out a living. Many turn their attention to learning the modes of drawing up deeds and forms used in dealings regarding property; others look to aiding military men in their duties, and a few turn authors, and thus in one way or another contrive to turn their learning to account.

During the period of the examinations, when the students are assembled in the capital, the officers of government are careful not to irritate them by punishment, or offend their esprit de corps, but rather, by admonitions and warnings, induce them to set a good example. The personal reputation of the officer himself has much to do with the influence he exerts over the students, and whether they will heed his caveats. One of the examiners in Chehkiang, irritated by the impertinence of a bachelor, who presumed upon his immunity from corporeal chastisement, twisted his ears to teach him better manners; soon after, the student and two others of equal degree were accused before the same magistrate for a libel, and one of them beaten forty strokes upon his palms. At the ensuing examination, ten of the siu-tsai, indignant at this unauthorized treatment, refused to appear, and all the candidates, when they saw who was to preside, dispersed immediately. In his memorial upon the matter, the governor-general recommends both this officer, and another one who talked much about the affair and produced a great effect upon the public mind, to be degraded, and the bachelors to be stripped of their honors. A magistrate of Honan, having punished a student with twenty blows, the assembled body of students rose and threw their caps on the ground, and walked off, leaving him alone. The prefect of Canton, in 1842, having become obnoxious to the citizens from the part he took in ransoming the city when surrounded by the British forces, the students refused to receive him as their examiner, and when he appeared in the hall to take his seat, drove him out of the room by throwing their ink-stones at him; he soon after resigned his station. Perhaps the siu-tsai are more impatient than the kü-jin from being better acquainted with each other, and being examined by local officers, while the kü-jin are overawed by the rank of the commissioners, and, coming from distant parts of a large province, have little mutual sympathy or acquaintance. The examining boards, however, take pains to avoid displeasing any gathering of graduates.

We have seen, then, in what has been of necessity a somewhat cursory resumé, the management and extent of an institution which has opened the avenues of rank to all, by teaching candidates how to maintain the principles of liberty and equality they had learned from their oft-quoted ‘ancients.’ All that these institutions need, to secure and promote the highest welfare of the people—as they themselves, indeed, aver—is their faithful execution in every department of government; as we find them, no higher evidence of their remarkable wisdom can be adduced, than the general order and peace of the land. When one sees the injustice and oppressions in law courts, the feuds and deadly fights among clans, the prevalence of lying, ignorance, and pollution among commoners, and the unscrupulous struggle for a living going on in every rank of life, he wonders that universal anarchy does not destroy the whole machine. But ‘the powers that be are ordained of God.’ The Chinese seem to have attained the great ends of human government to as high a degree as it is possible for man to go without the knowledge of divine revelation. That, in its great truths, its rewards, its hopes, and its stimulus to good acts has yet to be received among them. The course and results of the struggle between the new and the old in the land of Sinim will form a remarkable chapter in the history of man.

With regard to female education, it is a singular anomaly among Chinese writers, that while they lay great stress upon maternal instruction in forming the infant mind, and leading it on to excellence, no more of them should have turned their attention to the preparation of books for girls, and the establishment of female schools. There are some reasons for the absence of the latter to be found in the state of society, notable among which must stand, of course, the low position of woman in every oriental community, and a general contempt for the capacity of the female mind. It is, moreover, impossible to procure many qualified schoolmistresses, and to this we must add the hazard of sending girls out into the streets alone, where they would run some risk of being stolen. The principal stimulus for boys to study—the hope and prospect of office—is taken away from girls, and Chinese literature offers little to repay them for the labor of learning it in addition to all the domestic duties which devolve upon them. Nevertheless, education is not entirely confined to the stronger sex; seminaries for young women are not at all uncommon in South China, and it is not unusual to find private tutors giving instruction to young ladies at their houses.[288] Though this must be regarded as a comparative statement, and holding much more for the southern than for the northern provinces, on the other hand, it may be asserted that literary attainments are considered creditable to a woman, more than is the case in India or Siam; the names of authoresses mentioned in Chinese annals would make a long list. Yuen Yuen, the governor-general of Canton, in 1820, while in office, published a volume of his deceased daughter’s poetical effusions; and literary men are usually desirous of having their daughters accomplished in music and poetry, as well as in composition and classical lore. Such an education is considered befitting their station, and reflecting credit on the family.

One of the most celebrated female writers in China is Pan Hwui-pan, also known as Pan Chao, a sister of the historian Pan Ku, who wrote the history of the former Han dynasty. She was appointed historiographer after his death, and completed his unfinished annals; she died at the age of seventy, and was honored by the Emperor Ho with a public burial, and the title of the Great Lady Tsao. About A.D. 80, she was made preceptress of the Empress, and wrote the first work in any language on female education; it was called Nü Kiai or Female Precepts, and has formed the basis of many succeeding books on female education. The aim of her writings was to elevate female character, and make it virtuous. She says, “The virtue of a female does not consist altogether in extraordinary abilities or intelligence, but in being modestly grave and inviolably chaste, observing the requirements of virtuous widowhood, and in being tidy in her person and everything about her; in whatever she does to be unassuming, and whenever she moves or sits to be decorous. This is female virtue.” Instruction in morals and the various branches of domestic economy are more insisted upon in the writings of this and other authoresses, than a knowledge of the classics or histories of the country.

One of the most distinguished Chinese essayists of modern times, Luhchau, published a work for the benefit of the sex, called the Female Instructor; an extract from his preface will show what ideas are generally entertained on female education by Chinese moralists.

The work thus prefaced, is similar to Sprague’s Letters to a Daughter, rather than to a text-book, or a manual intended to be read and obeyed rather than recited by young ladies. Happy would it be for the country, however, if the instructions given by this moralist were followed; it is a credit to a pagan, to write such sentiments as the following: “During infancy, a child ardently loves its mother, who knows all its traits of goodness: while the father, perhaps, cannot know about it, there is nothing which the mother does not see. Wherefore the mother teaches more effectually, and only by her unwise fondness does her son become more and more proud (as musk by age becomes sourer and stronger), and is thereby nearly ruined.”—“Heavenly order is to bless the good and curse the vile; he who sins against it will certainly receive his punishment sooner or later: from lucid instruction springs the happiness of the world. If females are unlearned, they will be like one looking at a wall, they will know nothing: if they are taught, they will know, and knowing they will imitate their examples.”

It is vain to expect, however, that any change in the standing of females, or extent of their education, will take place until influences from abroad are brought to bear upon them—until the same work that is elsewhere elevating them to their proper place in society by teaching them the principles on which that elevation is founded, and how they can themselves maintain it, is begun. The Chinese do not, by any means, make slaves of their females, and if a comparison be made between their condition in China and other modern unevangelized countries, or even with ancient kingdoms or Moslem races, it will in many points acquit them of much of the obloquy they have received on this behalf.

There are some things which tend to show that more of the sex read and write sufficiently for the ordinary purposes of life, than a slight examination would at first indicate. Among these may be mentioned the letter-writers compiled for their use, in which instructions are given for every variety of note and epistle, except, perhaps, love letters. The works just mentioned, intended for their improvement, form an additional fact. A Manchu official of rank, named Sin-kwăn, who rose to be governor of Kiangsí in Kiaking’s reign, wrote a primer in 1838, for girls, called the Nü-rh Yü, or ‘Words for Women and Girls.’ It is in lines of four characters, and consists of aphorisms and short precepts on household management, behavior, care of children, neatness, etc., so written as to be easily memorized. It shows one of the ways in which literary men interest themselves, in educating youth, and further that there is a demand for such books. A few lines from this primer will exhibit its tenor:

The pride taken by girls in showing their knowledge of letters is evidence that it is not common, while the general respect in which literary ladies are held proves them not to be so very rare; though for all practical good, it may be said that half of the Chinese people know nothing of books. The fact that female education is so favorably regarded is encouraging to those philanthropic persons and ladies who are endeavoring to establish female schools at the mission stations, since they have not prejudice to contend with in addition to ignorance.

CHAPTER X. STRUCTURE OF THE CHINESE LANGUAGE.

It might reasonably be inferred, judging from the attention paid to learning, and the honors conferred upon its successful votaries, that the literature of the Chinese would contain much to repay investigation. Such is not the case, however, to one already acquainted with the treasures of Western science, and, in fairness, such a comparison is not quite just. Yet it has claims to the regard of the general student, from its being the literature of so vast a portion of the human species, and the result of the labors of its wisest and worthiest minds during many successive ages. The fact that it has been developed under a peculiar civilization, and breathes a spirit so totally different from the writings of Western sages and philosophers, perhaps increases the curiosity to learn what are its excellences and defects, and obtain some criteria by which to compare it with the literature of other Asiatic or even European nations. The language in which it is written—one peculiarly mystical and diverse from all other media of thought—has also added to its singular reputation, for it has been surmised that what is “wrapped up” in such complex characters must be pre-eminently valuable for matter or elegant for manner, and not less curious than profound. Although a candid examination of this literature will disclose its real mediocrity in points of research, learning, and genius, there yet remains enough to render it worthy the attention of the oriental or general student.

Some of its peculiarities are owing to the nature of the language, and the mode of instruction, both of which have affected the style and thoughts of writers: for, having, when young, been taught to form their sentences upon the models of antiquity, their efforts to do so have moulded their thoughts in the same channel. Imitation, from being a duty, soon became a necessity. The Chinese scholar, forsaking the leadings of his own genius, soon learned to regard his models as not only being all truth themselves, but as containing the sum total of all things valuable. The intractable nature of the language, making it impossible to study other tongues through the medium of his own, moreover tended to repress all desire in the scholar to become acquainted with foreign books; and as he knew nothing of them or their authors, it was easy to conclude that there was nothing worth knowing in them, nothing to repay the toil of study, or make amends for the condescension of ascertaining. The neighbors of the Chinese have unquestionably been their inferiors in civilization, good government, learning, and wealth; and this fact has nourished their conceit, and repressed the wish to travel, and ascertain what there was in remoter regions. In judging of the character of Chinese literature, therefore, these circumstances among others under which it has risen to its present bulk, must not be overlooked; we shall conclude that the uniformity running through it is perhaps owing as much to the isolation of the people and servile imitation of their models, as to their genius: each has, in fact, mutually acted upon and influenced the other.

The “homoglot” character of the Chinese people has arisen more from the high standard of their literature, and the political institutions growing out of its canonical books (which have impelled and rewarded the efforts of students to master the language), than from any one other cause. This feature offers a great contrast to the polyglot character which the Romans possessed even to the last, and suggests the cause and results as interesting topics of inquiry. The Egyptian, Jewish, Syriac, Greek, and Latin languages had each its own national literature, and its power was enough to retain these several nations attached to their own mother tongue, while the Gauls, Iberians, and other subject peoples, having no books, took the language and literature of their rulers and conquerors. Thus the kingdom, “part iron and part clay,” fell apart as soon as the grasp of Rome was weakened; while the tendency in China always has been to reunite and homologate.

In this short account of the Chinese tongue, it will be sufficient to give such notices of the origin and construction of the characters, and of the idioms and sounds of the written and spoken language, as shall convey a general notion of all its parts, and to show the distinction between the spoken and written media, and their mutual action. They are both archaic, because the symbols prevented all inflexion and agglutination in the sounds, and all signs to indicate what part of speech each belonged to. They are like the ten digits, containing no vocable and imparting their meaning more to the eye than the ear.

Chinese writers, unable to trace the gradual formation of their characters (for, of course, there could be no intelligible historical data until long after their formation), have ascribed them to Hwangtí, one of their primeval monarchs, or even earlier, to Fuh-hí, some thirty centuries before Christ; as if they deemed writing to be as needful to man as clothes or marriage, all of which came from Fuh-hí. A mythical personage, Tsang-kieh, who flourished about B.C. 2700, is credited with the invention of symbols to represent ideas, from noticing the marking on tortoise-shell, and thence imitating common objects in nature.

The Japanese have tried to attach their kana to the Chinese characters to indicate the case or tense, but the combination looks incongruous to an educated Chinese. We might express, though somewhat crudely, analogous combinations in English by endeavoring to write 1-ty, 1-ness, 1-ted, for unity, oneness, united, or 3-1 God for triune God.

At this crisis, when a medium for conveying and giving permanency to ideas was formed, Chinese historians say: “The heavens, the earth, and the gods, were all agitated. The inhabitants of hades wept at night; and the heavens, as an expression of joy, rained down ripe grain. From the invention of writing, the machinations of the human heart began to operate; stories false and erroneous daily increased, litigations and imprisonments sprang up; hence, also, specious and artful language, which causes so much confusion in the world. It was for these reasons that the shades of the departed wept at night. But from the invention of writing, polite intercourse and music proceeded; reason and justice were made manifest; the relations of social life were illustrated, and laws became fixed. Governors had laws to which they might refer; scholars had authorities to venerate; and hence, the heavens, delighted, rained down ripe grain. The classical scholar, the historian, the mathematician, and the astronomer can none of them do without writing; were there no written language to afford proof of passing events, the shades might weep at noonday, and the heavens rain down blood.”[290] This singular myth may, perhaps, cover a genuine fact worthy of more than passing notice—indicating a consentaneous effort of the early settlers on the Yellow River to substitute for the purpose of recording laws and events something more intelligible than the knotted cords previously in use. Its form presents a curious contrast to the personality of the fable of Cadmus and his invention of the Greek letters.

The date of the origin of this language, like that of the letters of Western alphabets, is lost in the earliest periods of post-diluvian history, but there can be no doubt that it is the most ancient language now spoken, and along with the Egyptian and cuneiform, among the oldest written languages used by man. The Ethiopic and Coptic, the Sanscrit and Pali, the Syriac, Aramaic, and Pehlvic, have all become dead languages; and the Greek, Latin, and Persian, now spoken, differ so much from the ancient style, as to require special study to understand the books in them: while during successive eras, the written and spoken language of the Chinese has undergone few alterations, and done much to deepen the broad line of demarkation between them and other branches of the human race. The fact, then, that this is the only living language which has survived the lapse of ages is, doubtless, owing to its ideographic character and its entire absence of sound as an integral factor of any symbol. Their form and meaning were, therefore, only the more strongly united because each reader was at liberty to sound them as he pleased or had been taught by local instructors. He was not hindered, on account of his local brogue, from communicating ideas with those who employed the same signs in writing. Upon the subsequent rise of a great and valuable literature, the maintenance of the written language was the chief element of national life and integrity among those peoples who read and admired the books. Nor has this language, like those of the Hebrews, the Assyrians, and others already mentioned, ever fallen into disuse and been supplanted by the sudden rise and physical or intellectual vigor of some neighboring community speaking a patois. For we find that alphabetic languages, whose words represent at once meaning and sound, are as dependent upon local dialects as is the Chinese tongue upon its symbols; consequently, when in the former case the sounds had so altered that the meanings were obscured, the mode of writing was likely to be changed. The extent of its literature and uses made of it were then the only safeguard of the written forms; while as men learned to read books they became more and more prone to associate sense and form, regarding the sound as traditionary. We have, in illustration of this, to look no further than to our own language, whose cumbersome spelling is in a great measure resulting from a dislike of changing old associations of sense and form which would be involved in the adoption of a phonetic system.

The Chinese have had no inducement, at any stage of their existence, to alter the forms of their symbols, inasmuch as no nation in Asia contiguous to their own has ever achieved a literature which could rival theirs; no conqueror came to impose his tongue upon them; their language completely isolated them from intellectual intercourse with others. This isolation, fraught with many disadvantages in the contracted nature of their literature, and the reflux, narrowing influence on their minds, has not been without its compensations. A national life of a unique sort has resulted, and to this self-nurtured language may be traced the origin of much of the peace, industry, population, and healthy pride of the Chinese people.

The Chinese have paid great and praiseworthy attention to their language, and furnished us with all needed books to its study. Premising that the original symbols were ideographic, the necessities of the case compelled their contraction as much as possible, and soon resulted in arbitrary signs for all common uses. Their symbols varied, indeed, at different times and in different States; it was not until a genuine literature appeared and its readers multiplied that the variants were dropped and uniformity sought. The original characters of this language are derived from natural or artificial objects, of which they were at first the rude outlines. Most of the forms are preserved in the treatises of native philologists, where the changes they have gradually undergone are shown. The number of objects chosen at first was not great; among them were symbols for the sun, moon, hills, animals, parts of the body, etc.; and in drawing them the limners seem to have proposed nothing further than an outline sketch, which, by the aid of a little explanation, would be intelligible. Thus the picture would probably be recognized by all who saw it as representing the moon; that of as a fish; and so of others. It is apparent that the number of pictures which could be made in this manner would hear no proportion to the wants and uses of a language, and therefore recourse must soon be had to more complicated symbols, to combining those already understood, or to the adoption of arbitrary or phonetic signs. All these modes have been more or less employed.

Chinese philologists arrange all the characters in their language into six classes, called luh shu, or ‘six writings.’ The first, called siang hing, morphographs, or ‘imitative symbols,’ are those in which a plain resemblance can be traced between the original form and the object represented; they are among the first characters invented, although the six hundred and eight placed in this class do not include all the original symbols. These pristine forms have since been modified so much that the resemblance has disappeared in most of them, caused chiefly by the use of paper, ink, and pencils, instead of the iron style and bamboo tablets formerly in use for writing; circular strokes being more distinctly made with an iron point upon the hard wood than with a hair pencil upon thin paper; angular strokes and square forms, therefore, gradually took the place of round or curved ones, and contracted characters came into use in place of the original imitative symbols. In this class such characters as the following are given:

tortoise,	chariot,	child,	elephant,	deer,	vase,	hill,	eye.

altered to

The second class, only one hundred and seven in number, is called chí sz’, i.e., ‘symbols indicating thought.’ They differ from the preceding chiefly in that the characters are formed by combining previously formed symbols in such a way as to indicate some idea easily deducible from their position or combination, and pointing out some property or relative circumstance belonging to them. Chinese philologists consider these two classes as comprising all the symbols in the language, which depict objects either in whole or in part, and whose meaning is apparent from the resemblance to the object, or from the position of the parts. Among those placed in this class are,

moon half appearing, signifies evening; now written 夕
sun above the horizon, denotes morning; now written 旦
something in the mouth, meaning sweet; now written 甘

The third class, amounting to seven hundred and forty characters, is called hwui í, i.e., ‘combined ideas,’ or ideographs, and comprises characters made up of two or three symbols to form a single idea, whose meanings are deducible either from their position, or supposed relative influence upon each other. Thus the union of the sun and moon, ming, expresses brightness; kien, a piece of wood in a doorway, denotes obstruction; two trees stand for a forest, as lin; and three for a thicket, as săn; two men upon the ground conveys the idea of sitting; a mouth in a door signifies to ask; man and words means truth and to believe; heart and death imports forgetfulness; dog and mouth means to bark; woman and broom denotes a wife, referring to her household duties; pencil and to speak is a book, or to write. But in none of these compounded characters is there anything like that perfection of picture writing stated by some writers to belong to the language, which will enable one unacquainted with the meaning of the separate symbols to decide upon the signification of the combined group. On the contrary it is in most cases certain that the third idea made by combining two already known symbols, usually required more or less explanation to fix its precise meaning, and remove the doubt which would otherwise arise. For instance, the combination of the sun and moon might as readily mean a solar or lunar eclipse, or denote the idea of time, as brightness. A piece of wood in a doorway would almost as naturally suggest a threshold as an obstruction; and so of others. A straight line in a doorway would more readily suggest a closed or bolted door, which is the signification of 閂 shan, anciently written ; but the idea intended to be conveyed by these combinations would need prior explanation as much as the primitive symbol, though it would thenceforth readily recur to mind when noticing the construction.

It is somewhat singular that the opinion should have obtained so much credence, that their meanings were easily deducible from their shape and construction. It might almost be said, that not a single character can be accurately defined from a mere inspection of its parts; and the meanings now given of some of those which come under this class are so arbitrary and far-fetched, as to show that Chinese characters have not been formed by rule and plummet more than words in other languages. The mistake which Du Ponceau so learnedly combats arose, probably, from confounding sound with construction, and inferring that, because persons of different nations, who used this as their written language, could understand it when written, though mutually unintelligible when speaking, that it addressed itself so entirely to the eye, as to need no previous explanation.

The fourth class, called chuen chu, ‘inverted significations,’ includes three hundred and seventy-two characters, being such as by some inversion, contraction, or alteration of their parts, acquire different meanings. This class is not large, but these and other modifications of the original symbols to express abstract and new ideas show that those who used the language either saw at once how cumbrous it would become if they went on forming imitative signs, or else that their invention failed, and they resorted to changes more or less arbitrary in characters already known to furnish distinctive signs for different ideas. Thus yu the hand, turning toward the right means the right; inclined in the other direction, as tso it means the left. The heart placed beneath slave, 怒 signifies anger; threads obstructed, as , means to sunder; but turned the other way, as , signifies continuous.

The fifth class, called kiai shing, i.e., ‘uniting sound symbols,’ or phonogram, contains twenty-one thousand eight hundred and ten characters, or nearly all in the language. They are formed of an imitative symbol united to one which merely imparts its sound to the compound; the former usually partakes more or less of the new idea, while the latter loses its own meaning, and gives only its name. In this respect, Chinese characters are superior to the Arabic numerals, inasmuch as combinations like 25, 101, etc., although conveying the same meaning to all nations using them, can never indicate sound. This plan of forming new combinations by the union of symbols expressing idea and sound, enables the Chinese to increase the number of characters without multiplying the original symbols; but these compounds, or lexigraphs, as Du Ponceau calls them, do not increase very rapidly. In Annam they have become so numerous in the course of years that the Chinese books made in that country are hard to read. The probable mode in which this arose can best be explained by a case which occurred at Canton in 1832. Immature locusts were to be described in a proclamation, but the word nan, by which they were called, was not contained in any dictionary. It would be sufficient to designate this insect to all persons living where it was found by selecting a well-understood character, like 南 south, having the exact sound nan, by which the insect itself was called, and joining it to the determinative symbol chung 虫 insect. It would then signify, to every one who knew the sound and meaning of the component parts, the insect nan; and be read nan, 蝻 meaning this very insect to the people in Kwangtung. If this new combination was carried to a distant part of the country, where the insect itself was unknown, it would convey no more information to the Chinese who saw the united symbol, than the sounds insect nan would to an Englishman who heard them; to both persons a meaning must be given by describing the insect. If, however, the people living in this distant region called the phonetic part of the new character by another sound, as nam, nem, or lam, they would attach another name to the new compound, but the people on the spot would, perhaps, not understand them when they spoke it by that name. If they wrote it, however, both would give it the same signification, but a different sound.

In this way, the thousands of characters under this class have probably originated. But this rule of sounding them according to the phonetic part is not in all cases certain; for in the lapse of time, the sounds of many characters have changed, while those of the parts themselves have not altered; in other cases, the parts have altered, and the sounds remained; so that now only a great degree of probability as to the correct sound can be obtained by inspecting the component parts. The similarity in sound between most of the characters having the same phonetic part is a great assistance in reading Chinese, though very little in understanding it, and has had much influence in keeping the sounds unchanged.

There are a few instances of an almost inadvertent arrival at a true syllabic system, by which the initial consonant of one part, when joined to the final vowel of the other, gives the sound of the character; as ma and fí, in the character 靡, when united in this way, make mí. The meanings of the components are hemp and not, that of the compound is extravagant, wasteful, etc., showing no relation to the primary signification. The number of such characters is very small, and the syllabic composition here noticed is probably fortuitous, and not intentional.

The sixth class, called kia tsié, i.e., ‘borrowed uses,’ includes metaphoric symbols and combinations, in which the meaning is deduced by a somewhat fanciful accommodation; their number is five hundred and ninety-eight. They differ but little from the second class of indicative symbols. For instance, the symbol 字 or , meaning a written character, is composed of a child under a shelter—characters being considered as the well-nurtured offspring of hieroglyphics. The character for hall means also mother, because she constantly abides there. The word for mind or heart is sin , originally intended to represent that organ, but now used chiefly in a metaphorical sense. Chinese grammarians find abundant scope for the display of their fancy in explaining the etymology and origin of the characters, but the aid which their researches give toward understanding the language as at present used is small. This classification under six heads is modern, and was devised as a means of arranging what existed already, for they confess that their characters were not formed according to fixed rules, and have gradually undergone many changes.

The total number in the six classes is twenty-four thousand two hundred and thirty-five, being many less than are found in Kanghí’s Dictionary, which amount to forty-four thousand four hundred and forty-nine; but in the larger sum are included the obsolete and synonymous characters, which, if deducted, would reduce it to nearly the same number. It is probable that the total of really different characters in the language sanctioned by good usage, does not vary greatly from twenty-five thousand, though authors have stated them at from fifty-four thousand four hundred and nine, as Magaillans does, up to two hundred and sixty thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine, as Montucci. The Chinese editor of the large lexicon on which Dr. Morrison founded his Dictionary, gives it as his opinion that there are fifty thousand characters, including synonyms and different forms; and taking in every variety of tones given to the words, and sounds for which no characters exist, that there are five thousand different words. But even the sum of twenty-five thousand different characters contains thousands of unusual ones which are seldom met with, and which, as is the case with old words in English, are not often learned.

The burden of remembering so many complicated symbols, whose form, sound, and meanings are all necessary to enable the student to read and write intelligibly, is so great that the result has been to diminish those in common use, and increase their meanings. This course of procedure really occurs in most languages, and in the Chinese greatly reduces the labor of acquiring it. It may be safely said, that a good knowledge of ten thousand characters will enable one to read any work in Chinese, and write intelligibly on any subject; and Prémare says a good knowledge of four or five thousand characters is sufficient for all common purposes, while two-thirds of that number might in fact suffice. The troublesome ones are either proper names or technics peculiar to a particular science. The nine canonical works contain altogether only four thousand six hundred and one different characters, while in the Five Classics alone there are over two hundred thousand words. The entire number of different characters in the code of laws translated by Staunton is under two thousand.

The invention of printing and the compilation of dictionaries have given to the form of modern characters a greater degree of certainty than they had in ancient times. The variants of some of the most common ones were exceedingly numerous before this period; Callery gives forty-two different modes of writing pao, ‘precious;’ and forty-one for writing tsun, ‘honorable;’ showing the absence of an acknowledged standard, and the slight intercourse between learned men. The best mode of arranging the characters so as to find them easily, has been a subject of considerable trouble to Chinese lexicographers, and the various methods they have adopted renders it difficult to consult their dictionaries without considerable previous knowledge of the language. In some, those having the same sound are grouped together, so that it is necessary to know what a character is called before it can be found; and this arrangement has been followed in vocabularies designed principally for the use of the common people. One well-known vocabulary used at Canton, called the Făn Yun, or ‘Divider of Sounds,’ is arranged on this plan, the words being placed under thirty-three orders, according to their terminations. Each order is subdivided into three or four classes according to the tones, and all the characters having the same tone and termination are placed together, as kam, lam, tam, nam, etc. As might be supposed, it requires considerable time to find a character whose tone is not exactly known; and even with the tone once mastered, the uncertainty is equally troublesome if the termination is not familiar: for singular as it may seem to those who are acquainted only with phonetic languages, a Chinese can, if anything, more readily distinguish between two words ♯ming and ♭ming, whose tones are unlike, than he can between ♯ming and ♯meng, ♯ming or ♯bing, where the initial or final differs a little, and the tones are the same.

An improvement on this plan of arrangement was made by adopting a mode of expressing the sounds of Chinese characters introduced by the Buddhists, in the Yuh Pien, published A.D. 543, and ever since used in all dictionaries. This takes the initial of the sound of one character and the final of another, and combines them to indicate the sound of the given character; as from li-en and y-ing to form ling. There are thirty-six characters chosen for the initial consonants, and thirty-eight for the final sounds, but the student is perplexed by the different characters chosen in different works to represent them.[291] The inhabitants of Amoy use a small lexicon called the Shih-wu Yin, or ‘Fifteen Sounds,’ in which the characters are classified on this principle, by first arranging them all under fifty finals, and then placing all those having the same termination in a regular series under fifteen initials. Supposing a new character, chien, is seen, whose sound is given, or the word is heard in conversation and its meanings are wanted, the person turns to the part of the book containing the final ien, which is designated perhaps by the character kien, and looks along the initials until he comes to ch, which is indicated by the character chang. In this column, all the words in the book read or spoken chien, of whatever tone they may be, are placed together according to their tones; and a little practice readily enables a person speaking the dialect to use this manual. It is, however, of little or no avail to persons speaking other dialects, or to those whose vernacular differs much from that of the compiler, whose own ear was his only guide. Complete dictionaries have been published on the phonetic plan, the largest of which, the Wu Ché Yun Fu, is arranged with so much minuteness of intonation as to puzzle even the best educated natives, and consequently abridge its usefulness as an expounder of words.

The unfitness of either of these modes of arrangement to find an unknown character, led to another classification according to their composition, by selecting the most prominent parts of each character as its key, or radical, and grouping those together in which the same key occurred. This plan was adopted subsequently to that of arranging the characters according to the sounds, about A.D. 543, when their number was put at five hundred and forty-two; they were afterward reduced to three hundred and sixty, and toward the close of the Ming dynasty finally fixed at two hundred and fourteen in the Tsz’ Lui. It is now in general use from the adoption of the abridged dictionary, the Kanghí Tsz’ Tien; though this number could have been advantageously reduced, as has been shown by Gonçalves, its universal adoption, more than anything else, renders it the best system. All characters found under the same radical are placed consecutively, according to the number of strokes necessary to write them, but no regularity is observed in placing those having the same number of strokes. The term primitive has been technically applied to the remaining part of the character, which, though perhaps no older than the radical, is conveniently denoted by this word. The characters selected for the radicals are all common ones, and among the most ancient in the language; they are here grouped according to their meanings in order to show something of the leading ideas followed in combination.

The number of characters found under each of these radicals in Kanghí’s Dictionary varies from five up to one thousand three hundred and fifty-four. The radical is not uniformly placed, but its usual position is on the left of the primitive. Some occur on the top, others on the bottom; some inclose the primitive, and many have no fixed place, making it evident that no uniform plan was adopted in the original construction. They must be thoroughly learned before the dictionary can be readily used, and some practice had before a character can be quickly found.[292] The groups occurring under a majority of the radicals are more or less natural in their general meaning, a feature of the language which has already been noticed (page 375). Some of the radicals are interchanged, and characters having the same meaning sometimes occur under two or three different ones—variations which seem to have arisen from the little importance of a choice out of two or three similar radicals. Thus the same word tsien, ‘a small cup,’ is written under the three radicals gem, porcelain, and horn, originally, no doubt, referring to the material for making it. This interchange of radicals adds greatly to the number of duplicate forms, which are still further increased by a similar interchange of primitives having the same sound. These two changes very seldom occur in the same character, but there are numerous instances of synonymous forms under almost every radical, arising from an interchange of primitives, and also under analogous radicals caused by their reciprocal use. Thus, from both these causes, there are, under the radical ma, ‘a horse,’ one hundred and eighteen duplicate forms, leaving two hundred and ninety-three different words; of the two hundred and four characters under niu, ‘an ox,’ thirty-nine are synonymous forms; and so under other radicals. These characters do not differ in meaning more than favor and favour, or lady and ladye; they are mere variations in the form of writing, and though apparently adding greatly to the number of characters, do not seriously increase the difficulty of learning the language.

Variants of other descriptions frequently occur in books, which needlessly add to the labor of learning the language. Ancient forms are sometimes adopted by pedantic writers to show their learning, while ignorant and careless writers use abridged or vulgar forms, because they either do not know the correct form, or are heedless in using it. When such is the case, and the character cannot be found in the dictionary, the reader is entirely at fault, especially if he be a foreigner, though in China itself he would not experience much difficulty where the natives were at hand to refer to. Vulgar forms are very common in cheap books and letters, which are as unsanctioned by the dictionaries and good usage, as cockney phrases or miner’s slang are in pure English. They arise, either from a desire on the part of the writer to save time by making a contracted form of few strokes instead of the correct character of many strokes; or he uses common words to express an energetic vulgar phrase, for which there are no authorized characters, but which will be easily understood phonetically by his readers. These characters would perchance not be understood at all outside of the range of the author’s dialect, because the phrase itself was new; their individual meaning, indeed, has nothing to do with the interpretation of the sentence, for in this case they are merely signs of sound, like words in other languages, and lose their lexigraphic character. For instance, the words kia-fí for coffee, kap-tan for captain, mí-sz’ for Mr., etc., however they were written, would be intelligible to a native of Canton if they expressed those sounds, because he was familiar with the words themselves; but a native of Shensí would not understand them, because, not knowing the things intended, he would naturally refer to the characters themselves for the meaning of the phrase, and thus be wholly misled. In such cases, the characters become mere syllables of a phonetic word. Foreign names are often transliterated by writers on geography or history, and their recognition is no easy task to their readers.[293]

In addition to the variations in the forms of characters, there are six different styles of writing them, which correspond to black-letter, script, italic, roman, etc., in English. The first is called Chuen shu (from the name of the person who invented it), which foreigners have styled the seal character, from its use in seals and ornamental inscriptions. It is next to the picture hieroglyphics, the most ancient fashion of writing, and has undergone many changes in the course of ages. It is studied by those who cut seals or inscriptions, but no books are ever printed in it.

The second is the lí shu, or style of official attendants, which was introduced about the Christian era, as an elegant style to be employed in engrossing documents. It is now seen in prefaces and formal inscriptions, and requires no special study to read it, as it differs but slightly from the following.

The third is the kiai shu, or pattern style, and has been gradually formed by the improvements in good writing. It is the usual form of Chinese characters, and no man can claim a literary name among his countrymen if he cannot write neatly and correctly in this style.

The fourth is called hing shu, or running hand, and is the common hand of a neat writer. It is frequently used in prefaces and inscriptions, scrolls and tablets, and there are books prepared in parallel columns having this and the pattern style arranged for school-boys to learn to write both at the same time. The running hand cannot be read without a special study; and although this labor is not very serious when the language of books is familiar, still to become well acquainted with both of them withdraws many days and months of the pupil from progress in acquiring knowledge to learning two modes of writing the same word.

The fifth style is called tsao tsz’, or plant character, and is a freer description of running hand than the preceding, being full of abbreviations, and the pencil runs from character to character, without taking it from the paper, almost at the writer’s fancy. It is more difficult to read than the preceding, but as the abbreviations are somewhat optional, the tsao tsz’ varies considerably, and more or less resembles the running hand according to the will of the writer. The fancy of the Chinese for a “flowing pencil,” and a mode of writing where the elegance and freedom of the caligraphy can be admired as much or more than the style or sentiment of the writing, as well as the desire to contract their multangular characters as much as possible, has contributed to introduce and perpetuate these two styles of writing. How much all these varieties of form superadd to the difficulty of learning the mere apparatus of knowledge need hardly be stated.

The sixth style is called Sung shu, and was introduced under the Sung dynasty in the tenth century, soon after printing on wooden blocks was invented. It differs from the third style, merely in a certain squareness and angularity of stroke, which transcribers for the press only are obliged to learn. Of these six forms of writing, the pattern style and running hand are the only two which the people learn to any great extent, although many acquire the knowledge of some words in the seal character, and the running hand of every person, especially those engaged in business, approaches more or less to the plant character. But foreigners will seldom find time or inclination to learn to write more than one form, to be able to read and communicate on all occasions.

Besides these styles, there are fanciful ones, called ‘tadpole characters,’ in imitation of various objects;[294] the Emperor Kienlung brought together thirty-two of them in an edition of his poem, the Elegy upon the City of Mukden.[295]

All the strokes in the characters are reduced to eight elementary ones, which are contained in the single character 永 yung, ‘eternal.’

Each of these is subdivided into many forms in copy-books, having particular names, with directions how to write them, and numerous examples introduced under each stroke.[296]

The Chinese regard their characters as highly elegant, and take unwearied pains to learn to write them in a beautiful, uniform, well-proportioned manner. Students are provided with a painted board upon which to practise with a brush dipped in blackened water. The articles used in writing, collectively called wan fang sz’ pao, or ‘four precious things of the library,’ are the pencil, ink, paper, and ink-stone. The best pencils are made of the bristly hair of the sable and fox, and cheaper ones from the deer, cat, wolf and rabbit; camel’s hair is not used. A combination of softness and elasticity is required, and those who are skilled in their use discern a difference and an excellence altogether imperceptible to a novice. The hairs are laid in a regular manner, and when tied up are brought to a delicate tip; the handle is made of the twigs of a bamboo cultivated for the purpose. The ink, usually known as India ink, is made from the soot of burning oil, pine, fir, and other substances, mixed with glue or isinglass, and scented. It is formed into oblong cakes or cylinders, inscribed with the maker’s name, the best kinds being put up in a very tasteful manner. A singular error formerly obtained credence regarding this ink, that it was inspissated from the fluid found in the cuttle-fish. When used, the ink is rubbed with water upon argillite, marble, or other stones, some of which are cut and ground in a beautiful manner. Chinese paper is made from bamboo, by triturating the woody fibre to a pulp in mortars after the pieces have been soaked in ooze, and then taking it up in moulds; the pulp is sometimes mixed with a little cotton fibre. Inferior sorts are made entirely from cotton refuse; and in the North, where the bamboo does not grow, the bark of the Broussonetia, or paper mulberry, furnishes material for a tough paper used for windows, wrappings, and account books, etc. Bamboo paper has no sizing in it, and is a frail material for preserving valuable writings, as it is easily destroyed by insects, mildew, or handling.[297]

In the days of Confucius, pieces of bamboo pared thin, palm leaves, and reeds, were all used for writing upon with a sharp stick or stile. About the third century before Christ, silk and cloth were employed, and hair pencils made for writing. Paper was invented about the first century, and cotton-paper may have been brought from India, where it was in use more than a hundred years before. India ink was manufactured by the seventh century; and the present mode of printing upon blocks was adopted from the discovery of Fungtau in the tenth century, of taking impressions from engraved stones. In the style of their notes and letters, the Chinese show both neatness and elegance; narrow slips of tinted paper are employed, on which various emblematic designs are stamped in water lines, and enclosed in fanciful envelopes. It is common to affix a cipher instead of the name, or to close with a periphrasis or sentence well understood by the parties, and thereby avoid any signature; this, which originated, no doubt, in a fear of interception and unpleasant consequences, has gradually become a common mode of subscribing friendly epistles.

The mode of printing is so well fitted for the language that few improvements have been made in its manipulations, while the cheapness of books brings them within reach of the poorest. Cutting the blocks, and writing the characters, form two distinct branches of the business; printing the sheets, binding the volumes, and publishing the books, also furnish employment to other craftsmen. The first step is to write the characters upon thin paper, properly ruled with lines, two pages being cut upon one block, and a heavy double line surrounding them. The title of the work, chapter, and paging are all cut in a central column, and when the leaf is printed it is folded through this column so as to bring the characters on the edge and partly on both pages. Marginal notes are placed on the top of the page; comments, when greatly extended, occupy the upper part, separated from the text by a heavy line, or when mere scholia, are interlined in the same column in characters of half the size. Sometimes two works are printed together, one running through the volume on the upper half of the leaves, and separated from that occupying the lower half by a heavy line. Illustrations usually occupy separate pages at the commencement of the book, but there are a few works with woodcuts of a wretched description, inserted in the body of the page. In books printed by government, each page is sometimes surrounded with dragons, or the title page is adorned in red by this emblem of imperial authority.

When the leaf has been written out as it is to be printed, it is turned over and pasted upon the block, face downward. The wood usually used by blockcutters is pear or plum; the boards are half or three-fourths of an inch thick, and planed for cutting on both sides. The paper, when dried upon the board, is carefully rubbed off with the wetted finger, leaving every character and stroke plainly delineated. The cutter then, with his chisels, cuts away all the blank spots in and around the characters, to the depth of a line or more, after which the block is ready for the printer, whose machinery is very simple. Seated before a bench, he lays the block on a bed of paper so that it will not move nor chafe. The pile of paper lies on one side, the pot of ink before him, and the pressing brush on the other. Taking the ink brush, he slightly rubs it across the block twice in such a way as to lay the ink equally over the surface; he then places a sheet of paper upon it, and over that another, which serves as a tympanum. The impression is taken with the fibrous bark of the gomuti palm; one or two sweeps across the block complete the impression, for only one side of the paper is printed. Another and cheaper method in common use for publishing slips of news, court circulars, etc., consists in cutting the characters in blocks of hard wax, from which as many as two hundred impressions can often be taken before they become entirely illegible. The ink is manufactured from lampblack mixed with vegetable oil; the printers grind it for themselves.

The sheets are taken by the binder, who folds them through the middle by the line around the pages, so that the columns shall register with each other, he then collates them into volumes, placing the leaves evenly by their folded edge, when the whole are arranged, and the covers pasted on each side. Two pieces of paper stitch it through the back, the book is trimmed, and sent to the bookseller. If required, it is stitched firmly with thread, but this part, as well as writing the title on the bottom edges of the volume, and making the pasteboard wrapper, are usually deferred till the taste of a purchaser is ascertained. Books made of such materials are not as durable as European volumes, and those who can afford the expense frequently have valuable works inclosed in wooden boxes. They are printed of all sizes between small sleeve editions (as the Chinese call 24 and 32 mos) up to quartos, twelve or fourteen inches square, larger than which it is difficult to get blocks.

The price varies from one cent—for a brochure of twenty-five or thirty pages—to a dollar and a half a volume. It is seldom higher save for illustrated works. A volume rarely contains more than a hundred leaves, and in fine books their thickness is increased by inserting an extra sheet inside of each leaf. At Canton or Fuhchau, the History of the Three States, bound in twenty-one volumes 12mo, printed on white paper, is usually sold for seventy-five cents or a dollar per set. Kanghí’s Dictionary, in twenty-one volumes 8vo, on yellow paper, sells for four dollars; and all the nine classics can be purchased for less than two. Books are hawked about the streets, circulating libraries are carried from house to house upon movable stands, and booksellers’ shops are frequent in large towns. No censorship, other than a prohibition to write about the present dynasty, is exercised upon the press; nor are authors protected by a copyright law. Men of wealth sometimes show their literary taste by defraying the expense of getting the blocks of extensive works cut, and publishing them. Pwan Sz’-ching, a wealthy merchant at Canton, published, in 1846, an edition of the Pei Wăn Yun Fu, in one hundred and thirty thick octavo volumes, the blocks for which must have cost him more than ten thousand dollars. The number of good impressions which can be obtained from a set of blocks is about sixteen thousand, and by retouching the characters, ten thousand more can be struck off.

The disadvantages of this mode of printing are that other languages cannot easily be introduced into the page with the Chinese characters; the blocks occupy much room, are easily spoiled or lost; and are incapable of correction without much expense. It possesses some compensatory advantages peculiar to the Chinese and its cognate languages, Manchu, Corean, Japanese, etc., all of which are written with a brush and have few or no circular strokes. Its convenience and cheapness, coupled with the low rate of wages, will no doubt make it the common mode of printing Chinese among the people for a long time.

The honor of being the first inventor of movable types undoubtedly belongs to a Chinese blacksmith named Pí Shing, who lived about A.D. 1000, and printed books with them nearly five hundred years before Gutenberg cut his matrices at Mainz. They were made of plastic clay, hardened by fire after the characters had been cut on the soft surface of a plate of clay in which they were moulded. The porcelain types were then set up in a frame of iron partitioned off by strips, and inserted in a cement of wax, resin, and lime to fasten them down. The printing was done by rubbing, and when completed the types were loosened by melting the cement, and made clean for another impression.

This invention seems never to have been developed to any practical application in superseding block-printing. The Emperor Kanghí ordered about two hundred and fifty thousand copper types to be engraved for printing publications of the government, and these works are now highly prized for their beauty. The cupidity of his successors led to melting these types into cash, but his grandson Kienlung directed the casting of a large font of lead types for government use.

The attention of foreigners was early called to the preparation of Chinese movable types, especially for the rapid manufacture of religious books, in connection with missionary work. The first fonts were made by P. P. Thoms, for the E. I. Company’s office at Macao in 1815, for the purpose of printing Morrison’s Dictionary. The characters were cut with chisels on blocks of type metal or tin, and though it was slow work to cut a full font, they gradually grew in numbers and variety till they served to print over twenty dictionaries and other works, designed to aid in learning Chinese, before they were destroyed by fire in 1856. A small font had been cast at Serampore in 1815, and in 1838, the Royal Printing Office at Paris had obtained a set of blocks engraved in China, from which thick castings were made and the separate types obtained by sawing the plates. M. Le Grand, a type-founder in Paris, about the year 1836, prepared an extensive font of type with comparatively few matrices, by casting the radical and primitive on separate bodies; and the plan has been found, within certain limits, to save so much expense and room that it has been adopted in other fonts.

These experiments in Europe showed the feasibility of making and using Chinese type to any extent, but their results as to elegance and accuracy of form were not satisfactory, and proved that native workmen alone could meet the native taste. Rev. Samuel Dyer of the London Mission at Singapore began in 1838, under serious disadvantages, for he was not a practical printer, to cut the matrices for two complete fonts. He continued at his self-appointed task until his death in 1844, having completed only one thousand eight hundred and forty-five punches. His work was continued by R. Cole, of the American Presbyterian Missions, a skilful mechanic in his line, and in 1851 he was able to furnish fonts of two sizes with four thousand seven hundred characters each. Their form and style met every requirement of the most fastidious taste, and they are now in constant use.

While Mr. Dyer’s fonts were suspended by his death, an attempt was made by a benevolent printer, Herr Beyerhaus of Berlin, to make one of an intermediate size on the Le Grand principle of divisible types; his proposal was taken up by the Presbyterian Board of Missions in New York, and after many delays a beautiful font was completed and in use about 1859. At this time, Mr. W. Gamble of that Mission in Shanghai, carried out his plan of making matrices by the electrotype process, and completed a large font of small pica type in about as many months as Dyer and Beyerhaus had taken years. By means of these various fonts books are now printed in many parts of China, in almost any style, and type foundries cast in whatever quantities are needed. The government has opened an extensive printing office in Peking, and its example will encourage native booksellers to unite typography with xylographic printing. More than this as conducing to the diffusion of knowledge among the people is the stimulus these cheap fonts of type have given to the circulation of newspapers in all the ports; but for their convenient and economical use Chinese newspapers could not have been printed at all. It will be quite within the reach of native workmen, who are skilled in electrotyping, stereotyping, and casting type, to make types of all sizes and styles for their own books, as the growing intelligence of the people creates a demand for illustrated and scientific publications, as well as cheap ones.[298]

Nothing has conduced more to a misapprehension of the nature of the Chinese language than the way in which its phonetic character has been spoken of by different authors. Some, describing the primitive symbols, and the modifications they have undergone, have conveyed the impression that the whole language consisted of hieroglyphic or ideographic signs, which depicted ideas, and conveyed their meaning entirely to the eye, irrespective of the sound. For instance, Rémusat says, “The character is not the delineation of the sound, nor the sound the expression of the character;” forgetting to ask himself how or when a character in any language ever delineated a sound. Yet every Chinese character is sounded as much as the words in alphabetic languages, and some have more than one to express their different meanings; so that, although the character could not delineate the sound of the thing it denoted, the sound is the expression of the character. Others, as Mr. Lay,[299] have dissected the characters, and endeavored to trace back some analogy in the meanings of all those in which the same primitive is found, and by a sort of analysis, to find out how much of the signification of the radical was infused into the primitive to form the present meaning. His plan, in general terms, is to take all the characters containing a certain primitive, and find out how much of the meaning of that primitive is contained in each one; then he reconstructs the series by defining the primitive, incidentally showing the intention of the framers of the characters in choosing that particular one, and apportioning so much of its aggregate meaning to each character as is needed, and adding the meaning of the radical to form its whole signification. If we understand his plan, he wishes to construct a formula for each group containing the same primitive, in which the signification of the primitive is a certain function in that of all the characters containing it; to add up the total of their meanings, and divide the amount among the characters, allotting a quotient to each one. Languages are not so formed, however, and the Chinese is no exception. Some of Mr. Lay’s statements are correct, but his theory is fanciful. It is impossible to decide what proportion was made by combining a radical and a primitive with any reference to their meanings, according to Mr. Lay’s theory, and how many of them were simply phonetic combinations; probably nine-tenths of the compound characters have been constructed on the latter principle.

The fifth class of syllabic symbols were formed by combining the symbolic and syllabic systems, so as to represent sound chiefly, but bearing in the construction of each one some reference to its general signification. The original hieroglyphics contained no sound, i.e., were not formed of phonetic constituents; the object depicted had a name, but there was no clue to it. It was impossible to do both—depict the object, and give its name in the same character. At first, the number of people using these ideographic symbols being probably small, every one called them by the same name, as soon as he knew what they represented, and began to read them. But when the ideas attempted to be written far exceeded in number the symbols, or, what is more likely, the invention of the limners, recourse was had to the combination of the symbols already understood to express the new idea. This was done in several modes, as noticed above, but the syllabic system needs further explanation, from the extent to which it has been carried. The character 蝻 nan, to denote the young of the locust, has been adduced. The same principle would be applied in reading every new character, of which the phonetic primitive merely was recognized, although its meaning might not be known. Probably all the characters in the fifth class were sounded in strict accordance with their phonetic primitives when constructed, but usage has changed some of their sounds, and many characters belonging to other classes, apparently containing the same primitive, are sounded quite differently; this tends to mislead those who infer the sound from the primitive. This mode of constructing and naming the characters also explains the reason why there are so few sounds compared with the number of characters; the phonetic primitive perpetuated its name in all its progeny.

More than seven-eighths of the characters have been formed from less than two thousand symbols, and it is difficult to imagine how it could have been used so long and widely without some such method to relieve the memory of the burden of retaining thousands of arbitrary marks. But, until the names and meanings of the original symbols are learned, neither the sound nor sense of the compound characters will be more apparent to a Chinese than they are to any one else; until those are known, their combinations cannot be understood, nor even then the meaning wholly deduced; each character must be learned by itself, just as words in other languages. The sounds given the original symbols doubtless began to vary early after coming into use. Intercommunication between different parts of the country was not so frequent as to prevent local dialects from arising; but however strong the tendency of the spoken monosyllables to coalesce into polysyllables, the intractable symbols kept them apart. It is surprising, too, what a tendency the mind has to trust to the eye rather than to the ear, in getting and retaining the sense of a book; it is shown in many ways, and arises from habit more than any real difficulty in catching the idea vivâ voce. If the characters could have coalesced, their names would soon have run together, and been modified as they are in other languages. The classics, dictionaries, and unlimited uses of a written language, maintained the same meaning; but as their sounds must be learned traditionally, endless variations and patois arose. Moreover, as new circumstances and increasing knowledge give rise to new words in all countries, so in China, new scenes and expressions arise requiring to be incorporated into the written language. Originally they were unwritten though well understood sounds; and when first written must be explained, as is the case with foreign words like tabu, ukase, vizier, etc., ad infin., when introduced into English. Different writers might, however, employ different primitives to express the sound, not aware that it had already been written, and hence would arise synonyms; they might use dissimilar radicals, and this as well would increase the modes of writing the sound. But the inconvenience of thus multiplying characters would be soon perceived in the obscurity of the sentence, for if the new character was not in the dictionary, its sound and composition were not enough to explain the meaning. When the language had attained a certain copiousness, the mode of education and the style of literary works compelled scholars to employ such characters only as were sanctioned by good use, or else run the risk of not being understood.

The unwritten sounds, however, could not wait for this slow mode of adoption, but the risk of being misunderstood by using characters phonetically led to descriptive terms, conveying the idea and not the sound. Where alphabetic languages adopt a technic for a new thing, the Chinese make a new phrase. This is illustrated by the terms Hung-mao jin, or ‘Red Bristled men,’ for Englishmen; Hwa-kí, or ‘Flowery Flag,’ for Americans; Sí-yang, or ‘Western Ocean,’ for Portuguese, etc., used at Canton, instead of the proper names of those countries. Cause and effect act reciprocally upon each other in this instance; the effect of using unsanctioned characters to express unwritten sounds, is to render a composition obscure, while the restriction to a set of characters compels their meaning to be sufficiently comprehensive to include all occasions. Local, unwritten phrases, and unauthorized characters, are so common, however, owing to the partial communication between distant parts of so great a country and mass of people, that it is evident, if this bond of union were removed by the substitution of an alphabetical language, the Chinese would soon be split into many small nations. However desirable, therefore, might be the introduction of a written language less difficult of acquisition, and more flexible, there are some reasons for wishing it to be delayed until more intelligence is diffused and juster principles of government obtain. When the people themselves feel the need of it, they will contrive some better medium for the promotion of knowledge.

The monosyllabic sound of the primitive once imparted to the ideophonous compound, explains the existence of so many characters having the same sound. When these various characters were presented to the eye of the scholar, no trouble was felt in recognizing their sense and sound, but confusion was experienced in speaking. This has been obviated in two ways. One is by repeating a word, or joining two of similar meanings but of different sounds, to convey a single idea; or else by adding a classifying word to express its nature. Both these modes do in fact form a real dissyllable, and it would appear so in an alphabetical language. The first sort of these hien-hioh sz’, or ‘clam-shell words,’ as they are called, are not unfrequent in books, far more common in conversation and render the spoken more diffuse than the written language—more so, perhaps, than is the case in other tongues. Similar combinations of three, four, and more characters occur, especially where a foreign article or term is translated, but the genius of the language is against the use of polysyllables. Such combinations in English as household, house-warming, housewife, house-room, houseleeks, hot-house, wood-house, household-stuff, etc., illustrate these dissyllables in Chinese; but they are not so easily understood. Such terms as understand, courtship, withdraw, upright, etc., present better analogies to the Chinese compounds. In some the real meaning is totally unlike either of the terms, as tungkia (lit. ‘east house’), for master; tungsí (lit. ‘east west’), for thing; kungchu (lit. ‘lord ruler’), for princess, etc. The classifiers partake of the nature of adjectives, and serve not only to sort different words, but the same word when used in different senses. They correspond to such words in English as herd, fleet, troop, etc. To say a fleet of cows, a troop of ships, or a herd of soldiers, would be ridiculous only in English, but a similar misapplication would confuse the sense in Chinese.

The other way of avoiding the confusion of homophonous monosyllables, which, notwithstanding the “clam-shell words,” and the extensive use of classifiers, are still liable to misapprehension, is by accurately marking its right shing or tone, but as nothing analogous to them is found in European languages, it is rather difficult to describe them. At Canton there are eight arranged in an upper and lower series of four each; at Peking there are only four, at Nanking five, and at Swatow seven. The Chinese printers sometimes mark the shing on certain ambiguous characters, by a semicircle put on one corner; but this is rarely done, as every one who can read is supposed to know how to speak, and consequently to be familiar with the right tone. These four tones are called ping, shang, kü, and jih, meaning, respectively, the even, ascending, departing, and entering tone. They are applied to every word, and have nothing to do either with accent or emphasis; in asking or answering, entreating or refusing, railing or flattering, soothing or recriminating, they remain ever the same. The unlettered natives, even children and females, who know almost nothing of the distinctions into four, five, seven, or eight shing, observe them closely in their speech, and detect a mispronunciation as soon as the learned man. A single illustration of them will suffice. The even tone is the natural expression of the voice, and native writers consider it the most important. In the sentence,

the different cadence of the question and reply illustrate the upper and lower even tone. The ascending tone is heard in exclamatory words as ah! indeed! It is a little like the crescendo in music, while the departing tone corresponds in the same degree to the diminuendo. The drawling tone of repressed discontent, grumbling and eking out a reply, is not unlike the departing tone. The entering tone is nearly eliminated in the northern provinces, but gives a marked feature to speech in the southern; it is an abrupt ending, in the same modulation that the even tone is, but as if broken off; a man about to say lock, and taken with a hiccup in the middle so that he leaves off the last two letters, or the final consonant, pronounces the juh shing. A few characters have two tones, which give them different meanings; the ping shing often denotes the substantive, and the kü shing, the verb, but there is no regularity in this respect.

The tones are observed by natives of all ranks, speaking all patois and dialects, and on all occasions. They present a serious difficulty to the adult foreigner of preaching or speaking acceptably to the natives, for although by a proper use of classifiers, observance of idioms, and multiplication of synonyms, he may be understood, his speech will be rude and his words distasteful, if he does not learn the tones accurately. In Amoy and Fuhchau, he will also run a risk of being misunderstood. If the reader, in perusing the following sentence, will accent the italicized syllables, he will have an imperfect illustration of the confusion a wrong intonation produces: “The present of that object occasioned such a transport as to abstract my mind from all around.” In Chinese, however, it is not accent upon one of two syllables which must be learned, but the integral tone of a single sound, as much as in the musical octave.

It is unnecessary here to enter into any detailed description or enumeration of the words in the Chinese language. One remarkable feature is the frequency of the termination ng preceded by all the vowels, which imparts a peculiar singing character to Chinese speech, as Kwangtung, Yangtsz’ kiang, etc. In a list of sounds in the court dialect, about one-sixth of the syllables have this termination, but a larger proportion of characters are found under those syllables, than the mere list indicates. In Morrison’s Dictionary the number of separate words in the court dialect is 411, but if the aspirated syllables be distinguished, there are 533. In the author’s Syllabic Dictionary the number is 532; Wade reduces the Peking dialect to 397 syllables in one list, and increases it to 420 in another. In the Cantonese there are 707; in the dialect of Swatow, 674; at Amoy, about 900; at Fuhchau, 928; and 660 at Shanghai. All these lists distinguish between aspirated and unaspirated words, as ting and t’ing, pa and p’a, which to an English ear are nearly identical. The largest part of the sounds are common to the dialects, but the distinctions are such as to render it easy to detect each when spoken; the court dialect is the most mellifluous of the whole and easiest to acquire. All the consonants in English are found in one or another of the dialects, besides many not occurring in that language, as bw, chw, gw, jw, lw, mw, nw, etc. There are also several imperfect vowel sounds not known in any European language, as hm or ’m, hn or ’n, ^ng (a high nasal sound), sz’, ’rh, ch’, etc. The phrase ’m ’ng tăk in the Canton dialect, meaning cannot be pushed, or chainⁿ maiⁿ lang, ‘a blind man,’ in the Amoy, cannot be so accurately expressed by these or any other letters that one can learn the sound from them. If it is difficult for us to express their sounds by Roman letters, it is still stranger for the Chinese to write English words. For instance, baptize in the Canton dialect becomes pa-pí-tai-sz’; flannel becomes fat-lan-yin; stairs becomes sz’-ta-sz’; impregnable becomes ím-pí-luk-na-pu-lí; etc. Such words as Washington, midshipman, tongue, etc., can be written nearer their true sound, but the indivisible Chinese monosyllables offer a serious obstacle in the way of introducing foreign words and knowledge into the language.

The preceding observations explain how the numerous local variations from the general language found in all parts of China have arisen. Difficult as the spoken language is for a foreigner to acquire, from the brevity of the words and nicety of their tones, the variety of the local pronunciations given to the same character adds not a little to the labor, especially if he be situated where he is likely to come in contact with persons from different places. Amid such a diversity of pronunciation, and where one sound is really as correct as another, it is not easy to define what should constitute a dialect, a patois, or a corruption. A dialect in other languages is usually described as a local variation in pronunciation, or the use of peculiar words and expressions, not affecting the idiom or grammar of the tongue; but in the Chinese, where the written character unites the mass of people in one language, a dialect has been usually regarded by those who have written on the subject, as extending to variations in the idiom, and not restricted to differences in pronunciation and local expressions. According to this definition, there are only four or five dialects (which would in fact be as many languages if they were not united by the written character), but an endless variety of patois or local pronunciations. The Chinese have published books to illustrate the court, Changchau or Amoy, the Canton and Fuhchau dialects. The differences in the idioms and pronunciation are such as to render persons speaking them mutually unintelligible, but do not affect the style of writing, whose idioms are founded upon the usage of the best writers, and remain unchanged.

The court language, the kwan hwa, or mandarin dialect, is rather the proper language of the country—the Chinese language—than a dialect. It is studied and spoken by all educated men, and no one can make any pretence to learning or accomplishments who cannot converse in it in whatever part of the Empire he may be born. It is the common language throughout the northeastern provinces, especially Honan, Shantung, and Nganhwui, though presenting more or less variations even in them from the standard of the court and capital. This speech is characterized by its soft and mellifluous tones, the absence of all harsh, consonantal endings, and the prevalence of liquids and labials. In parts of the provinces where it is spoken, as the eastern portions of Chehkiang and Kiangsu, gutturals are common, and the initials softened or changed.

This tongue is the most ancient speech now spoken, for stanzas of poetry written twenty-five centuries ago, in the times previous to Confucius, are now read with the same rhymes as when penned. The expressions of the kwan hwa, although resembling the written language more than the other dialects, are still unlike it, being more diffuse, and containing many synonyms and particles not required to make the sense clear when it is addressed to the eye. The difference is such in this respect that two well-educated Chinese speaking in the terse style of books would hardly understand each other, and be obliged to use more words to convey their meaning when speaking than they would consider elegant or necessary in an essay. This is, to be sure, more or less the case in all languages, but from the small variety of sounds and their monosyllabic brevity, it is unavoidable in Chinese, though it must not be inferred that the language cannot be written so as to be understood when read off; it can be written as diffusely as it is spoken, but such a style is not considered very elegant. There are books written in the colloquial, however, from which it is not difficult to learn the style of conversation, and such books are among the best to put into the hands of a foreigner when beginning the study.

The local patois of a place is called tu tan, or hiang tan, i.e., local or village brogue, and there is an interpreter of it attached to almost every officer’s court for the purpose of translating the peculiar phrases of witnesses and others brought before him. The term dialect cannot, strictly, in its previous definition, be applied to the tu tan, though it is usually so called; it is a patois or brogue. The Canton dialect is called by its citizens pak wa, ‘the plain speech,’ because it is more intelligible than the court dialect. It is comparatively easy of acquisition, and differs less from the kwan hwa, in its pronunciation and idioms, than that of Amoy and its vicinity; but the diversity is still enough to render it unintelligible to people from the north. A very few books have been written in it, but none which can afford assistance in learning it. A native scholar would consider his character for literary attainments almost degraded if he should write books in the provincial dialects, and forsake the style of the immortal classics. The principal feature in the pronunciation of the Canton dialect which distinguishes it from the general language, is the change of the abrupt vowel terminations, as loh, kiah, pih, into the well-defined consonants k, p, and t, as lok, kap, pít, a change that considerably facilitates the discrimination of the syllables. The idioms of the two cannot well be illustrated without the help of the written character, but the differences between the sounds of two or three sentences may be exhibited: The phrase, I do not understand what he says, is in the

Court dialect: Wo min puh tung teh ta kiang shim mo.

Canton dialect: Ngo ’m hiu kü kong măt yé.

The rice contains sand in it.

Court dialect: Na ko mí yu sha tsz’.

Canton dialect: Ko tik mai yau sha tsoi noi.

None of the provincial patois differ so much from the kwan hwa, and afford so many peculiarities, as those spoken in the province of Fuhkien and eastern portions of Kwangtung. All of them are nasal, and, compared with those spoken elsewhere, harsh and rough. They have a large number of unwritten sounds, and so supply the lack; the same character often has one sound when read and another when spoken; all of them are in common use. This curious feature obliges the foreigner to learn two parallel languages when studying this dialect, so intimate and yet so distinct are the two. The difference between them will be more apparent by quoting a sentence: “He first performed that which was difficult, and afterward imitated what was easier.” The corresponding words of the colloquial are placed underneath the reading sounds.

The changes from one into the other are exceedingly various both in sound and idiom. Thus, bien chien, ‘before one’s face,’ becomes bin chan when spoken; while in the phrase cheng jit, ‘a former day,’ the same word chien becomes cheng and not chan; bòé chu, ‘pupil of the eye,’ becomes ang a; sit hwan, ‘to eat rice,’ becomes chiah puiⁿ. Their dialect, not less than their trafficking spirit, point out the Amoy people wherever they are met, and as they are usually found along the whole coast and in the Archipelago, and are not understood except by their provincial compatriots, they everywhere clan together and form separate communities. Dr. Medhurst published a dictionary of the Changchau dialect, in which the sounds of the characters are given as they are read. Dr. C. Douglas has gathered a great vocabulary of words and phrases used in the Amoy colloquial, in which he has attempted to reduce everything to the Romanized system of writing, and omitted all the characters.

The dialects of Fuhchau, Swatow, and Canton have been similarly investigated by Protestant missionaries. Messrs. Maclay and Baldwin have taken the former in hand, and their work leaves very little to be desired for the elucidation of that speech. Goddard’s vocabulary of the Swatow has no examples; and Williams’ Tonic Dictionary of the Canton dialect gave no characters with the examples. This deficiency was made up in Lobscheid’s rearrangement of it under the radicals.

The extent to which the dialects are used has not been ascertained, nor the degree of modification each undergoes in those parts where it is spoken; for villagers within a few miles, although able to understand each other perfectly, still give different sounds to a few characters, and have a few local phrases, enough to distinguish their several inhabitants, while towns one or two hundred miles apart are still more unlike. For instance, the citizen of Canton always says shui for water, and tsz’ for child, but the native of Macao says sui and chí for these two words; and if his life depended upon his uttering them as they are spoken in Canton, they would prove a shibboleth which he could not possibly enunciate. Strong peculiarities of speech also exist in the villages between Canton and Macao which are found in neither of those places. Yet whatever sound they give to a character it has the same tone, and a Chinese would be much less surprised to hear water called ♯chwui, than he would to hear it called ♭shui in the lower even tone, instead of its proper ascending tone. The tones really approach vowels in their nature more than mere musical inflections; and it is by their nice discrimination, that the people are able to understand each other with less difficulty than we might suppose amidst such a jargon of vocables.

This accurate discrimination in the vowel sounds, and comparative indifference to consonants, which characterize the Chinese spoken languages, has arisen, no doubt, from the monosyllabic nature, and the constant though slight variations the names of characters undergo from the traditionary mode in which they must be learned. There being no integral sound in any character, each and all of them are, of course, equally correct, per se; but the various general and local dictionaries have each tended somewhat to fix the pronunciation, just as books and education have fixed the spelling of English words. Nor do the Chinese more than other people learn to pronounce their mother tongue from dictionaries, and the variations are consequently but partially restrained by them. It may truly be said, that no two Chinese speak all words alike, while yet, through means of the universally understood character, the greatest mass of human beings ever collected under one government are enabled to express themselves without difficulty, and carry on all the business and concerns of life.

The grammar of the Chinese language is unique, but those writers who say it has no grammar at all must have overlooked the prime signification of the word. There are in all languages words which denote things, and others which signify qualities; words which express actions done by one or many, already done, doing or to be done; actions absolute, conditional, or ordered. The circumstances of the doer and the subject of the action, make prepositions necessary, as well as other connecting words. Thus the principles of grammar exist in all intelligible speech, though each may require different rules. These rules the Chinese language possesses, and their right application, the proper collocation of words, and use of particles, which supply the place of inflection, constitute a difficult part in its acquisition. It has no etymology, properly speaking, for neither the characters nor their names undergo any change; whether used as verbs or nouns, adjectives or particles, they remain the same. The same word may be a noun, a verb, an adverb, or any part of speech, nor can its character be certainly known till it is placed in a sentence, when its meaning becomes definite. Its grammar, therefore, is confined chiefly to its syntax and prosody. This feature of the Chinese language is paralleled in English by such words as light, used as a noun, adjective, and verb; like, used as a verb, adjective, and adverb; sheep and deer, used both in the singular and plural; read, used in the past, present, and future tenses; and in all cases without undergoing any change. But what is occasional and the exception in that tongue, becomes the rule in Chinese; nor is there any more confusion in the last than in the first.

A good summary of the principles of Chinese grammar is given by Rémusat, who says that generally,

Chinese grammarians divide all words into shih tsz’ and hü tsz’, i.e., essential words and particles. The former are subdivided into sz’ tsz’ and hwoh tsz’, i.e., nouns and verbs; the latter into initials or introductory words, conjunctions, exclamations, finals, transitive particles, etc. They furnish examples under each, and assist the student, with model books, in which the principles of the language and all rhetorical terms are explained. The number and variety of grammatical and philological works prove that they have not neglected the elucidation and arrangement of their mother tongue. The rules above cited are applicable to the written language, and these treatises refer entirely to that; the changes in the phraseology of the colloquial do not affect its grammar, however, which is formed upon the same rules.

Although the characters are, when isolated, somewhat indefinite, there are many ways of limiting their meaning in sentences. Nouns are often made by suffixing formative particles, as nu kí, ‘angry spirit,’ merely means anger; í kí, ‘righteous spirit,’ is rectitude; chin ’rh, ‘needle child,’ is a needle, etc.; the suffix, in these cases, simply materializing the word. Gender is formed by distinctive particles, prefixed or suffixed by appropriate words for each gender, or by denoting one gender always by a dissyllabic compound; as male-being, for the masculine; horse-sire, or horse-mother, for stallion or dam; hero, heroine, emperor, empress, etc.; and lastly as wang-hau, i.e., king-queen, for queen, while wang alone means king. Number is formed by prefixing a numeral, as Yung, Tsin, two men; by suffixing a formative, mun, tăng, and others, as jin-tăng, man-sort, or men; ta-mun, he-s or they; by repeating the word, as jin-jin, man-man or men; chu-chu, place-place, or places, i.e., everywhere; and lastly, by the scope of the passage. The nominative, accusative, and vocative cases are commonly known by their position; the genitive, dative, and ablative are formed by appropriate prepositions, expressed or understood. The vocative is common in light reading and historical studies.

Adjectives precede nouns, by which position they are usually determined. Comparisons are made in many ways. Hau is good, kăng hau is better, and chí hau is best; shih făn hau hau is very good; hau hau tih is pretty good, etc. The position of an adjective determines its comparison, as chang yih chih means longer by one cubit; yih chih chang is a cubit long. The comparison of ideas is made by placing the two sentences parallel to each other; for instance, “Entering the hills and seizing a tiger is easy, opening the mouth and getting men to lean to is difficult,” is the way of expressing the comparison, “It is easier to seize a tiger in the hills, than to obtain the good offices of men.” The proper use of antithesis and parallelism is considered one of the highest attainments in composition. The numerals are thirteen in number, with the addition of the character 零 ling to denote a cipher. All amounts are written just as they are to be read, as yih peh sz’ shih san, 一百四十三 i.e., ‘one hundred four tens three.’ They are here introduced, with their pronunciation in three dialects.

The Chinese, like the ancient Greeks, enumerate only up to a myriad, expressing sums higher than that by stating how many myriads there are; the notation of 362,447,180 is three myriads, six thousand, two hundred and forty-four myriads, seven thousand, one hundred, and eighty. Pronouns are few in number, and their use is avoided whenever the sense is clear without them. The personal pronouns are three, wo, ní, and ta, but other pronouns can all be readily expressed by adjectives, by collocation, and by participial phrases. The classifiers sometimes partake of the nature of adjective pronouns, but usually are mere distributive or numerical adjectives.

Verbs, or “living characters,” constitute the most important part of speech in the estimation of Chinese grammarians, and the shun tuh, or easy flow of expression, in their use, is carefully studied. The dissyllabic compounds, called clam-shell words, are usually verbs, and are made in many ways; by uniting two similar words, as kwei-kien (lit. peep-look), ‘to spy;’ by doubling the verb, as kien-kien, meaning to look earnestly; by prefixing a formative denoting action, as ta shwui (lit. strike sleep), ‘to sleep;’ by suffixing a modifying word, as grasp-halt, to grasp firmly; think-arise, to cogitate, etc. No part of the study requires more attention than the right selection of these formatives in both nouns and verbs; perfection in the shun tuh and use of antitheses is the result only of years of study.

The various accidents of voice, mood, tense, number, and person, can all be expressed by corresponding particles, but the genius of the language disfavors their frequent use. The passive voice is formed by prefixing particles indicative of agency before the active verb, as “The villain received my sword’s cutting,” for “The villain was wounded by my sword.” The imperative, potential, and subjunctive moods are formed by particles or adjuncts, but the indicative and infinitive are not designated, nor are the number and person of verbs usually distinguished. The number of auxiliaries, particles, adjuncts, and suffixes of various kinds, employed to express what in other languages is denoted by inflections, is really very moderate; and a nice discrimination exhibited in their use indicates the finished scholar.[300]

The greatest defect in the Chinese language is the indistinct manner in which time is expressed; not that there is any want of terms to denote its varieties, but the terseness of expression admired by Chinese writers leads them to discard every unessential word, and especially those relating to time. This defect is more noticed by the foreigner than the native, who has no knowledge of the precision of time expressed by inflection in other languages. Adverbs, prepositions, conjunctions, and interjections are not distinguished by native grammarians; the former are classed with adjectives, and the others are collectively called hü tsz’—‘empty words.’

No distinction is made between proper and common names, and as every word can be employed as a name it becomes a source of confusion to the translator; in some books a single line drawn on the side of characters denotes the names of persons, and a double line the names of places; important words are denoted by commencing a new line with them, raised one or two characters above the other columns, which answers to capitalizing them. In most books an entire absence of all marks of punctuation, and divisions into sentences and paragraphs, causes needless doubt in the mind of the reader. The great convenience experienced in European languages from the use of capital letters, marks of punctuation, separation into sentences and paragraphs, and the distinction of time, is more plainly seen when a translation is to be made from languages like the Chinese and Japanese, in which they are disregarded. A false taste prevents them from using them; they admire a page of plain characters so much that a student who should punctuate his essay would run a risk of being ridiculed.

It is not easy yet to decide on the best way to adapt the technical words in western science to the genius of this language. The vast terminology in natural history, with the still greater array of scientific names, need not be introduced into it, but can remain in their original Latin and Greek, where Chinese scientists can consult them. New compounds have already been proposed for gases, metals, earths, acids, and other elementary substances, in which the radical and primitive are chosen with reference to their meanings, the latter being more complicated than usual for this purpose. These will gradually get into use as the sciences are studied, and their number will not be troublesomely large.

There are several distinct styles of composition recognized. The ku wăn, or the terse antithetic style of the ancient classics, is considered as inimitable and unimprovable, and really possesses the qualities of energy, vivacity, and brevity in a superior degree; the wăn chang, or style of elevated composition, adopted in essays, histories, and grave works; and the siao shwoh, or colloquial style, used in stories.

If there are serious defects, this language also possesses some striking beauties. The expressive nature of the characters, after their component parts have become familiar, causes much of the meaning of a sentence to pass instantly before the eye, while the energy arising from the brevity attainable by the absence of all inflections and partial use of particles, add a vigor to the style that is hardly reached by any alphabetic language. Dr. Morrison observes that “Chinese fine writing darts upon the mind with a vivid flash, a force and a beauty, of which alphabetic language is incapable.” It is also better fitted than any other for becoming a universal medium of communication, and has actually become so to a much greater extent than any other; but the history of its diffusion, and the modifications it has undergone among the five nations who use it, though presenting a curious topic for philological inquiry, is one far too extensive to be discussed here. So general a use of one written language, however, affords some peculiar facilities for the diffusion of knowledge by means of books as introductory to the general elevation of the people using it, and their preparation for substituting an alphabetic language for so laborious and unwieldy a vehicle of thought, which it seems impossible to avoid as Christian civilization and knowledge extend.

It is often asked, is the Chinese language hard to learn? The preceding account of it shows that to become familiar with its numerous characters, to be able to speak the delicately marked tones of its short monosyllables, and to compose in it with perspicuity and elegance, is the labor of years of close application. To do so in Greek, Latin, English, or any settled tongue, is also a toilsome task, and excepting the barren labor of remembering so many different characters, it is not more so in Chinese than in others. But knowledge sufficient to talk intelligibly, to write perspicuously, and read with considerable ease, is not so herculean a task as some suppose, though this degree is not to be attained without much hard study. Moreover, dictionaries, manuals, and translations are now available which materially diminish the labor, and their number is constantly increasing.

The rules for studying it cannot be laid down so that they will answer equally well for all persons. Some readily catch the most delicate inflections of the voice, and imitate and remember the words they hear; such persons soon learn to speak, and can make themselves understood on common subjects with merely the help of a vocabulary. Others prefer to sit down with a teacher and learn to read, and for most persons this is the best way to begin. At first, the principal labor should be directed to the characters, reading them over with a teacher and learning their form. Commence with the two hundred and fourteen radicals, and commit them to memory, so that they can be repeated and written in their order; then learn the primitives, or at least become familiar with the names and meaning of all the common ones. The aid this preliminary study gives in remembering the formation of characters is worth all the time it takes. Students make a mistake if they begin with the Testament or a tract; they can learn more characters in the same period, and lay a better foundation for acquiring others, by commencing with the radicals and primitives. Meanwhile, they will also be learning sounds and becoming familiar with the tones, which should be carefully attended to as a particular study from the living voice.

When these characters are learned, short sentences or reading lessons selected from good Chinese authors, with a translation attached, should be taken up and committed to memory. Phrases may also be learned at the same time, for use in conversation; an excellent way is to memorize one or two hundred common words, and then practise putting them together in sentences. The study of reading lessons and phrases, with practice in speaking and writing them, will prepare the way for commencing the study of the classics or other native authors. By the time the student has reached this point he needs no further directions; the path he wishes thenceforth to pursue can easily be marked out by himself. It is not amiss here to remark that many persons ardently desirous of fitting themselves soon for preaching or talking to the people, weary their minds and hinder their ultimate progress by too hard study at first upon the dry characters; others come to look upon the written language as less important so long as they can talk rapidly and well, but in the end find that in this, as in every other living tongue, there is no royal road which does not lead them through the grammar and literature.[301]

This sketch of the Chinese language would be incomplete without a notice of the singular jargon which has grown up between the natives and foreigners along the coast, called pigeon-English. It has been so long in use as the medium of traffic and household talk that it now bids fair to become an unwritten patois, of which neither the Chinese nor the English will own the parentage. The term pigeon, a corruption from business, shows, in its transformation, some of the influences which our words must undergo as they pass through the Chinese characters. The foreigners who first settled at Canton had no time nor facilities for learning the dialect, and the traders with whom they bargained soon picked up more foreign words than the former did native. The shopmen ere long formed vocabularies of foreign words obtained from their customers, and wrote the sounds as nearly as possible; these were committed to memory and formed into sentences according to the idioms of their own language, and disregarding all our inflections, in which they had no instruction. Thus the two parties gradually came to understand each other enough for all practical ends; the foreigners were rather pleased to talk “broken China,” as it was not inaptly called, and habit soon made it natural to a new-comer to talk it to the natives, and it obviated all necessity for studying Chinese. The body of the jargon is English, the few Chinese, Portuguese, and Malay words therein imparting a raciness which, with the novelty of the expressions, has of late attracted much attention to this new language. Though apparently without any rules, the natives are very liable to misapprehend what is said to them by their masters or customers, because these rules are not followed, and constant difficulty arises from mutual misunderstanding of this sort. The widening study of Chinese is not likely to do away with this droll lingo at the trade ports, and several attempts have been made to render English pieces into it. On the other hand, in California and elsewhere, the Chinese generally succeed in learning the languages of their adopted countries better than in talking pigeon-English, or the similar mongrel vernacular spoken at Macao by the native-born Chinese.

A knowledge of the Chinese language is a passport to the confidence of the people, and when foreigners generally learn it the natives will begin to divest themselves of their prejudices and contempt. As an inducement to study, the scholar and the philanthropist have the prospect of benefiting and informing through it vast numbers of their fellow-men, of imparting to them what will elevate their minds, purify their hearts, instruct their understandings, and strengthen their desire for more knowledge; they have an opportunity of doing much to counteract the tremendous evils of the opium trade by teaching the Chinese the only sure grounds on which they can be restrained, and at the same time of making them acquainted with the discoveries in science, medicine, and arts among western nations.

CHAPTER XI. CLASSICAL LITERATURE OF THE CHINESE. — PAH KWA of FUH-HÍ. — XXXI.—THE HIEN HEXAGRAM. — Affection between father and son. — Of reproving parents. — Respect to be paid parents in one’s conduct.

The literature contained in the language now briefly described is very ample and discursive, but wanting in accuracy and unenlivened by much variety or humor. The books of the Chinese have formed and confirmed their national taste, which consequently exhibits a tedious uniformity. The unbounded admiration felt for the classics and their immaculate authors, fostered by the examinations, has further tended to this result, and caused these writings to become still more famous from the unequalled influence they have exerted. It may be very readily seen, then, with what especial interest the student of Chinese sociology turns to an investigation of their letters, the immense accumulation of forty centuries. Were its amount and prominence the only features of their literature, these would suffice to make necessary some study thereof; but in addition, continued research may reveal some further qualities of “eloquence and poetry, enriched by the beauty of a picturesque language, preserving to imagination all its colors,” which will substantiate the hearty expressions used by Rémusat when first he entered upon a critical examination of its treasures.

In taking a survey of this literature, the Sz’ Ku Tsiuen Shu Tsung-muh, or ‘Catalogue of all Books in the Four Libraries,’ will be the best guide, since it embraces the whole range of letters, and affords a complete and succinct synopsis of the contents of the best books in the language. It is comprised in one hundred and twelve octavo volumes, and is of itself a valuable work, especially to the foreigner. The books are arranged into four divisions, viz., Classical, Historical, and Professional writings, and Belles-lettres. This Catalogue contains about 3,440 separate titles, comprising upward of 78,000 books; besides these, 6,764 other works, numbering 93,242 books, have been described in other catalogues of the imperial collections. These lists comprise the bulk of Chinese literature, except novels, Buddhist translations, and recent publications.

The works in the first division are ranged under nine sections; one is devoted to each of the five Classics (with a subsidiary section upon these as a whole), one to the memoir on Filial Duty, one to the Four Books, one to musical works, and the ninth to treatises on education, dictionaries, etc.

At the head of the ‘Five Classics’ (Wu King) is placed the Yih King, or ‘Book of Changes,’ a work which if not—as it has been repeatedly called—Antiquissimus Sinarum liber, can be traced with tolerable accuracy to an origin three thousand years ago. It ranks, according to Dr. Legge, third in antiquity among the Chinese classics, or after the Shu and portions of the Shí King; but if an unbounded veneration for enigmatical wisdom supposed to lie concealed under mystic lines be any just claim for importance, to this wondrous monument of literature may easily be conceded the first place in the estimation of Chinese scholars.

While following Dr. Legge in his recent exposition of this classic,[302] a clearer idea of its subject-matter can hardly be given than by quoting his words stating that “the text may be briefly represented as consisting of sixty-four short essays, enigmatically and symbolically expressed, on important themes, mostly of a moral, social, and political character, and based on the same number of lineal figures, each made up of six lines, some of which are whole and the others divided.” The evolution of the eight diagrams from two original principles is ascribed to Fuh-hí (B.C. 3322), who is regarded as the founder of the nation, though his history is, naturally enough, largely fabulous. From the Liang Í, or ‘Two Principles’ (⚊) (⚋), were fashioned the Sz’ Siang, or ‘Four Figures,’ by placing these over themselves and each of them over the other, thus:

⚌ ⚍ ⚎ ⚏

The same pairs placed in succession under the original lines formed eight trigrams called the

The table furnishes us with the natural objects that these figures are said to represent, the attributes which should seem to be suggested by them, and which, with the application of the eight points of the compass, together form the material for a cabalistic logomancy peculiarly pleasing to Chinese habits of thought. The trigrams furnish, moreover, the state and position, at any given place or time, of the twofold division of the one primordial kí, or ‘Air,’ called Yang and Yin, and have thus become the source from whence the system of Fung-shui is derived and on whose changes it is founded. This substance kí answers sufficiently closely to the animated air of the Grecian philosopher Anaximenes; its divisions are a subtle and a coarse principle which, acting and reacting upon each other, produce four siang, or ‘forms,’ and these again combine into eight kwa, or trigrams. Fuh-hí is thus said to have arranged the first four of the Pah Kwa under the Yang (strong or hard) principle, and the last four under the Yin (weak or soft) principle; the former indicate vigor or authority, and it is their part to command, while of the latter, representing feebleness or submission, it is the part to obey.

It was probably Wăn Wang, King Wăn, chief of the principality of Chau in 1185 B.C., who when thrown into prison by his jealous suzerain Shau, the tyrant of Shang, arranged and multiplied the trigrams—long before his time used for purposes of divination—into the sixty-four hexagrams as they now occur in the Yih King. His was a wholly different disposition, both of names, attributes, and the compass points, from the original trigrams of Fuh-hí; again, he added to them certain social relations of father, mother, three sons, and three daughters, which has ever since been found a convenient addition to the conjuring apparatus of the work. “I like to think,” says Dr. Legge, “of the lord of Chau, when incarcerated in Yu-lí, with the sixty-four figures arranged before him. Each hexagram assumed a mystic meaning and glowed with a deep significance. He made it to tell him of the qualities of various objects of nature, or of the principles of human society, or of the condition, actual and possible, of the kingdom. He named the figures each by a term descriptive of the idea with which he had connected it in his mind, and then he proceeded to set that idea forth, now with a note of exhortation, now with a note of warning. It was an attempt to restrict the follies of divination within the bounds of reason.... But all the work of King Wăn in the Yih thus amounts to no more than sixty-four short paragraphs. We do not know what led his son Tan to enter into his work and complete it as he did. Tan was a patriot, a hero, a legislator, and a philosopher. Perhaps he took the lineal figures in hand as a tribute of filial duty. What had been done for the whole hexagram he would do for each line, and make it clear that all the six lines ‘bent one way their precious influence,’ and blended their rays in the globe of light which his father had made each figure give forth. But his method strikes us as singular. Each line seemed to become living, and suggested some phenomenon in nature, or some case of human experience, from which the wisdom or folly, the luckiness or unluckiness, indicated by it could be inferred. It cannot be said that the duke carried out his plan in a way likely to interest any one but a hien shăng who is a votary of divination and admires the style of its oracles. According to our notions, a framer of emblems should be a good deal of a poet; but those of the Yih only make us think of a dryasdust. Out of more than three hundred and fifty, the greater number are only grotesque. We do not recover from the feeling of disappointment till we remember that both father and son had to write ‘according to the trick,’ after the manner of diviners, as if this lineal augury had been their profession.”

Such is the text of the Yih. The words of King Wăn and his son are followed by commentaries called the Shih Yih, or ‘Ten Wings.’ These are of a much later period than the text, and are commonly ascribed to Confucius, though it is extremely doubtful if the sage was author of more than the sentences introduced by the oft-repeated formula, “The Master said,” occurring in or concluding many chapters of the ‘Wings.’ Without lingering over the varied contents of these appendices, more than to point out that the fifth and sixth Wings (‘Appended Sentences’), known as the ‘Great Treatise,’ contains for the first time the character Yih, or ‘Change,’ it will be necessary, before leaving this classic, to illustrate its curious nature by means of a single quotation.

An idea of the several commentaries, or ‘Wings,’ upon such a passage may be gained from the following excerpts. First comes the ‘Treatise on the Twan,’ or King Wăn’s paragraphs; then the ‘Treatise on the Symbols,’ consisting of observations on Duke Chau’s exposition.

The hundreds of fortune-tellers seen in the streets of Chinese towns, whose answers to their perplexed customers are more or less founded on these cabala, indicate their influence among the illiterate; while among scholars, who have long since conceded all divination to be vain, it is surprising to remark the profound estimation in which these inane lines are held as the consummation of all wisdom—the germ, even, of all the truths which western science has brought to light! Each hexagram is supposed to represent, at any given time, six different phases of the primordial kí. “As all the good and evil in the world,” observes McClatchie, “is attributed by the Chinese philosophers to the purity or impurity of the animated air from which the two-fold soul in man is formed, a certain moral value attaches to each stroke, and the diviner prognosticates accordingly that good or evil luck, as the case may be, will result to the consulter of the oracle with regard to the matter on which he seeks it. Nine is the number of Heaven, or the undivided stroke, and six is the number of Earth, or the divided stroke, and hence each stroke has a double designation. The first stroke, if undivided, is designated ‘First-Nine,’ but if divided it is designated ‘First-Six,’ and so on. The second and fifth strokes in each diagram are important, being the centre or medium strokes of their respective lesser diagrams. The fifth stroke, however, is the most important in divination, as it represents that portion of the air which is the especial throne of the imperial power, and is the ‘undeflected due medium.’ Nothing but good luck can follow if the person divining with the straws obtains this stroke. Tao, or the Divine Reason, which is the supreme soul of the whole Kosmos, animates the air, pervading its six phases, and thus giving power to the diagrams to make known future events to mankind.”

Of course anything and everything could be deduced from such a fanciful groundwork, but the Chinese have taken up the discussion in the most serious manner, and endeavored to find the hidden meaning and evolutions of the universe from this curious system. The diagrams have, moreover, supplied the basis for many species of divination by shells, letters, etc., by which means the mass of the people are deluded into the belief of penetrating futurity, and still more wedded to their superstitions. The continued influence of such a work as the Yih illustrates the national penchant for laws and method, while equally indicating the general indifference to empirical research and the facts deduced from study of natural history. If, from a philosophical standpoint, we consider the barrenness of its results, there is little, indeed, to say for the Yih King, save concurrence in Dr. Gustave Schlegel’s epithet, “a mechanical play of idle abstractions;” nevertheless, this classic contains in its whimsical dress of inscrutable strokes much of practical wisdom, giving heed to which it is not hard to agree with Dr. Legge in concluding that “the inculcation of such lessons cannot have been without good effect in China during the long course of its history.”[303]

The second section of the Imperial Catalogue contains treatises upon the Shu King, or ‘Book of Records.’ This classic, first in importance as it is in age among the five King, consists of a series of documents relating to the history of China from the times of Yao down to King Hiang, of the Chau dynasty (B.C. 2357-627). Its earlier chapters were composed at periods following the events of which they relate, but after the twenty-second century B.C. the Shu comes to us, though in a mutilated condition, as the contemporary chronicle of proclamations, addresses, and principles of the early sovereigns. Internal evidence leads to the conclusion that Confucius acted chiefly as editor of documents existing in his day; he probably wrote the preface, but what alterations it received at his hand cannot now be ascertained. When it left his care it contained eighty-one documents in one hundred books, arranged under the five dynasties of Yao, Shun, Hia, Shang, and Chau, the last one coming down to within two hundred and twenty-one years of his own birth. Most of these are lost, and others are doubted by Chinese critics, so that now only forty-eight documents remain, thirty of them belonging to the Chau, with the preface ascribed to Confucius. He showed his estimate of their value by calling the whole Shang Shu, or the ‘Highest Book,’ and we may class their loss with that of other ancient works in Hebrew or Greek literature. The Shu King now contains six different kinds of state papers, viz., imperial ordinances, plans drawn up by statesmen as guides for their sovereign, instructions prepared for the guidance of the prince, imperial proclamations and charges to the people, vows taken before Shangtí by the monarch when going out to battle, and, lastly, mandates, announcements, speeches, and canons issued to the ministers of state.[304]

The morality of the Shu King, for a pagan work, is extremely good; the principles of administration laid down in it, founded on a regard to the welfare of the people, would, if carried out, insure universal prosperity. The answer of Kaoyao to the monarch Yu is expressive of a mild spirit: “Your virtue, O Emperor, is faultless. You condescend to your ministers with a liberal ease; you rule the multitude with a generous forbearance. Your punishments do not extend to the criminal’s heirs, but your rewards reach to after-generations. You pardon inadvertent faults, however great, and punish deliberate crime, however small. In cases of doubtful crimes you deal with them lightly; of doubtful merit, you prefer the highest estimate. Rather than put to death the guiltless, you will run the risk of irregularity and laxity. This life-loving virtue has penetrated the minds of the people, and this is why they do not render themselves liable to be punished by your officers.”[305]

In the counsels of Yu to Shun are many of the best maxims of good government, both for rulers and ruled, which antiquity has handed down in any country. The following are among them: “Yih said, Alas! Be cautious. Admonish yourself to caution when there seems to be no reason for anxiety. Do not fail in due attention to laws and ordinances. Do not find enjoyment in indulgent ease. Do not go to excess in pleasure. Employ men of worth without intermediaries. Put away evil advisers, nor try to carry out doubtful plans. Study that all your purposes may be according to reason. Do not seek the people’s praises by going against reason, nor oppose the people to follow your own desires. Be neither idle nor wayward, and even foreign tribes will come under your sway.”

The Shu King contains the seeds of all things that are valuable in the estimation of the Chinese; it is at once the foundation of their political system, their history, and their religious rites, the basis of their tactics, music, and astronomy. Some have thought that the knowledge of the true God under the appellation of Shangtí is not obscurely intimated in it, and the precepts for governing a country, scattered through its dialogues and proclamations, do their writers credit, however little they may have been followed in practice. Its astronomy has attracted much investigation, but whether the remarks of the commentators are to be ascribed to the times in which they themselves flourished, or to the knowledge they had of the ancient state of the science, is doubtful. The careful and candid discussions by Legge in the introduction to his translation furnish most satisfactory conclusions as to the origin, value, and condition of this venerable relic of ancient China. For his scholarly edition of the Classics he has already earned the hearty thanks of every student of Chinese literature.[306]

The third of the classics, the Shí King, or ‘Book of Odes,’ is ranked together with the two preceding, while its influence upon the national mind has been equally great; a list of commentators upon this work fills the third section of the Catalogue. These poetical relics are arranged into four parts: The Kwoh Fung, or ‘National Airs,’ numbering one hundred and fifty-nine, from fifteen feudal States; the Siao Ya, or ‘Lesser Eulogiums,’ numbering eighty, and arranged under eight decades; the Ta Ya, or ‘Greater Eulogiums,’ numbering thirty-one, under three decades (both of these were designed to be sung on solemn occasions at the royal court); and the Sung, or ‘Sacrificial Odes,’ numbering forty-one chants connected with the ancestral worship of the rulers of Chau, Lu, and Shang. Out of a total number of three hundred and eleven now extant, six have only their titles preserved, while to a major part of the others native scholars give many various readings.

In the preface to his careful translation Dr. Legge has collected all the important information concerning the age, origin, and purpose of these odes, as furnished by native commentators, whose theory is that “it was the duty of the kings to make themselves acquainted with all the odes and songs current in the different States, and to judge from them of the character of the rule exercised by their several princes, so that they might minister praise or blame, reward or punishment accordingly.” These odes and songs seem to have been gathered by Wăn Wang and Duke Chau at the beginning of the Chau dynasty (B.C. 1120), some of them at the capital, others from the feudal rulers in the course of royal progresses through the land, the royal music-master getting copies from the music-masters of the princes. The whole were then arranged, set to music, too, it may be, and deposited for use and reference in the national archives, as well as distributed among the feudatories. Their ages are uncertain, but probably do not antedate B.C. 1719 nor come after 585, or about thirty years before Confucius. Their number was not improbably at first fully up to the three thousand mentioned by the biographers of Confucius, but long before the sage appeared disasters of one kind and another had reduced them to nearly their present condition. What we have is, therefore, but a fragment of various collections made in the early reigns of the Chau sovereigns, which received, perhaps, larger subsequent additions than were preserved to the time of Confucius. He probably took them as they existed in his day, and feeling, possibly, like George Herbert, that

did everything he could to extend their adoption among his countrymen. It is difficult to estimate the power they have exerted over the subsequent generations of Chinese scholars—nor has their influence ever tended to debase their morals, if it has not exalted their imagination. They have escaped the looseness of Moschus, Ovid, or Juvenal, if they have not attained the grandeur of Homer or the sweetness of Virgil and Pindar. There is nothing of an epic character in them—nor even a lengthened narrative—and little of human passions in their strong development. The metaphors and illustrations are often quaint, sometimes puerile, and occasionally ridiculous. Their acknowledged antiquity, their religious character, and their illustration of early Chinese customs and feelings form their principal claims to our notice and appreciative study. M. Ed. Biot, of Paris, was the first European scholar who studied them carefully in this aspect, and his articles in the Journal Asiatique for 1843 are models of analytic criticism and synthetic compilation, enabling one, as he says, “to contemplate at his ease the spectacle of the primitive manners of society in the early age of China, so different from what was then found in Europe and Western Asia.”

An ode referred to the time of Wăn Wang (a contemporary of Saul) contains a sentiment reminding us of Morris’ lines beginning “Woodman, spare that tree.” It is in Part I., Book II., and is called Kan-tang, or the ‘Sweet pear-tree.’

The eighth ode in Book III., called Hiung Chí, or ‘Cock Pheasant,’ contains a wife’s lament on her husband’s absence.

From the same book we translate somewhat freely an example (No. 17) of love-song, or serenade, not uncommon among these odes.

Among the ‘Lesser Eulogiums’ (Book IV., Ode 5) is one more ambitious in its scope, relating to the completion of a palace of King Siuen, about B.C. 800.

The last two stanzas indicate the comparative estimate, in ancient days, of boys and girls born into a family; and this estimate, still maintained, has been in a great degree upheld by this authority. Another ode in the ‘Greater Eulogies’ (Book III., Ode 10) deplores the misery that prevailed about B.C. 780, owing to the interference of women and eunuchs in the government. Two stanzas only are quoted, which are supposed to have been specially directed against Pao Sz’, a mischief-maker in the court of King Yu, like Agrippina and Pulcheria in Roman and Byzantine annals.

There are, however, numerous stanzas among the odes in the ‘National Airs’ which show their fairer side and go far to neutralize these, giving the same contrasts in female character which were portrayed by King Solomon during the same age.

The versification in a monosyllabic language appears very tame to those who are only familiar with the lively and varied rhythms of western tongues; but the Chinese express more vivacity and cadence in their ballads and ditties when sung than one would infer from these ancient relics when transliterated in our letters. As the young lad has usually committed all the three hundred and five odes to memory before he enters the Examination Hall, their influence on the matter and manner of his own future poetical attempts can hardly be exaggerated. It is shown throughout the thousands of volumes enumerated in the fourth division of the Imperial Catalogue. Most of the Shí King is written in tetrametres, and nothing can be more simple. They have been most unfortunately likened to the Hebrew Psalms by some of the early missionaries, but neither in manner nor matter is the comparison a happy one. One point of verbal resemblance is noticed by Dr. Legge between the first ode in Part III. and the one hundred and twenty-first psalm, where the last line of a stanza is generally repeated in the first line of the next, a feature something like the repetitions in Hiawatha. The rhymes and tones both form an essential part of Chinese poetry, one which can only be imperfectly represented in our language. The following furnishes an example of the general style, to which a literal rendering is subjoined:

The highest range of thought in the odes is contained in Part IV., but the whole collection is worthy of perusal, and through the labors of Dr. Legge has been made more accessible than it was ever before. The amount of native literature extant, illustrative, critical, and philological, referring to the Book of Odes[311] is not so large as that on the Yih King; but the fifty-five works quoted in his preface[312] contain enough to indicate their industry and acumen. These works will elevate the character of Chinese scholarship in the opinion of those foreigners who remember the disadvantages of its isolation from the literature of other lands, and the difficulties of a language which rendered that literature inaccessible.[313]

The fourth section in the Catalogue contains the Rituals and a list of their editions and commentators, but only one of the three is numbered among the King and used as a text-book at the public examinations. This is the Lí Kí, or ‘Book of Rites,’ the Mémorial des Rites, as M. Callery calls it in his translation,[314] and one of the works which has done so much to mold and maintain Chinese character and institutions. It is not superior in any respect to the Chau Lí and the Í Lí, but owes its influence to its position. They were all the particular objects of Tsin Chí Hwangtí’s ire in his efforts to destroy every ancient literary production in his kingdom; the present texts were recovered from their hiding-places about B.C. 135. The Chau Lí, or ‘Ritual of Chau,’ is regarded as the work of Duke Chau (B.C. 1130), who gives the detail of the various offices established under the new dynasty, in which he bore so prominent a part. The sections containing the divisions of the administrative part of the Chinese government of that day have furnished the types for the six boards of the present day and their subdivisions. So far as we now know, no nation then existing could show so methodical and effective a system of national polity.

The Í Lí is a smaller work, treating of family affairs, and as its name, ‘Decorum Ritual,’ indicates, contains directions for domestic life, as the other does for state matters. That is in forty-four sections and this is in seven, and both are now accepted as among the most ancient works extant. The former was translated by Ed. Biot,[315] and remains a monument of his scholarship and research.

The Lí Kí owes its position among the classics to the belief that Confucius here gives his views on government and manners, although these chapters are not regarded as the same in their integrity as those said to have been found in the walls of his house, and brought to light in the second century B.C. by Kao Tang of Lu, under the name of Sz’ Lí, or the ‘Scholar’s Ritual.’ In the next century Tai Teh collected all the existing documents relating to the ancient rituals in two hundred and fourteen sections, only a portion of which were then held to have emanated from the sage and recorded by his pupils. His work, in eighty-five sections, is called Ta Tai Lí, or the ‘Senior Tai’s Ritual,’ to distinguish it from the Siao Tai Lí, or the ‘Junior Tai’s Ritual,’ a work in forty-nine sections, by his nephew, Tai Shing. This is the work now known as the Lí Kí, M. Callery’s translation of which contains the authorized text of Kanghí according to Fan Tsz’-tăng, in thirty-six sections, with many notes. His translation is wearisome reading from the multitude of parentheses interjected into the text, distracting the attention and weakening its continuity.

Those who have read Abbé Huc’s entertaining remarks on the Rites in China will find in these three works the reason and application of their details. In explanation of their importance, M. Callery shows in a few words what a wide field they cover: “Ceremony epitomizes the entire Chinese mind; and, in my opinion, the Lí Kí is per se the most exact and complete monograph that China has been able to give of itself to other nations. Its affections, if it has any, are satisfied by ceremony; its duties are fulfilled by ceremony; its virtues and vices are referred to ceremony; the natural relations of created beings essentially link themselves in ceremonial—in a word, to that people ceremonial is man as a moral, political, and religious being in his multiplied relations with family, country, society, morality, and religion.” This explanation shows, too, how meagre a rendering ceremony is for the Chinese idea of lí, for it includes not only the external conduct, but involves the right principles from which all true etiquette and politeness spring. The state religion, the government of a family, and the rules of society are all founded on the true lí, or relations of things. Reference has already been made to this profoundly esteemed work (p. 520), and one or two more extracts will suffice to exhibit its spirit and style, singular in its object and scope among all the bequests of antiquity.

These extracts show something of the molding principles which operate on Chinese youth from earliest years, and the scope given in his education to filial piety. From conning such precepts the lad is imbued with a respect for his parents that finally becomes intensified into a religious sentiment, and forms, as he increases in age, his only creed—the worship of ancestors. His seniors, on the other hand, have but to point to the text-books before him as authority for all things they exact, and as being the only possible source of those virtues that conduct to happiness. The position of females, too, has remained, under these dogmas, much the same for hundreds of years. Nor is it difficult to account for the influence which they have had. Those who were most aware of their excellence, and had had some experience in the tortuous dealings of the human heart, as husbands, fathers, mothers, officers, and seniors, were those who had the power to enforce obedience upon wives, children, daughters, subjects, and juniors, as well as teach it to them. These must wait till increasing years brought about their turn to fill the upper rank in the social system, by which time habit would lead them to exercise their sway over the rising generation in the same manner. Thus it would be perpetuated, for the man could not depart from the way his childhood was trained; had the results been more disastrous, it would have been easy for us to explain why, amid the ignorance, craft, ambition, and discontent found in a populous, uneducated, pagan country, such formal rules had failed of benefiting society to any lasting extent. We must look higher for this result, and acknowledge the degree of wholesome restraint upon the passions of the Chinese which the Author of whatever is good in these tenets has seen fit to confer upon them in order to the preservation of society.

The fifth section contains the Chun Tsiu, or ‘Spring and Autumn Record,’ and its literature. This is the only one of the King attributed to Confucius, though whether we have in the Record, as it now exists, a genuine compilation of the sage, does not appear to be beyond doubt. His object being to construct a narrative of events in continuation of the Shu King, he, with assistance from his pupils, drew up a history of his own country, extending from the reign of Ping Wang to about the period of his birth (B.C. 722 to 480). Inasmuch as the author of this chronicle confined himself to the relation of such facts as he deemed worthy to be recorded, and was not above altering or concealing such details as in his private judgment appeared unworthy of the princes of his dynasty, this history cannot be regarded as exactly in conformity with modern notions of what is desirable in works of this class. That Confucius wished to leave behind him a lasting monument to his own name, as well as a narration of events, we gather from more than one of his utterances: “The superior man is distressed lest his name should not be honorably mentioned after death. My principles do not make way in the world; how shall I make myself known to future ages?” In order, therefore, to insure the preservation of his chef d’œuvre to all time, he combines with the annals certain censures and righteous decisions which should render it at once a history and a text-book of moral lessons; and in giving the book to his disciples, “It is by the Chun Tsiu,” he said, “that after-ages will know me, and also by it that they will condemn me.”

The title, “Spring and Autumn,” is understood by many Chinese scholars to be a term for chronological annals; in this case the name being explained “because their commendations are life-giving like spring, and their censures life-withering like autumn,” or, as we find in the Trimetrical Classic, “which by praise and blame separates the good and bad.”[317] A closer inspection of the Chun Tsiu is sure to prove disappointing; spite of the glowing accounts of Mencius and its great reputation, this history is simply a bald record of incidents whose entire contents afford barely an hour’s reading. “Instead of a history of events,” writes Dr. Legge, “woven artistically together, we find a congeries of the briefest possible intimations of matters in which the court and State of Lu were more or less concerned, extending over two hundred and forty-two years, without the slightest tincture of literary ability in the composition, or the slightest indication of judicial opinion on the part of the writer. The paragraphs are always brief. Each one is designed to commemorate a fact; but whether that fact be a display of virtue calculated to command our admiration, or a deed of atrocity fitted to awaken our disgust, it can hardly be said that there is anything in the language to convey to us the shadow of an idea of the author’s feelings about it. The notices—for we cannot call them narratives—are absolutely unimpassioned. A base murder and a shining act of heroism are chronicled just as the eclipses of the sun are chronicled. So and so took place; that is all. No details are given; no judgment is expressed.”

So imperturbable a recital could hardly have been saved from extinction even by the great reputation of the sage, had it not been for the amplification of Tso, a younger contemporary or follower of Confucius, who filled up the meagre sentences and added both flesh and life to the skeleton. It is possible that the enthusiastic praises of Mencius are due to the fact that he associated the text and commentary as one work. The Chuen of Tso has indeed always been regarded as foremost among the secondary classics; nor is it too much, considering his terse yet vivid and pictorial style, to call its author, as does Dr. Legge, “the Froissart of China.”[318] In addition to his purpose of explaining the text of the Chun Tsiu, Tso’s secondary object was to give a general view of the history of China during the period embraced by that record; unless he had put his living tableaux into the framework of his master, there is grave reason to fear that many most important details relating to the sixth and seventh centuries B.C. would have been forever lost. Two other early commentaries, those of Kung Yang and Kuh Liang, dating from about the second century B.C., occupy a high position in the estimation of Chinese scholars as illustrative of the original chronicle. They do not compare with the Tso Chuen either in interest or in authority, though it may be said that a study of the Chun Tsiu can hardly be made unless attended with a careful perusal of their contents. It will not be without interest to give an example of the Record, followed with elucidations of the text by these three annotators. The second year of Duke Hí of Lu (B.C. 657) runs as follows:

Upon the third entry for this year the Tso Chuen enlarges:

The commentary of Kung Yang says on the same paragraph:

The following, as a brief sample of the Kuh Liang commentary, takes up the narrative where we have broken off. There is so much that is similar in these two latter exegeses as to lead to the belief that they were composed with reference to each other.

Meagre as are the items of the text, they show, together with its copious commentaries, the methodical care of the early Chinese in preserving their ancient records. The hints which these and other books give of their intellectual activity during the eight centuries before Christ, naturally compel a higher estimate of their culture than we have hitherto allowed them.[320]

The sixth section of the Catalogue has already been noticed as comprising the literature of the Hiao King.

The seventh section contains a list of works written to elucidate the Five Classics as a whole, and if their character for originality of thought, variety of research, extent of illustration, and explanation of obscurities was comparable to their size and numbers, no books in any language could boast of the aids possessed by the Wu King for their right comprehension. Of these commentators, Chu Hí of Kiangsí, who lived during the Sung dynasty, has so greatly exceeded all others in illustrating and expounding them, that his explanations are now considered of almost equal authority with the text, and are always given to the beginner to assist him in ascertaining its true meaning.

The eighth section of the Catalogue comprises memoirs and comments upon the Sz’ Shu, or ‘Four Books,’ which have been nearly as influential in forming Chinese mind as the Wu King. They are by different authors, and since their publication have perhaps undergone a few alterations and interpolations, but the changes either in these or the Five Classics cannot be very numerous or great, since the large body of disciples who followed Confucius, and had copies of his writings, would carefully preserve uncorrupt those which he edited, and hand down unimpaired those which contained his sayings. None of the Four Books were actually written by Confucius himself, but three of them are considered to be a digest of his sentiments; they were arranged in their present form by the brothers Ching, who flourished about eight centuries ago.

The first of the Four Books is the Ta Hioh, i.e., ‘Superior’ or ‘Great Learning,’ which originally formed one chapter of the Book of Rites. It is now divided into eleven chapters, only the first of which is ascribed to the sage, the remainder forming the comment upon them; the whole does not contain two thousand words. The argument of the Ta Hioh is briefly summed up in four heads, “the improvement of one’s self, the regulation of a family, the government of a state, and the rule of an empire.” In the first chapter this idea is thus developed in a circle peculiarly Chinese:

The subsequent chapters mainly consist of the terse sayings of ancient kings and authors gathered and arranged by Tsăng and afterward by Chu Hí, designed to illustrate and enforce the teachings of Confucius contained in the first. One quotation only can be given from Chapter X.

It will be willingly allowed, when reading these extracts, that, destitute as they were of the high sanctions and animating hopes and promises of the Word of God, these Chinese moralists began at the right place in their endeavors to reform and benefit their countrymen, and that they did not fully succeed was owing to causes beyond their reforming power.

The second of the Four Books is called Chung Yung, or the ‘Just Medium,’ and is, in some respects, the most elaborate treatise in the series. It was composed by Kung Kih, the grandson of Confucius (better known by his style Tsz’-sz’), about ninety years after the sage’s death. It once also formed part of the Lí Kí, from which it, as well as the Ta Hioh, were taken out by Chu Hí to make two of the Sz’ Shu. It has thirty-three chapters, and has been the subject of numerous comments. The great purpose of the author is to illustrate the nature of human virtue, and to exhibit its conduct in the actions of an ideal kiun tsz’, or ‘princely man’ of immaculate propriety, who always demeans himself correctly, without going to extremes. He carries out the advice of Hesiod:

True virtue consists in never going to extremes, though it does not appear that by this the sage meant to repress active benevolence on the one hand, or encourage selfish stolidity on the other. Ching, or uprightness, is said to be the basis of all things; and ho, harmony, the all-pervading principle of the universe; “extend uprightness and harmony to the utmost, and heaven and earth will be at rest, and all things be produced and nourished according to their nature.” The general character of the work is monotonous, but relieved with some animated passages, among which the description of the kiun tsz’, or princely man, is one. “The princely man, in dealing with others, does not descend to anything low or improper. How unbending his valor! He stands in the middle, and leans not to either side. The princely man enters into no situation where he is not himself. If he holds a high situation, he does not treat with contempt those below him; if he occupies an inferior station, he uses no mean arts to gain the favor of his superiors. He corrects himself and blames not others; he feels no dissatisfaction. On the one hand, he murmurs not at Heaven; nor, on the other, does he feel resentment toward man. Hence, the superior man dwells at ease, entirely waiting the will of Heaven.”[321]

Chinese moralists divide mankind into three classes, on these principles: “Men of the highest order, as sages, worthies, philanthropists, and heroes, are good without instruction; men of the middling classes are so after instruction, such as husbandmen, physicians, astrologers, soldiers, etc., while those of the lowest are bad in spite of instruction, as play-actors, pettifoggers, slaves, swindlers, etc.” The first are shing, or sages; the second are hien, or worthies; the last are yu, or worthless. Sir John Davis notices the similarity of this triplicate classification with that of Hesiod. The Just Medium thus describes the first character:

Sincerity or conscientiousness holds a high place among the attributes of the superior or princely man; but in translating the Chinese terms into English, it is sometimes puzzling enough to find those which will exhibit the exact idea of the original. For instance, sincerity is described as “the origin or consummation of all things; without it, there would be nothing. It is benevolence by which a man’s self is perfected, and knowledge by which he perfects others.” In another place we read that “one sincere wish would move heaven and earth.” The kiun tsz’ is supposed to possess these qualities. The standard of excellence is placed so high as to be absolutely unattainable by unaided human nature; and though Kih probably intended to elevate the character of his grandfather to this height, and thus hand him down to future ages as a shing jin, or ‘perfect and holy man,’ he has, in the providence of God, done his countrymen great service in setting before them such a character as is here given in the Chung Yung. By being made a text-book in the schools it has been constantly studied and memorized by generations of students, to their great benefit.

The third of the Four Books, called the Lun Yu, or ‘Analects of Confucius,’ is divided into twenty chapters, in which the collective body of his disciples recorded his words and actions, much in the same way that Boswell did those of Johnson. It has not, however, the merit of chronological arrangement, and parts of it are so sententious as to be obscure, if not almost unintelligible. This work discloses the sage’s shrewd insight into the character of his countrymen, and knowledge of the manner in which they could best be approached and influenced. Upon the commencement of his career as reformer and teacher, he contented himself with reviving the doctrines of the “Ancients;” but finding his influence increasing as he continued these instructions, he then—yet always as under their authority—engrafted original ideas and tenets upon the minds of his generation. Had even his loftiest sentiments been propounded as his own, they would hardly have been received in his day, and, perhaps, through the contempt felt for him by his contemporaries, have been lost entirely.

Among the most remarkable passages of the Four Books are the following: Replying to the question of Tsz’-kung, “Is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all of one’s life?” Confucius said: “Is not shu (‘reciprocity’) such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others.” In a previous place Tsz’-kung had said: “What I do not wish men to do to me, I also wish not to do to men.” Confucius replied: “Tsz’, you have not attained to that.” The same principle is repeated in the Chung Yung, where it is said that the man who does so is not far from the path. Another is quoted in the Imperial Dictionary, under the word Fuh: “The people of the west have sages,” or “There is a sage (or holy man) among the people of the west,” where the object is to show that he did not mean Buddha. As Confucius was contemporary with Ezra, it is not impossible that he had heard something of the history of the Israelites scattered throughout the one hundred and twenty-seven provinces of the Persian monarchy, or of the writings of their prophets, though there is not the least historical evidence that he knew anything of the countries in Western Asia, or of the books extant in their languages.

Some idea of the character of the Lun Yu may be gathered from a few detached sentences, selected from Marshman’s translation.[323]

A few facts respecting the life, and observations on the character, of the great sage of Chinese letters, may here be added, though the extracts already made from his writings are sufficient to show his style. Confucius was born B.C. 551, in the twentieth year of the Emperor Ling (about the date at which Cyrus became king of Persia), in the kingdom of Lu, now included in Yenchau, in the south of Shantung. His father was a district magistrate, and dying when he was only three years old, left his care and education to his mother, who, although not so celebrated as the mother of Mencius, seems to have nurtured in him a respect for morality, and directed his studies. During his youth he was remarkable for a grave demeanor and knowledge of ancient learning, which gained him the respect and admiration of his townsmen, so that at the age of twenty, the year after his marriage, he was entrusted with the duties of a subordinate office in the revenue department, and afterward appointed a supervisor of fields and herds. In his twenty-fourth year his mother deceased, and in conformity with the ancient usage, which had then fallen into disuse, he immediately resigned all his employments to mourn for her three years, during which time he devoted himself to study. This practice has continued to the present day.

His examination of the ancient writings led him to resolve upon instructing his countrymen in them, and to revive the usages of former kings, especially in whatever related to the rites. His position gave him an entry to court in Lu, where he met educated and influential men, and by the time he was thirty he was already in repute among them as a teacher. His own king, Siang, gave him the means of visiting the imperial court at Lohyang. Here, together with his disciples, he examined everything, past and present, with close scrutiny, and returned home with renewed regard for the ancient founders of the House of Chau. His scholars and admirers increased in numbers, and a corresponding extension of fame followed, so that ere long he had an invitation to the court of the prince of Tsí, but on arrival there was mortified to learn that curiosity had been the prevailing cause of the invitation, and not a desire to adopt his principles. He accordingly left him and went home, where the struggles between three rival families carried disorder and misery throughout the kingdom; it was with the greatest difficulty that he remained neutral between these factions. His disciples were from all parts of the land, and public opinion began to be influenced by his example. At length an opportunity offered to put his tenets into practice. The civil strife had resulted in the flight of the rebels, and Lu was settling down into better government, when in B.C. 500 Confucius was made the magistrate of the town of Chung-tu by his sovereign, Duke Ting. He was now fifty years old, and began to carry out the best rule he could in his position as minister of crime. For three years he administered the affairs of State with such a mixture of zeal, prudence, severity, and regard for the rights and wants of all classes, that Lu soon became the envy and dread of all other States. He even succeeded in destroying two or three baronial castles whose chiefs had set all lawful authority at defiance. His precepts had been fairly put in practice, and, like Solomon, his influence in after-ages was increased by the fact of acknowledged success.

It was but little more than an experiment, however; for Duke King of Tsí, becoming envious of the growing power of his neighbor, sent Ting a tempting present, consisting of thirty horses beautifully caparisoned, and a number of curious rarities, with a score of the most accomplished courtesans he could procure in his territories. This scheme of gaining the favor of the youthful monarch, and driving the obnoxious cynic from his councils, succeeded, and Confucius soon after retired by compulsion into private life. He moved into the dominions of the prince of Wei, accompanied by such of his disciples as chose to follow him, where he employed himself in extending his doctrines and travelling into the adjoining States.

He was at times applauded and patronized, but quite as often the object of persecution and contumely; more than once his life was endangered. He compared himself to a dog driven from his home: “I have the fidelity of that animal, and I am treated like it. But what matters the ingratitude of men? They cannot hinder me from doing all the good that has been appointed me. If my precepts are disregarded, I have the consolation of knowing in my own breast that I have faithfully performed my duty.” He sometimes spoke in a manner that showed his own impression to be that heaven had conferred on him a special commission to instruct the world. On one or two occasions, when he was in jeopardy, he said: “If Heaven means not to obliterate this doctrine from the earth, the men of Kwang can do nothing to me.” And “as Heaven has produced whatever virtue is in me, what can Hwan Tui do to me?”

In his instructions he improved passing events to afford useful lessons, and some of those recorded are at least ingenious. Observing a fowler one day sorting his birds into different cages, he said, “I do not see any old birds here; where have you put them?” “The old birds,” replied the fowler, “are too wary to be caught; they are on the lookout, and if they see a net or cage, far from falling into the snare they escape and never return. Those young ones which are in company with them likewise escape, but only such as separate into a flock by themselves and rashly approach are the birds I take. If perchance I catch an old bird it is because he follows the young ones.” “You have heard him,” observed the sage, turning to his disciples; “the words of this fowler afford us matter for instruction. The young birds escape the snare only when they keep with the old ones, the old ones are taken when they follow the young; it is thus with mankind. Presumption, hardihood, want of forethought, and inattention are the principal reasons why young people are led astray. Inflated with their small attainments they have scarcely made a commencement in learning before they think they know everything; they have scarcely performed a few common virtuous acts, and straight they fancy themselves at the height of wisdom. Under this false impression they doubt nothing, hesitate at nothing, pay attention to nothing; they rashly undertake acts without consulting the aged and experienced, and thus securely following their own notions, they are misled and fall into the first snare laid for them. If you see an old man of sober years so badly advised as to be taken with the sprightliness of a youth, attached to him, and thinking and acting with him, he is led astray by him and soon taken in the same snare. Do not forget the answer of the fowler.”

Once, when looking at a stream, he compared its ceaseless current to the transmission of good doctrine through succeeding generations, and as one race had received it they should hand it down to others. “Do not imitate those isolated men [the Rationalists] who are wise only for themselves; to communicate the modicum of knowledge and virtue we possess to others will never impoverish ourselves.” He seems to have entertained only faint hopes of the general reception of his doctrine, though toward the latter end of his life he had as much encouragement in the respect paid him personally and the increase of his scholars as he could reasonably have wished.

Confucius returned to his native country at the age of sixty-eight, and devoted his time to completing his edition of the classics and in teaching his now large band of disciples. He was consulted by his sovereign, who had invited him to return, and one of his last acts was to go to court to urge an attack on Tsí and punish the murder of its duke. Many legends have gathered around him, so that he now stands before his countrymen as a sage and a demigod; yet there is a remarkable absence of the prophetic and the miraculous in every event connected with these later writings. One story is that when he had finished his writings he collected his friends around him and made a solemn dedication of his literary labors to heaven as the concluding act of his life. “He assembled all his disciples and led them out of the town to one of the hills where sacrifices had usually been offered for many years. Here he erected a table or altar, upon which he placed the books; and then turning his face to the north, adored Heaven, and returned thanks upon his knees in a humble manner for having had life and strength granted him to enable him to accomplish this laborious undertaking; he implored Heaven to grant that the benefit to his countrymen from so arduous a labor might not be small. He had prepared himself for this ceremony by privacy, fasting, and prayer. Chinese pictures represent the sage in the attitude of supplication, and a beam of light or a rainbow descending from the sky upon the books, while his scholars stand around in admiring wonder.”[324]

A few days before his death he tottered about the house, sighing,

He died soon after, B.C. 478, aged seventy-three, leaving a single descendant, his grandson Tsz’-sz, through whom the succession has been transmitted to the present day. During his life the return of the Jews from Babylon, the invasion of Greece by Xerxes, and conquest of Egypt by the Persians took place. Posthumous honors in great variety, amounting to idolatrous worship, have been conferred upon him. His title is the ‘Most Holy Ancient Teacher’ Kung tsz’, and the ‘Holy Duke.’ In the reign of Kanghí, two thousand one hundred and fifty years after his death, there were eleven thousand males alive bearing his name, and most of them of the seventy-fourth generation, being undoubtedly one of the oldest families in the world. In the Sacrificial Ritual a short account of his life is given, which closes with the following pæan:

The leading features of the philosophy of Confucius are subordination to superiors and kind, upright dealing with our fellow-men; destitute of all reference to an unseen Power to whom all men are accountable, they look only to this world for their sanctions, and make the monarch himself only partially amenable to a higher tribunal. It would indeed be hard to over-estimate the influence of Confucius in his ideal princely scholar, and the power for good over his race this conception ever since has exerted. It might be compared to the glorious work of the sculptor on the Acropolis of Athens—that matchless statue more than seventy feet in height, whose casque and spear of burnished brass glittered above all the temples and high places of the city, and engaged the constant gaze of the mariner on the near Ægean; guiding his onward course, it was still ever beyond his reach. Like the Athena Promachos to the ancient Attic voyager, so stands the kiun-tsz’ of Confucius among the ideal men of pagan moralists. The immeasurable influence in after-ages of the character thus portrayed proves how lofty was his own standard, and the national conscience has ever since assented to the justice of the portrait.

From the duty, honor, and obedience owed by a child to his parents, he proceeds to inculcate the obligations of wives to their husbands, subjects to their prince, and ministers to their king, together with all the obligations arising from the various social relations. Political morality must be founded on private rectitude, and the beginning of all real advance was, in his opinion, comprised in nosce teipsum. It cannot be denied that among much that is commendable there are a few exceptionable dogmas among his tenets, and Dr. Legge, as has already been seen, reflects severely on his disregard of truth in the Chun Tsiu and in his lifetime. Yet compared with the precepts of Grecian and Roman sages, the general tendency of his writings is good, while in adaptation to the society in which he lived, and their eminently practical character, they exceed those of western philosophers. He did not deal much in sublime and unattainable descriptions of virtue, but rather taught how the common intercourse of life was to be maintained—how children should conduct themselves toward their parents, when a man should enter on office, when to marry, etc., etc., which, although they may seem somewhat trifling to us, were probably well calculated for the times and people among whom he lived.[325]

Had Confucius transmitted to posterity such works as the Iliad, the De Officiis, or the Dialogues of Plato, he would no doubt have taken a higher rank among the commanding intellects of the world, but it may be well doubted whether his influence among his own countrymen would have been as good or as lasting. The variety and minuteness of his instructions for the nurture and education of children, the stress he lays upon filial duty, the detail of etiquette and conduct he gives for the intercourse of all classes and ranks in society, characterize his writings from those of all philosophers in other countries, who, comparatively speaking, gave small thought to the education of the young. The Four Books and the Five Classics would not, so far as regards their intrinsic character in comparison with other productions, be considered as anything more than curiosities in literature for their antiquity and language, were it not for the incomparable influence they have exerted over so many millions of minds; in this view they are invested with an interest which no book, besides the Bible, can claim. The source and explanation of this influence is to be found in their use as text-books in the schools and competitive examinations, and well would it be for Christian lands if their youth had the same knowledge of the writings of Solomon and the Evangelists. Their freedom from descriptions of impurity and licentiousness, and allusions to whatever debases and vitiates the heart, is a redeeming quality of the Chinese classics which should not be overlooked. Chinese literature contains enough, indeed, to pollute even the mind of a heathen, but its scum has become the sediment; and little or nothing can be found in the writings that are most highly prized which will not bear perusal by any person in any country. Every one acquainted with the writings of Hindu, Greek, and Roman poets knows the glowing descriptions of the amours of gods and goddesses which fill their pages, and the purity of the Chinese canonical books in this respect must be considered as remarkable.

Worship of Confucius and his Disciples.

For the most part the Chinese, in worshipping Confucius, content themselves with erecting a simple tablet in his honor; to carve images for the cult of the sage is uncommon. The incident represented in the adjoining wood-cut illustrates, however, an exception to the prevailing severity of this worship. A certain Wei Kí, a scholar living in the Tang dynasty (A.D. 657), not content, it is said, with giving instruction in the classics, set up the life-size statues of Confucius and his seventy-two disciples in order to incite the enthusiasm of his own pupils. Into this sanctuary of the divinities of learning were wont to come the savant Wei and his scholars—among whom were numbered both his grandfather and several of his grandchildren—to prostrate themselves before the ancient worthies. “But of his descendants,” concludes the chronicler, “there were many who arose to positions of eminence in the State.”

The last of the Four Books is nearly as large as the other three united, and consists entirely of the writings of Mencius, Măng tsz’, or Măng fu-tsz’, as he is called by the Chinese.[326] This sage flourished upward of a century after the death of his master, and although, in estimating his character, it must not be forgotten that he had the advantages of his example and stimulus of his fame and teachings, in most respects he displayed an originality of thought, inflexibility of purpose, and extensive views superior to Confucius, and must be regarded as one of the greatest men Asiatic nations have ever produced.

Mencius was born B.C. 371,[327] in the city of Tsau, now in the province of Shantung, not far from his master’s native district. He was twenty-three years old when Plato died, and many other great men of Greece were his contemporaries. His father died early, and left the guardianship of the boy to his widow, Changshí. “The care of this prudent and attentive mother,” to quote from Rémusat, “has been cited as a model for all virtuous parents. The house she occupied was near that of a butcher; she observed that at the first cry of the animals that were being slaughtered the little Măng ran to be present at the sight, and that on his return he sought to imitate what he had seen. Fearful that his heart might become hardened, and be accustomed to the sight of blood, she removed to another house which was in the neighborhood of a cemetery. The relations of those who were buried there came often to weep upon their graves and make the customary libations; the lad soon took pleasure in their ceremonies, and amused himself in imitating them. This was a new subject of uneasiness to Changshí; she feared her son might come to consider as a jest what is of all things the most serious, and that he would acquire a habit of performing with levity, and as a matter of routine merely, ceremonies which demand the most exact attention and respect. Again, therefore, she anxiously changed her dwelling, and went to live in the city, opposite to a school, where her son found examples the most worthy of imitation, and soon began to profit by them. I should not have spoken of this trifling anecdote but for the allusion which the Chinese constantly make to it in the common proverb, ‘Formerly the mother of Mencius chose out a neighborhood.’” On another occasion her son, seeing persons slaughtering pigs, asked her why they did it. “To feed you,” she replied; but reflecting that this was teaching her son to lightly regard the truth, went and bought some pork and gave him.

Mencius devoted himself early to the classics, and probably attended the instructions of noted teachers of the school of Confucius and his grandson Kih. After his studies were completed, at the age of forty, he came forth as a public teacher, and offered his services to the feudal princes of the country. Among others, he was received by Hwui, king of Wei, but, though much respected by this ruler, his instructions were not regarded; and he soon perceived that among the numerous petty rulers and intriguing statesmen of the day there was no prospect of restoring tranquillity to the Empire, and that discourses upon the mild government and peaceful virtues of Yao and Shun, King Wăn and Chingtang, offered little to interest persons whose minds were engrossed with schemes of conquest or pleasure. He thereupon accepted an invitation to go to Tsí, the adjoining State, and spent most of his public life there; the records show that he was often called on for his advice by statesmen of many governments. As he went from one State to another his influence extended as his experience showed him the difficulties of good government amidst the general disregard of justice, mercy, and frugality. His own unyielding character and stern regard for etiquette and probity chilled the loose, unscrupulous men of those lawless times. At length he retired to his home to spend the last twenty years of his life in the society of his disciples, there completing the work which bears his name and has made him such a power among his countrymen. He has always been an incentive and guide to popular efforts to assert the rights of the subject against the injustice of rulers, and an encourager to rulers who have governed with justice. His assertion of the proper duties and prerogatives belonging to both parties in the State was prior to that of any western writer; some of his principles of liberal government were taught before their enunciation in Holy Writ. He died when eighty-four years old (B.C. 288), shortly before the death of Ptolemy Soter at the same age.

After his demise Mencius was honored, by public act, with the title of ‘Holy Prince of the country of Tsau,’ and in the temple of the sages he receives the same honors as Confucius; his descendants bear the title of ‘Masters of the Traditions concerning the Classics,’ and he himself is called A-shing, or the ‘Secondary Sage,’ Confucius being regarded as the first. His writings are in the form of dialogues held with the great personages of his time, and abound with irony and ridicule directed against vice and oppression, which only make his praises of virtue and integrity more weighty. After the manner of Socrates, he contests nothing with his adversaries, but, while granting their premises, he seeks to draw from them consequences the most absurd, which cover his opponents with confusion.

The king of Wei, one of the turbulent princes of the time, was complaining to Mencius how ill he succeeded in his endeavors to make his people happy and his kingdom flourishing. “Prince,” said the philosopher, “you love war; permit me to draw a comparison from thence: two armies are in presence; the charge is sounded, the battle begins, one of the parties is conquered; half its soldiers have fled a hundred paces, the other half has stopped at fifty. Will the last have any right to mock at those who have fled further than themselves?”

“No,” said the king; “they have equally taken flight, and the same disgrace must attend them both.”

“Prince,” says Mencius quickly, “cease then to boast of your efforts as greater than your neighbors’. You have all deserved the same reproach, and not one has a right to take credit to himself over another.” Pursuing then his bitter interrogations, he asked, “Is there a difference, O king! between killing a man with a club or with a sword?” “No,” said the prince. “Between him who kills with the sword, or destroys by an inhuman tyranny?” “No,” again replied the prince.

“Well,” said Mencius, “your kitchens are encumbered with food, your sheds are full of horses, while your subjects, with emaciated countenances, are worn down with misery, or found dead of hunger in the middle of the fields or the deserts. What is this but to breed animals to prey on men? And what is the difference between destroying them by the sword or by unfeeling conduct? If we detest those savage animals which mutually tear and devour each other, how much more should we abhor a prince who, instead of being a father to his people, does not hesitate to rear animals to destroy them. What kind of father to his people is he who treats his children so unfeelingly, and has less care of them than of the wild beasts he provides for?”

On one occasion, addressing the prince of Tsí, Mencius remarked: “It is not the ancient forests of a country which do it honor, but its families devoted for many generations to the duties of the magistracy. Oh, king! in all your service there are none such; those whom you yesterday raised to honor, what are they to-day?”

“In what way,” replied the king, “can I know beforehand that they are without virtue, and remove them?”

“In raising a sage to the highest dignities of the State,” replied the philosopher, “a king acts only as he is of necessity bound to do. But to put a man of obscure condition over the nobles of his kingdom, or one of his remote kindred over princes more nearly connected with him, demands most careful deliberation. Do his courtiers unite in speaking of a man as wise, let him distrust them. If all the magistrates of his kingdom concur in the same assurance, let him not rest satisfied with their testimony, but if his subjects confirm the story, then let him convince himself; and if he finds that the individual is indeed a sage, let him raise him to office and honor. So, also, if all his courtiers would oppose his placing confidence in a minister, let him not give heed to them; and if all the magistrates are of this opinion, let him be deaf to their solicitations; but if the people unite in the same request, then let him examine the object of their ill-will, and, if guilty, remove him. In short, if all the courtiers think that a minister should suffer death, the prince must not content himself with their opinion merely. If all the high officers entertain the same sentiment, still he must not yield to their convictions; but if the people declare that such a man is unfit to live, then the prince, inquiring himself and being satisfied that the charge is true, must condemn the guilty to death; in such a case, we may say that the people are his judges. In acting thus a prince becomes the parent of his subjects.”

The will of the people is always referred to as the supreme power in the State, and Mencius warns princes that they must both please and benefit their people, observing that “if the country is not subdued in heart there will be no such thing as governing it;” and also, “He who gains the hearts of the people secures the throne, and he who loses the people’s hearts loses the throne.” A prince should “give and take what is pleasing to them, and not do that which they hate.” “Good laws,” he further remarks, “are not equal to winning the people by good instruction.” Being consulted by a sovereign, whether he ought to attempt the conquest of a neighboring territory, he answered: “If the people of Yen are delighted, then take it; but if otherwise, not.” He also countenances the dethroning of a king who does not rule his people with a regard to their happiness, and adduces the example of the founders of the Shang and Chau dynasties in proof of its propriety. “When the prince is guilty of great errors,” is his doctrine, “the minister should reprove him; if, after doing so again and again, he does not listen, he ought to dethrone him and put another in his place.”

His estimate of human nature, like many of the Chinese sages, is high, believing it to be originally good, and that “all men are naturally virtuous, as all water flows downward. All men have compassionate hearts, all feel ashamed of vice.” But he says also, “Shame is of great moment to men; it is only the designing and artful that find no use for shame.” Yet human nature must be tried by suffering, and to form an energetic and virtuous character a man must endure much; “when Heaven was about to place Shun and others in important trusts, it first generally tried their minds, inured them to abstinence, exposed them to poverty and adversity; thus it moved their hearts and taught them patience.” His own character presents traits widely differing from the servility and baseness usually ascribed to Asiatics, and especially to the Chinese; and he seems to have been ready to sacrifice everything to his principles. “I love life, and I love justice,” he observes, “but if I cannot preserve both, I would give up life and hold fast justice. Although I love life, there is that which I love more than life; although I hate death, there is that which I hate more than death.” And as if referring to his own integrity, he elsewhere says: “The nature of the superior man is such that, although in a high and prosperous situation, it adds nothing to his virtue; and although in low and distressed circumstances, it impairs it in nothing.” In many points, especially in the importance he gives to filial duty, his reverence for the ancient books and princes, and his adherence to old usages, Mencius imitated and upheld Confucius; in native vigor and carelessness of the reproaches of his compatriots he exceeded him. Many translations of his work have appeared in European languages, but Legge’s[328] is in most respects the best for its comments, and the notices of Mencius’ life and times, and a fair estimate of his character and influence.

Returning to the Imperial Catalogue, its ninth section contains a list of musical works, and a few on dancing or posture-making; they hold this distinguished place in the list from the importance attached to music as employed in the State worship and domestic ceremonies.

The tenth section gives the names of philological treatises and lexicons, most of them confined to the Chinese language, though a few are in Manchu. The Chinese government has excelled in the attention it has given to the compilation of lexicons and encyclopædias. The number of works of this sort here catalogued is two hundred and eighteen, the major part issued during this dynasty, and including only works on the general language, none on the dialects. For their extent of quotation, the variety of separate disquisitions upon the form, origin, and composition of characters, and treatises upon subjects connected with the language, they indicate the careful labor native scholars have bestowed upon the elucidation of their own tongue.