reclining on an opium bench, inhaling the fumes of the noxious drug. On his noticing our entry he got up and addressed us in tolerably good English. In the conversation which followed we learned that he had acquired his knowledge of the profession in the Colonies, having served his apprenticeship to an English D.D.S. From questions we asked him, we came to the conclusion that the would-be representative of the tooth-extracting profession was but a bogus practitioner, who, presumably, had been living as a No. 1 "boy" with some Colonial dentist, in whose service he managed to pick up a superficial knowledge of the profession. We ourselves certainly would not care for his services, should we find ourself in the unpleasant situation of being compelled to have some of our brown "fangs" drawn out. The charge for beautifying one's jaw with a single tooth is $10. Another Celestial D.D.S., living a few doors from the last named operator, made a much more favourable impression on us. The shop-window of his establishment betrayed that the Doctor had some Yankee notions about him. It exhibited, en miniature, the lay-figure of a Celestial gentilhomme, the mouth opened at an angle calculated to swallow a spring chicken. The labial aperture showed a set of snow-white teeth, whilst the dummy held in his hands a pair of jaw-bones filled with a few specimens of decayed bicuspids; the exhibition of the sound and rotten molars in juxtaposition was certainly not a bad idea of the dentist to puff his art. The D.D.S. received us in a very polite manner, and the "down-easter" accent with which he spoke English, left no doubt as to the country in which he had acquired his professional knowledge. He told us that he had studied dentistry in the United States, and he was only too ready to explain his modus operandi; he also showed us his stock of "masticators," imported from the States, some of the specimens being of gigantic dimensions, almost big enough to have fitted into the ass's jaw-bone with which Samson slew thousands of his enemies. His business, he told us, was brisk, and his charges low. Before parting he drew attention to the exorbitant charges made by the Western D.D.S. in the Far East. Whether he did so with the view of getting us to persuade acquaintances of ours to try his skill, we are not quite sure; we must confess, however, that his remarks were pretty correct. A nation just emerging from semi-barbarism will give up nothing more reluctantly than the food to which it has been accustomed from time immemorial. A striking proof is furnished by our insular neighbours, the Japanese. Though a goodly number of them have readily adopted our mode of dressing, their daily bill of fare is yet composed of the dishes that tickled the palates of their ancestors. Seated at a table steaming with the savoury scents of a Western cuisine, dressed in a "swallow-tail," with the neck tied up with a white "choker," the eyes of the "Jap" will pass cursorily over the various dainties until they meet the dish containing his favourite "swamp-seed," and, as a rule, this comes in for a considerable share of his attention. It is therefore curious to find John Chinaman, who in matters of social reform is so far behind the Japanese, going in for food cooked in European style. The fact that the Chinese are much greater gourmands than the natives of Dai Nipon may partly account for the phenomenon. That the better class of Celestials frequently partake of European food is proved by the RESTAURANTS IN FOREIGN STYLE, several of which will be found in Fochow Road. These establishments are carried on very creditably, and are run by Celestials who previously held the much coveted situation of FOOCHOW ROAD BY DAY AND NIGHT. 55 No. 1 "boys" or cooks in some of our hotels or foreign hongs. Visitors can obtain a substantial meal at $1 per head; they can also be served with wines and liquors of the best brands at a very moderate charge-almost cost price. The drawback, however, is that they are supplied by the bottle only, as these establishments have no licence to retail liquor by the glass. Business is here in full swing between the hours of 6 p.m. and midnight. The dining-room is comfortably fitted up; the tables are neatly covered with cloth, plates, and dishes of European manufacture, and the bill-of-fare, in English and Chinese, is not omitted. "John Bull" can be accommodated with roast beef and plum-pudding, Johnny Crapaud with a dish of excellently curried hind legs of a frog, and "Dutchy" with a plate of bratwurst and sauerkraut. Foreigners who frequent these places invariably do so in company with some of their Chinese friends. The majority of Celestial visitors to these restaurants belong to the compradoric class, and occasionally there are found officers and captains of the Great Emperor's "Navee," who, away from the war-junk, appear anxious to exchange their chop-sticks for a knife and fork. In order to supply the wants of parties who wish to enjoy sans géne an hour or two in company of "wife, wine and song," part of the top storey is partitioned into small apartments, furnished in European fashion. It is a rather funny sight to see those lily-footed Adelina Pattis reclining in an easy-chair, enlivening the Bacchanalia with sweet music, which they elicit from a so-called musical instrument of the genus banjo. The melody of the Anacreontic song is weird enough to make one's hair stand on end, though the Celestial "boss," seated on a lounge, swallows the notes that flow from the lips of these fair sirens with apparent satisfaction, exercising an impression not unlike that of the flute of the Indian snake-charmer over the ophidian reptile. We think it but natural that the "ubiquitous" "Jap," with a keen eye to business, should put up a ranch in the most frequented street of our native districts. Evidently following the track taken by the Frenchman, who whenever he colonizes a country sets up a café as the first indication of Western civilization, the native of Dai Nipon opens commercial relations by setting up A JAPANESE TEA HOUSE. There is probably nothing which the visitor to the lovely shores of the Land of the Rising. Sun will cherish so keenly in his memory as the pastoral tea-houses which one meets with all over Japan. An indescribable charm hovers around these establishments. What cheerful spots they are, these neat cots. How trim their diminutive gardens, tastefully laid out with beds of choice flowers, dwarf firs, and a miniature jet d'eau; and then, last but not least, comes the dark-eyed daughter who acts as fille d'hôtel, serving you with the fragrant decoction of the colourless tea. How funny you think them when making curtseys low as the pious pilgrim who stoops down to kiss the big-toe of the Holy Father in Rome. Although the concerts of the musume are anything but calculated to cause rapture to a foreign visitor, so are these fair "banjo pickers" probably mindful that "music hath charms," whether produced on a jew's harp or a barrel-organ. What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. The "Jap" being aware how greatly his tea-house is appreciated by European travellers, came to the conclusion that such establishments would prove equally successful in "fetching" the blackhaired sons of Ham; hence the numerous Japanese shops in Foochow Road. Yet what a difference there is between a tea-house in Japan and those in Shanghai! The "sign" denotes that the places are "conducted on the Japanese system," but over this "system" we must throw the veil of silence. Suffice it to say that these shops are run by the very outcasts of humanity. Situated in some back-alley, the places are musty hovels, hardly ever penetrated by the rays of the sun. We would not advise any one who through sheer curiosity visits one of these "tea-houses" to be persuaded by the fair (?) maids in waiting to partake of the stuff they offer one as tea. Though they charge only twenty cents for a cup (a few cakes â la Japonaise included), it is quite possible that one will have to spend a mexican or two at one's druggist's for medicine to remove the pernicious effects of the so-called “ "pure Japanese tea"-in all probability a mixture of last season's hay and weeds gathered near the Race Course. We wonder why the Japanese authorities, who only a short time ago adopted strict measures to root out the increasing evil at Shanghai, have not yet attempted to break up these haunts of profligacy, and despatch the "unfortunates" to their native country. Difficult as it may be, it is certainly within the reach of possibility to bring these abandoned shop-keepers within the clutches of Japanese law. The sooner this is done the better it will be for the fair fame of a nation which already claims to be recognised as "civilized." "Who loves not wife, wine, and song Thus wrote the great German Reformer several centuries ago, and the "Heathen Chinee of to-day appears to be equally sensible of the truth of the apophthegm as Martin Luther was in days of yore. Though we have no objection to the way in which a Celestial views the "wife and wine" question, we certainly beg to differ from him with regard to his "sing-songpidgin," for, as a rule, what he understands by the word music we look upon as a "racket" horrible enough to electrify a dead person. The art of Orpheus is, nevertheless, held in much higher esteem in China than Western folk usually believe. This fact may be partly accounted for by the circumstance that an invention dating back to pre-historic ages invariably enjoys high veneration in the Flowery Kingdom; for, according to the legends of the country, Emperor Fu, a contemporary of Tubal, not only invented the divine art, but he is also credited with having taught his people the rudimentary rules of music. Yet, as with everything else in . China, the art since those days (more than 4,000 years ago) has made little, if any, progress; it still stands on the same stage of perfection, or rather imperfection, and is characterised by the same incongruities as it was at the time when Father Noah's crew warbled their adieus on the cocasion of their preparing to set out on the first voyage of discovery recorded in the annals of mankind. A place, therefore, which to foreigners visiting the "Boulevards" offers several points of interest is THE CELESTIAL MUSIC HALL. These establishments are of comparatively recent date in Foochow Road. Last year, we understand, there were only one or two such places in existence; at present there are more than half a dozen. The number is said to have thus increased within such a short period in consequence of the Taotai's recent proclamation, which prohibits females visiting any of the many opium shops in the settlement. The door leading to these "Free and Easys" is decorated by several sign-boards, each of which bears the name, place of birth, &c., of the fair performers; their talent, also, no doubt, being eulogised. Two "concerts" take place FOOCHOW ROAD BY DAY AND NIGHT. 57 daily, between the hours of 5 p.m. and midnight. The charge of admission for natives is eighty cash; foreigners, of course, should they happen to drop in, are "squeezed," and have to pay a trifle more for their inquisitiveness. This payment entitles the visitor to as many cups of tea as he can swallow during a performance; dried melon seeds are passed round to the audience from time to time, and during the summer months there is also a constant supply of steaming sweat-rags,-pieces of flannel, steeped in hot water; a great boon, undoubtedly, to "John," to whom a pocket-handkerchief is as "caviare to the general." Some of these Halls will hold a couple of hundred people; visitors are seated around small tables. The stage is raised a couple of feet from the ground, railed in, the top being set off by coloured curtains. A large gilt-framed mirror is hung up at the end of the stage, presumably for the purpose of showing the audience the admirably done up coiffures of the fair performers. The orchestra consists of eight musicians; at least that number is considered necessary to make up a "full band." Usually there are the following instruments: two balloon-shaped guitars (played by girls, who sing at the same time), one three stringed guitar, two violins, one flute, one yang-chin, and one small drum to beat time. All these instruments play, or, properly speaking, try to play unisono, whilst each performer aims to distinguish herself above her colleagues by making as much noise as possible. The music is mostly ballad music. These Celestial "nightingales " are, without exception, courtesans, and (those of two of the "sing-song "houses excepted, whither Cantonese exclusively flock, and where the performers sing in the Cantonese dialect) all natives of Soochow fu, considered by Chinese the "Garden of Eden." The district in question certainly enjoys the reputation of producing the handsomest women in the Celestial empire. As the Chinese proverb says: "To be happy on earth one must be born in Soochow, for it has the handsomest people." Now, we do not profess to be connoisseurs in this speciality, but we believe the Chinese are quite right in their taste; there is something aristocratic about these Soochow women, and they are rather fair-skinned. But then there is another thing which renders them irresistibly fascinating creatures in the eyes of "John," though we cannot agree with him in this, they are all small-footed bipeds. The slender waist of a European belle hardly plays such an important rôle with us as these "golden lilies" do in China. Small feet are an index of gentility in the Middle Kingdom; it is the fashionable form; they are not an index of wealth, but girls with crippled feet stand a considerably better chance of marrying into more respectable families than those whose feet are of the natural size. If there is anything in China which constitutes caste, it is the distinction between the shape of the feet of the women. The genteel shoe of the bandaged foot is about 3 inches long in the sole, and the "lily-footed" belle apparently bestows as much attention on her hoofs as a western dulcinea does on her head-gear. Usually they wrap up their feet in flaming red silk or satin, tastefully embroidered, the heels brightly painted. The petticoat or the pantaloons are generally the prettiest part of the dress. Their hair is copiously ornamented with natural or artificial flowers, and with strings of pearls; their arms, and the hand especially which comes into prominent use when playing, are richly adorned with jade-stone and jewellery. The face, of course, is bedaubed with paint, and rouge is added to the lips and cheeks. One advantage, certainly, is derived from their thus beautifying themselves— it saves these sirens their blushes, for they cannot be seen through the paint; the eye thus becomes the only index of emotion. The eyebrows are blackened with charred sticks and are arched and narrowed, resembling the moon when a couple of days old. The foregoing, we believe, is a pretty fair picture of one and all of these Celestial "nightingales," whom the poetical genius of a modern Celestial 'Anacreon' describes as having "cheeks like the almond flower, lips like a peach blossom, eyes bright as dancing ripples in the sun, and footsteps like the lotus flower." Ahem! exactly so. But how shall we describe the impression which the vocal and instrumental efforts of these performers make upon a western ear? Is it possible at all? There are things which one must see or hear to fully appreciate, or the contrary, and I think these so-called concerts belong to this category. If it is difficult to give in print a correct idea about Chinese instrumental music, it is considerably more so with respect to their vocalization. The fact of the matter is, no description can convey a true idea of Chinese vocal music, and very few are able to imitate it when they have heard it. These "Adelinas" of course sing, as all the Celestial race do, in the falsetto key, this feature prevailing throughout It will readily be understood that such a mode of singing (especially when the voix de tête is pitched below the d) is anything but an edifying treat to a foreign barbarian. The sounds, moreover, seem to proceed from the nose; the tongue, teeth, and lips, which play such a prominent part with us in singing, have, apparently, very little to do with it, except in the enunciation of words. That this falsetto, with a melody always in unison, always in the same key, without a forte or piano, equally loud and unchangeable in movement, must soon become very wearisome and monotonous to ears accustomed to complicated airs is obvious. Chinese melodies, furthermore, have no major or minor key; they are constantly floating between the two; therefore they are neither majestic, martial nor sprightly, as our major mode, and, on the other hand, they lack the softness, tenderness, and plaintive sadness of our minor airs. Altogether the vocalization of some of the most celebrated Chinese ballads by these Soochow "nightingales" somewhat reminds us of the soirée musicale to which we are treated regularly each month when the moon is "as full as full he can be," on which occasion an animal of the genus canis sneaks around our quiet domicile and warbles in howling cadenzas “Fair moon to thee I sing," with slight variations à la Sir Arthur. Hardly less horrifying is the orchestral accompaniment; seemingly, each of these would-be fair duennas plays her own tune. Moreover, their accompaniments sound very harsh, as in Chinese music no such thing is known as "temperament;" hence the notes are either too high or too flat. Notwithstanding all these incongruities, extremely offensive to us, the Celestial audience enjoys the treat, to judge by the strained attention with which they listen to the music; presumably they are mindful of Dryden's lines: "And if even words are sweet, what, what is song Yes, the Chinese, at any rate, show common-sense by not kicking up such a fearful racket as our foreign audiences occasionally do; they believe it unnecessary and, perhaps, against good taste, to show appreciation by clapping of hands, stamping of feet, or by whistling; none of all this shilly-shallying for a Chinaman; like a stoic he listens to the warbling of these Celestial skylarks, but no encore" or "bravo" comes from him; only a simple smile, and it speaks volumes. We partook of some tea, which at intervals is handed round to the audience, and we deemed its quality not so bad; also of the roasted melon-seeds, provided gratis, and of which Celestials are as fond as the Yankee is of his peanuts; but we could not be persuaded to |