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scanty fleet of junks, lorchas, and tauka boats, and the bare, stony hills of the island beyond. In front, rose a hill, with a deserted convent on its summit, glowing in the broad white_glare of the breathless August noons. The lower storey of the Hospital was appropriated to the invalids, of whom there were about twenty, and the Commodore's band; the surgeons and artists occupied the rooms above. With A-fok as steward, and the market of Macao at hand, rich in fruit and vegetables, we fared rather better than on ship's rations and tough Japanese fowls, while the enclosed verandah, on account of its airiness, furnished admirable sleeping accommodations during the dog-days. The time passed on quietly and without particular incident, and I found the repose of our life very grateful, after the active experiences and vicissitudes of the past year. There was no serious duty to interfere with the indulgence of that tropical indolence which is such a luxury after the fatigue of travel.

Our principal annoyance was an old Chinese beggar-woman, who sometimes drove us to desperation with her piercing, monotonous wail, from her station in the shade of the house opposite, and no amount of "cash" (the cheapest alms in the world) would drive her away. She would then only howl the more pertinaciously for more. Nothing could have been more trying to the nerves than her eternal: "Chin-chin-a—a—a! poor man-a-a! how kin do-a-a-a!" But twice a day our fine brass band of twenty instruments rehearsed in the long hall below, usually commencing with the ringing chant of the Portuguese National Hymn. The old beggar then retired from the field in confusion. A few tawny Portuguese, with closecropped, blue-black hair, would sometimes pause to listen as they passed through the almost deserted streets. The music awoke no chord of patriotism or pride in their breasts; Macao has out-lived even that.

I prefer Macao to any other place in China, partly on account of the picturesque beauty of its position, and partly because it is less Chinese. It has a history which attaches it to the history of our race; it has human associations with which we can sympathise. The annals of the Ming and the Hang dynasties are no more to me (with the exception of the reign of that splendid invader, Kublai Khan) than those of the Man in the Moon; but the memories of Camoëns, the Poet, and St. Francis Xavier, the Apostle, embalm Macao for ever in the eyes of the European race. It was the first beacon whence the light of Christianity and the liberalising_influences of commerce went forth into the dark places of the East. And now, useless and worn out as it seems, with its commerce destroyed, its palaces vacant, its grandees beggared, and its importance as a foothold of civilisation totally gone, there is a mournful charm in the silence of its grass

grown streets, and the memory of its former power and opulence still clothes it with a shadowy dignity. Here, at least, there are traces of Art and Taste, and all those monstrosities of Chinese Un-taste, which would make China a living purgatory to any one with a keen appreciation of the Beautiful, are thrust into the back-ground, and do not spoil the harmony of the picture.

The Portuguese settlement of Macao comprises a ridgy peninsula about four miles long, attached to the southern end of a large Chinese island, by a narrow, sandy neck, across which a wall was thrown in the early days of the colony. The city is built in a dip of the hills, near the extremity of the peninsula, and to the east faces the Roads, the usual anchorage of foreign shipping. It has another face on the west, looking upon the Inner Harbour, a narrow strait shut in by lofty islands. Another channel, called the Typa, between two barren islands, about a mile-and-a-half to the southward, is the usual anchorage of vessels during the typhoon season, on account of its sheltered situation. The view of the city from the Roads is very imposing, and with the islandmountains in the background, has been compared by many persons to that of Naples from the bay, but I could see scarcely a single point of resemblance. A crescent-shaped bay, nearly a mile in length, fronts the water, and behind the massive stone pier, or Praya, rises a row of stately buildings of a pale yellow or pink colour. The foliage of tropical gardens peeps out behind them, and the ridge is crowned with the square-towered Cathedral and several churches. At the northern point is an Alameda, or public square, planted with trees, above which rises a fortress. Further to the north, on the top of a lofty hill, is the Fort of Guia, or Del Monte, and a larger but somewhat dismantled fortification looms behind, on the middle ridge of the peninsula.

Even before landing, one notes the deserted aspect of the place. There are no crowds on the Praya; the houses have a decaying, mouldy appearance, and you listen in vain for that hum of life which floats about the centres of trade or industry. The solitary sentry at the foot of the Portuguese flag-staff seems to be dozingat his post. Now and then some Chinese porters pass, or four servants carrying a sedan chair with all the blinds down. During the summer, when most of the foreign merchants in Canton send their families there, on account of the temperate sea air, many of the spacious old mansions are inhabited, and servants with impudent faces lounge about the open gateways. Were it not for the scanty revenue which they derive from the lease of their ancestral palaces, many of the old Portuguese families would be entirely destitute. Indeed, it is already a mystery how some of them contrive to exist. Piece by piece the old plate, and diamond by diamond the old jewels are sold, while the parsimony of the

household belies the appearance of wealth which still lingers about the massive buildings and the luxuriant gardens.

These fine old gardens are the greatest ornament of the city, hiding its dilapidation, and recalling, in the care and taste which they have not wholly out-grown, those which adorn the cities of Southern Spain. Although the winters are wet and cold, all the hardier varieties of tropical fruits thrive well, and even the mango, the papaya, and the guava are found in the markets. On the garden-terraces, in the upper part of the city, whence you have a charming panorama of the island-studded gulf, the spiry cypress and the orange of Portugal mingle their foliage with the palm, the bamboo, and the Indian banyan. In August, the high walls which enclose them are festooned with enormous masses of the nightblooming cereus, whose milky blossoms, a foot in diameter, diffuse a sweet and powerful odour. Around the fountains the sacred lotus opens its sunny cup, tipped with as pure a rose as summer daybreak can show. The lagistraemia, with its soft, crape-like racemes of white or crimson, and the burning scarlet of the pomegranate flower, star the deep green masses of foliage. Nature is always luxurious within the Tropics.

Two gates in the northern wall of the city lead to what is called the Campo-an open, cultivated tract of country, separated by a bleak ridge from the sandy flat which divides the Portuguese territories from the Chinese. The campo is traversed by an excellent road, uniting with a new one which has been cut along the face of the bluffs on the eastern side of the island. The two combined form an agreeable drive, and every evening towards sunset, all who possess or are rich enough to hire a horse or equipage, may be seen taking their way along the Praya to the Alameda, and thence striking out on the course of the Campo. This drive of three or four miles, with a gallop over the sands to the Chinese barrier, is a grateful release to the Canton merchant, and in comparison with the confinement of his hongs, the Campo appears as boundless and as free as an Illinois prarie. The fort of Guia, with a steep zigzag path leading up to its battlements, towers high over it, on the east; on the opposite side the Chinese village of Wang-Hyà, lies embedded in bamboo and Indian figtrees; over a level covered with rice-fields and vegetable gardens, stretches a wide blue arm of the bay, and the mountains of the western island lean away to the south, disclosing other channels and other islands beyond.

I paid a visit to Wang-Hyà (or, in the Macao dialect, Mong-ha), which gives its name to the treaty concluded between the United States and China, under the auspices of our great mandarin Cushing (Choo-Shing, a genuine Chinese name), and the Commissioner Keying. The signing of this treaty and the festivities consequent thereupon, took place in the great temple of Wang-Hyà—a large

I frequently went there afterwards by daylight, but the genus loci was less distinctive and impressive than in that silent morning hour. The Chevalier di Rienzi, a Frenchman who styles himself “poète exilé,” has had a tablet cut upon the rock beside the grotto, and a poem of his own in praise of Camoëns inscribed upon it. The poem is good, considering that it is French, and if the Chevalier di Rienzi had a name in literature, we might pardon, and even approve, his desire to couple it with the illustrious Camoëns. To me, who never heard of him before, the deed seemed presumptuous and profane; though a thousand times less so than some French doggerel upon Camoëns written in the visitor's book. From the terrace on the western side of the garden there are lovely views of the inner harbour, especially towards sunset; and the "Casa Gardens," as they are called, are a frequent resort of the foreign residents at that hour.

My days passed away quietly and indolently enough, through the remainder of August. The thermometer ranged from 80 deg. to 93 deg. in the shade, and the sun, hanging directly in the zenith at noon, poured down a flood of white heat. Macao seemed wholly deserted at such times, notwithstanding its society was larger and more animated than usual. I began to make preparations for returning home, a course which was rendered necessary by my long absence. The fact of my having entered the service bound me for the entire cruise, but Commodore Perry, with his usual kindness, on learning that a prolonged absence would be a serious disadvantage to me, gave me leave to resign. I desired to return by way of San Francisco, but as no vessel was then up for that port, I changed my plans and took passage for New York in the clipper ship Sea Serpent, Captain Howland, which was announced to sail from Whampoa on the 9th of September.

I made a trip to Hong-Kong to draw some funds from the Oriental Bank, and had the satisfaction of receiving cash for a letter of credit on London for £100. In returning I took a sampan, as the Chinese boats are called, and made the run to Macao in five hours-and-a-half, at the risk of falling into the hands of the pirates who infest the Lemma and Lin-tin Islands. I also went up to Cumsingmoon, in the fast boat of old Eyôk, who supplied the squadron with fresh provisions, and passed another night on board the dear ' Susquehanna. I began to love the very timbers of the staunch frigate that had been my home, more or less, for six months, and I felt a keen pang on moving away from her huge black hull and the gallant souls within it. May prosperous breezes attend her and them, wherever they sail!

CHAPTER XXII.

SCENES IN AND AROUND CANTON.

By the end of August, all the vessels of the squadron had arrived in China, with the exception of the store-ship Lexington. The Macedonian, Vandalia, and Southampton were sent to the anchorage at Cumsingmoon, whither the Powhatan, which returned to Hong-Kong on the 25th, also proceeded. She was detained eight days at Loo-Choo, in order to remedy a slight defect in one of her engines. The store-ship Supply arrived at Hong-Kong on the 27th, having touched at Amoy on her way from Loo-Choo. Canton was in a very unsettled state, and the foreign merchants anticipated trouble, on account of the spread of the rebellion. All the American firms addressed a letter to Commodore Perry, begging that a national vessel might be sent up to the Macao Passage, within a mile-and-a-half of the factories. The Supply was therefore ordered up the river, as all the other vessels of the squadron drew too much water to pass the bar. Our great steam frigates certainly contributed to our success in 'Japan, but they are nearly useless for service in the Chinese waters.

I took the anchor from my cap on the 5th of September, after six months' service, and in the evening of the same day bade adieu to my messmates and embarked on board the steamer for Canton. Mr. Contee, the Flag-Lieutenant of the squadron, who had procured leave of absence on account of ill-health, and had also taken passage in the Sea Serpent, accompanied me. It was after sunset when we left, and my last glimpse of Macao was the dark silhouette of its hills against the fading sky. We had an indistinct night-view of the Bogue Forts, at the Bocca Tigris, or mouth of the Whampoa River, after which I sought a couch on one of the hard benches in the cabin, but failed to extract much repose from it.

The steamer did not reach her destination until daybreak the next morning. Consequently, whatever there may be of the picturesque or striking in the approach to Canton, was lost to me. As the rapid dawn of the South brightened into sunrise, I found that we were anchored in the middle of the stream between the foreign Factories and the famous temple of Honan. The Pearl River, at this place, is not more than a quarter-of-a-mile wide, and thickly studded with junks, flower-boats, and those

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