custom which refers particularly to strangers, has been transplanted thither from India, and is now in full force. The newly arrived, unless he wishes to avoid all society, must go the rounds of the resident families, and make his calls. The calls are returned, an invitation to dinner follows in due course of time, and every thing is en train for a footing of familiar intercourse This custom seems to me to reverse the natural course of social ethics. It obliges the stranger to seek his welcome, instead of having it spontaneously tendered to him. The resi dents defend the practice, on the ground that it allows a man to choose his own society- -an obvious bull, since he cannot know who are congenial to him until he has met them; and on the other hand, the opposite course would allow them to choose his society or not, as they preferred. In India, among the Company's servants, the rule is rigidly enforced, and nothing creates greater scandal than a violation of it.

There are private balls occasionally—public, rarely, if ever -where quadrilles, and waltzes, and polkas, are danced with as much spirit as at any outside the Tropics; but there is a considerate departure from the etiquette of the North, in allowing the gentlemen to appear, on such occasions, in a white linen jacket, and with a simple ribbon in place of a cravat. Nay, if so minded, he may even throw wide his collar, and enjoy a cool throat. This barbarism-as eɣery young lady of proper taste must consider it-I find highly commendable But it requires a great struggle in John Bull to throw down those starched barricades which flank his closely-rasped chin and protect his mutton-chop whiskers. In Calcutta, even in the dog-days, nothing less than a collar rigid as plank, and a black cloth dress-coat, is tolerated. Verily, the Saxon clings

THE ANGLO-SAXON ABROAD.

473

to his idols with a pertinacity which we cannot sufficiently admire. Make a certain costume the type of respectability with him, and he carries the idea all over the world. If bearskins and woollen blankets were the evening costume of the West-End or Fifth-Avenue, you would soon find him complacently sporting them on the Equator. In the incessant. heat of the Tropics he drinks his heavy sherry, and indulges in his brandy-and-water, with as much freedom as in the airs of England, and if not cut short in his career by fever, finally goes home with a damaged liver, and no digestion at all. On the shores of Cathay, he keeps up the hours and habits of the London season; in the cinnamon groves of Ceylon, he breathes the atmosphere of Pall-Mall.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A PICTURE OF MACAO.

Movements of the Squadron-Cumsingmoon-The Naval Hospital at Macao--Quiet Life A Chinese Beggar-The Band-The Memories of Macao-Situation of the Town-Its Appearance-Desertion of the Place-Its Tropical Gardens-The Campo-The Temple of Wang Hyà-Anecdote of Cushing-Society in Macao-Chinese All-Souls' Day-Discordant Noises-The Grotto of Camoens-The Casa GardensThe Grotto at Daybreak-French Irreverence-Preparations to Return Home-Leaving the Naval Service-Trips to Hong-Kong and Cumsingmoon.

WE remained but two or three days at Hong-Kong: the season of typhoons was at hand, and it was considered advisable to place the squadron in some more sheltered anchorage. The Mississippi proceeded to Blenheim Reach, near Whampoa, where part of the British East India Squadron was already anchored; the Susquehanna, after touching at Macao, to land Commodore Perry, was ordered to Cumsingmoon, about fifteen miles further to the north. This is merely a small Chinese village, on an island of the same name, with the advantages of a sheltered anchorage in front of it, a healthy air and good water. The hills are bare and bleak in aspect, and no place could well be more forlorn, as a sojourn. After four days, however, the artists corps received notice that rooms had been appropriated

to them in a building in Macao, which had been leased as a Naval Hospital. A Portuguese lorcha was dispatched to carry us and our baggage to the city, and we took leave of the good old Susquehanna. We had a slow but agreeable run down the coast, anchored in the inner harbor of Macao, and before night were fully installed in our new quarters.

The Naval Hospital stood upon the central ridge of the island, and was consequently in the highest part of the city, overlooking the broad Canton Gulf on one side, and on the other the tiled roofs of the Portuguese houses below, the inner harbor, with its scanty fleet of junks, lorches 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 story of the Hospital was appropriated to the invalids, of whom there were about twenty, and the Commodore's band; the surgeons and artists occupie! 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 oppo

site, 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. The strain ceased, and then the rich, lyrical throb of "Hail Columbia" would rise exultingly into the still blue air, while the stars and stripes hung motionless from the peak of the flag-staff, at the American Consulate below us. Though I heard our country's anthem every day, my heart beat more quick and warm under all that summer languor, and my thoughts would turn for a moment to the dear land on the other side of the world.

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 sympathize. 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 Maca for ever in the eyes of the European race. It was the first beacon whence