pounding the story of the Man of Sorrows, and the mystery of the crucifixion, the resurrection, and the plan of salvation to the listless, indifferent audience. His manner is quiet but earnest, and to us, at first, impressive; but there is a smile of mocking incredulity, or the blank look of utter apathy, on the face of every hearer, and we find ourselves insensibly falling into the line of doubting not only that the listeners really have souls to be saved, but even that the preacher believes that they have, or in fact feels within himself any deep and abiding interest in the question one way or the other.
Farther down the alley, a party of Chinese cigar-makers and factory-operatives, on holiday, are playing a curious game of shuttlecock, catching the bat upon their heels, knees, elbows, hands, or heads, as it may chance, and keeping it bounding into the air, and from one player to another, without ever stopping or touching the ground, for half an hour at a time. The crowd of spectators of various nationalities is much larger here than around the preacher at the entrance of the alley.
But down at the lower end of the alley, near Jackson Street, the largest crowd is gathered and the greatest interest centres. Elbowing our way into the circle of spectators, we manage to gain a view of the ceremonies going on within. In the middle of the alley upon low trestles stands a richly mounted rosewood coffin; and all around it "joss sticks," or little colored wax candles, and sticks of incense, supported by slips of rattan stuck in the earth or the cracks of the planking, are burning. At the
