fist doubled up, like a pugilist's in a prize-fight. A hideous mask answered for a face, while the eyes, lighted up from within, glared on the visitor with something of the weird effect produced by
"Torches which have burned all night,
Through some impure, unhallowed rite,"
When viewed by the true believer. The devil- man winked inquiringly at us, and we winked back at him, said "Press," and then passed on unmolested. One of the party observed this pantomime, and enthusiastically exclaimed, "Well, you fellows of the press have got a good thing of it, haven't you? If I don't mean to practice that, and try it on, when the time comes, on old St. Peter, may the" We requested him to spare our sensitive feelings, and he did so, and did not finish the sentence. The temple was ablaze with light, crowded by a wondering throng, filled with the choking blue smoke of the incense, and as hot and close as the furnace room of an ocean steamer in the tropics. The images representing Buddha, or Foh, the guardian deities of the southern, middle and northern districts of China, the Queen Mother of Heaven and her attendants, the black gentleman of whom it is always safe to speak respectfully, if not admiringly, and other objects of mingled admiration and contempt to the average Chinese mind, were all on their shrines in the different apartments or halls of the temple, and the usual lamps were burning before them. But the visitors appeared to pay no attention to them, and, for the time being, at least, regard them with no respect.
