brilliant colors. "What do they represent?" we asked of a polite Chinaman, who came bowing out of a side room to meet us, and show us around free of charge. He told us forty graceful fictions in ten breaths, and was "joshing" us all the time. I did not blame him, for two reasons: first, he did not know himself; and, secondly, his people are an imaginative race, and it is the custom of the country—their country, not ours, I mean, of course. In China—blessed country!—there are no professional politicians, and the lying is more evenly distributed among the people than with us.
But the greatest attractions that night were two monster statues, twin giant ghost- warriors, who stood on either side of the hall in front of the great altar. These figures were each fully eighteen feet in height, and were perfectly proportioned. They were costumed in half-armor, worn over long robes of the most brilliant hues, elaborately ornamented and embroidered, and each wore the cap of a high mandarin, surmounted by the crimson ball, indicative of the first rank, and a tall, variegated plume. The face of one had something of serene dignity and power in beatific repose upon it, and he held his right hand aloft, with the thumb, fore and fourth fingers slightly bent, and the middle and third fingers nearly straight—as do always the images of Buddha, or Foh, the representations of the incarnation of the Supreme Power and Intelligence, which are seen upon every shrine of the faith—while the right foot rested upon and crushed down to the earth a hideous, open-mouthed, writhing dragon.
