winters are severe, have no other heat than that modicum obtained from the fuel burned in cooking, and conveyed to the k'ang. The Chinese so highly appreciate the comfort of a k'ang—that the women sometimes speak of it as their "own mother." But while it is indeed the point of minimum discomfort in the establishment, to Occidentals who wish to feel positive heat from some source diffusing itself in grateful currents all over the body, a Chinese k'ang on a cold night is a very inadequate substitute for the "chimney-corner" or for the stove. In regions where coal is accessible, it is indeed employed as fuel, but as compared with the whole country these districts are very limited, and the smoke always escapes into the room, which becomes gradually filled with carbonic acid gas. Charcoal is very sparingly used even by those who are in good circumstances, and the danger from its incautious use, like that from the use of coal, is very great. The houses are so uncomfortable that even at home if the weather is cold the inmates often wear all the clothes they can put on. When abroad they have no more to add. "Are you cold?" we ask them. "Of course," is the constant reply. They have never been artificially warmed, in an Occidental sense, during their whole lives. In the winter their blood seems to be like water in the rivers, congealed at the surface, and only moving with a sluggish current underneath. Considering these characteristics of Chinese dwellings, it is no wonder that a certain Taotai who had been abroad remarked that in the United States the prisoners in jail had quarters more comfortable than his yamên.
We have already had occasion to point out the Chinese indifference to crowding and noise. As soon as the weather becomes cold the Chinese huddle together as a matter of course, in order to keep warm. Even in the depth of the dog-days, it is not uncommon to see boats loaded with such numbers of passengers that there must be barely room to sit
