ONE OF THE CITY GUARD, PEKING.
THE subject of this picture (No. 51) is an old Tartar bannerman, a humble member of the Manchu camp, who kept watch at the gate of the French hotel by night; and although in the pay of the government, and allowed a salary sufficient for his own support, yet, by the time the amount reaches his hands through the official channel, it dwindles to about six shillings a month, and a regulation sheep-skin coat once a year. Old Wang, for I believe that was his name, was perhaps an unfortunate specimen of the soldiers of the standing army, the bold conquerors who once subjugated China. Wrapped in his sheep-skin coat, and in an underclothing of rags, he lay through the cold nights on the stone step of the outer gateway, and only roused himself at times to answer the call of his fellow-watchman near at hand. This call is supposed to be passed from watchman to watchman all round the city. Wang employed also a wooden clapper to let the inmates of the house know he was astir, and to scare away thieves. It is not uncommon, when a thief is discovered on the roof of a house in Peking, for the people within to open a door in the court below, and hold a good-natured parley with the intruder, telling him that it would be much more to his advantage if he were to go on to the next house. Often the ruffian will bid his friendly advisers a polite adieu, and, descending his bamboo ladder, will march off to have a trial in some other quarter. No. 52 is a picture of a literary agent, as we may call him. So great is the veneration of the Ch inese for letters, that men such as our old friend here are employed to collect scraps of printed paper, which are afterwards burned before some shrine. This is however only one branch of the old man's business— he picks up rags and bones from the dust-heaps as well, and disposes of his miscellaneous collection to some dealer when the day's work is done. He can exist on very little, poor old fellow, and he has no expenses to speak of. He never removes his coat unless on a warm, sunny day, and then it is with an eye to business, for as he suns the garment, he coaxes out his tiny enemies and slays them.
Poor and miserable as he seems, he is not without a family and friends of his own, and his old age gains him respect.
THE PEKINGESE CAMEL.
AT certain seasons of the year, camels may be encountered in tens of thousands crossing the desert of Gobi, laden with brick tea, on their way to the Russian frontier. This brick tea, in the absence of metallic currency, forms the circulating medium in Mongolia, Siberia, and Thibet. When in the province of Peichihli I witnessed the departure of a train of 2,000 of these camels laden with brick tea to be sold in the Russian markets. These beasts are also employed in transporting coal, and other commodities, from one part of the province to another, and they are highly esteemed by the Mongols, as they can be easily managed, and can accomplish long journeys in arid regions with scant supplies of food and water. As many of my readers are aware, the camel is physically adapted for traversing the sandy plains of Asia, where they are found in the greatest numbers. The stomach is supplied with bladders which enable the animal to carry a store of fresh
