day I ventured within it and found a Buddhist image, set up on a stony ledge inside. I was thinking it was about the finest thing of the sort I had seen for some time, when the head moved forward, the limbs unbent, and the idol descended from its perch — "Venus incessu patuit Deus?" No, I can hardly venture to affirm so much of this bald-headed, yellow-robed god. "Tsing, tsing, sir, good morning; what side you come.?" was his greeting, as he lighted on the ground. Less awe-stricken than might perhaps have been expected, I returned the enquiry, and asked: "What side you come.?" to which his response was quickly vouchsafed: "Long time my got this side." This, then, was the hermit, of whom report had said so much. It turned out that he had been an Amoy trader, and after years of strife with the world, had come to end his days and repent him of his sins within this mossy dell
The nearest tea-plantations in this province are in the Paeling Hills, about fifteen miles north of Foochow. These I visited in company, as the guest of two of my Foochow friends. We put up at a small temple on one of the farms, and made a three days' stay in the locality. Here some foreigners who had visited the district before us, had imparted a very limited and confused acquaintance with the English tongue to the priest who presided at the shrine. It therefore startled us when we approached the edifice, to be met by this ragged follower of Buddha, evidently proud to parade his knowledge of our language, with the salutation: "Good morning, can do! you bet!" Can do what, we enquired; but alas! our friend's vocabulary was limited to this single phrase.
The farms are usually small, seldom exceeding a few acres in size, and are rented by the poor from capitalists who pay the land tax. To these landowners the tenants undertake to
