s stretch from
the tip of the cross-piece to the end of the long piece. The
instrument is rested on the knee, and the gut of the bow, which is
between the two strings, is drawn first across one and then the other.
An invisible vocalist, in the adjoining cabin, gave us a song to the
accompaniment of the violin. I should imagine that it was a
sentimental song, as it sounded very doleful; it must surely have been
the tune that the old cow died of!

We were now in the bedroom, which was a most quaint affair. You must
not imagine that the Chinamen sleep on beds at all--at least the
Chinamen here do not. A wooden stretcher, covered with fine straw
matting, is sufficient for their purpose. The room was lit by a small
window; the walls were decorated with a picture or two from the
'Illustrated London News,' placed side by side with Chinese likenesses
of charming small-footed ladies, gaudily dressed in blues and yellows.

In another adjoining hut we found a Chinaman whom we knew,--a man who
comes to the bank occasionally to sell us gold. He was cooking his
supper, squatting over the fire, with an old frying-pan containing
something that looked very like dried worms frizzling in fat. "Welly
good" he told us it was; and very good he seemed to be making it, as
he added slice after slice of cucumber to the mixture. John showed us
the little worm-like things before they were put in the pan, and he
told us they came "all the way Canton." He offered us, by way of
refreshment, his very last drop of liquor from a bottle that was
labelled, "Burnett's Fine Old Tom," which he kept, I suppose, for his
private consumption. John's mates shortly after came in to their meal,
when we retired--I with a cucumber in my pocket, which he gave me as a
present, and a very good one it was. I often afterwards went over to
see the Chinamen, they were so quaint and funny in their ways.

I observe that in the cemetery the Chinamen have a separate piece of
burying-ground apportioned to them. There their bodies are interred;
but only to be dug up again, enclosed in boxes, and returned to China
for final burial; the prejudice said to prevail amongst them being
that if their bones do not rest in China their souls cannot enter
Paradise. Not only are they careful that their bodies, but even that
bits of their bodies, should be returned to their native land. There
was a Chinaman in Majorca whom I knew well, that had his finger taken
off by an accident. Shortly a