--most rightly named, for in a suite of rooms built round three
sides of a large yard are represented all the tortures of the Buddhist
faith, such as boiling in oil, sawing in pieces, and other horrible
devices. The yard itself is crowded with fortune-tellers,
charm-sellers, deputy prayer-sayers, beggars, and all sorts of natural
horrors, exhibiting various deformities. Altogether it is a most
unpleasant place, but still it is one of the characteristic sights of
Canton.

We saw the hotel to-day for the first time. It certainly looks very
hopeless. We were anxious to get in there if possible, as we were such
a large party, but everybody assured us it was quite out of the
question. One gentleman told me he never could fancy using his
portmanteau again after even laying it down on the floor for a few
minutes. The absence of a decent hotel renders Canton an inconvenient
place to visit. The European inhabitants are so very kind, however,
that you are sure to find somebody who knows somebody else who will
hospitably take you in.

[Illustration: The French Consulate, Canton.]

From the Temple of the Sleeping Buddha we went up the height to
breathe a little fresh air, and to see the five-storied pagoda at the
spot where the allied forces had encamped, the Chinese groves in the
White Cloud Mountains beyond, and to gain a general view of the
densely crowded city beneath. It is all too flat, however, to be
picturesque. The three _yamuns_ at our feet, with their quaint towers,
grand old trees, flags, and the broad Pearl River on the other side of
the city, are the only elements of positive beauty in the landscape.

We soon descended the heights again, and, passing the Cantonese
Viceroy's _yamuns_ paid our promised visit to the French Consul. His
residence is, if possible, more quaint and beautiful than that of the
English representative. The trees are finer, especially one grand
avenue leading from the outer gates to the private apartments. We were
most kindly received, and shown a wonderful collection of embroideries
and china. It was a delightful visit, but we could not remain so long
as we wished, for we had to see the water clock. The tower in which it
stands is approached by a flight of steps, and was built between the
years A.D. 624 and 907; but it has been repaired, destroyed, and
repaired again, several times, having suffered in the bombardment of
the town by the allied fleets in 1857.

In the next street, Treasury St