e toothsome stalks wistfully every day.

After a few miles the hitherto dead level of the valley is broken by low
hills of reddish clay, and here the stone paths merge into well-beaten
trails that on reasonably level soil afford excellent wheeling. The
hillsides are crowded with graves, which, instead of the sugar-loaf "ant
hillocks" of the paddy-fields, assume the traditional horseshoe shape of
the Chinese ancestral grave. On the barren, gravelly hills, unfit for
cultivation, the thrifty and economical Celestial inters the remains of
his departed friends. Although in making this choice he is supposed to be
chiefly interested in securing repose for his ancestors' souls, he at the
same time secures the double advantage of a well-drained cemetery, and
the preservation of his cultivable lands intact. Everything, indeed,
would seem to be made subservient to this latter end; every foot of
productive soil seems to be held as of paramount importance in the
teeming delta of the Choo-kiang.

Beyond the first of these cemetery hills, peopled so thickly with the
dead, rise the tall pawn-towers of the large village of Chun-Kong-hoi.
The natural dirt-paths enable me to ride right up to the entrance-gate of
the main street. Good-natured crowds follow me through the street; and
outside the gate of departure I favor them with a few turns on the smooth
flags of a rice-winnowing floor. The performance is hailed with shouts of
surprise and delight, and they urge me to remain in Chun-Kong-hoi all
night.

An official in big tortoise-shell spectacles examines my passport,
reading it slowly and deliberately aloud in peculiar sing-song tones to
the crowd, who listen with all-absorbing attention. He then orders the
people to direct me to a certain inn. This inn blossoms forth upon my as
yet unaccustomed vision as a peculiarly vile and dingy little hovel,
smoke-blackened and untidy as a village smithy. Half a dozen rude benches
covered with reed mats and provided with uncomfortable wooden pillows
represent what sleeping accommodations the place affords. The place is so
forbidding that I occupy a bench outside in preference to the
evil-smelling atmosphere within.

As it grows dark the people wonder why I don't prefer the interior of the
dimly lighted hittim. My preference for the outside bench is not
unattended with hopes that, as they can no longer see my face, my
greasy-looking, half-naked audience would give me a moment's peace and
quiet.