t was a black and bitter
one.

"Why on earth can't you look at the lions and enjoy yourself, and leave
politics to the men who pretend to understand 'em?" said the Professor.

"It's no question of politics," I replied. "This people ought to be
killed off because they are unlike any people I ever met before. Look at
their faces. They despise us. You can see it, and they aren't a bit
afraid of us either."

Then Ah Cum took us by ways that were dark to the temple of the Five
Hundred Genii, which was one of the sights of the rabbit-warren. This
was a Buddhist temple with the usual accessories of altars and altar
lights and colossal figures of doorkeepers at the gates. Round the inner
court runs a corridor lined on both sides with figures about half
life-size, representing most of the races of Asia. Several of the Jesuit
Fathers are said to be in that gallery,--you can find it all in the
guide-books,--and there is one image of a jolly-looking soul in a hat
and full beard, but, like the others, naked to the waist. "That European
gentleman," said Ah Cum. "That Marco Polo." "Make the most of him," I
said. "The time is coming when there will be no European
gentlemen--nothing but yellow people with black hearts--black hearts,
Ah Cum--and a devil-born capacity for doing more work than they ought."

"Come and see a clock," said he. "Old clock. It runs by water. Come on
right along." He took us to another temple and showed us an old
water-clock of four _gurrahs_: just the same sort of thing as they have
in out-of-the-way parts of India for the use of the watchmen. The
Professor vows that the machine, which is supposed to give the time to
the city, is regulated by the bells of the steamers in the river, Canton
water being too thick to run through anything smaller than a half-inch
pipe. From the pagoda of this temple we could see that the roofs of all
the houses below were covered with filled water-jars. There is no sort
of fire organisation in the city. When lighted it burns till it stops.

Ah Cum led us to the Potter's Field, where the executions take place.
The Chinese slay by the hundred, and far be it from me to say that such
generosity of bloodshed is cruel. They could afford to execute in Canton
alone at the rate of ten thousand a year without disturbing the steady
flow of population. An executioner who happened to be wandering
about--perhaps in search of employment--offered us a sword under
guarantee that it had cut off m