we pass on the Asiatic element increases, and finally every trace of
alien produce is withdrawn from the shelves and counters.

Here little China flaunts her scarlet streamers overhead, and flanks her
doors with legends in saffron and gold; even its window-panes have a
foreign look, and within is a glimmering of tinsel, a subdued light, and
china lamps flickering before graven images of barbaric hideousness. The
air is laden with the fumes of smoking sandalwood and strange odors of
the East; and the streets, swarming with coolies, resound with the
echoes of an unknown tongue. There is hardly room for us to pass; we
pick our way, and are sometimes curiously regarded by slant-eyed pagans,
who bear us no good-will, if that shadow of scorn in the face has been
rightly interpreted. China is not more Chinese than this section of our
Christian city, nor the heart of Tartary less American.

Turn which way we choose, within two blocks, on either hand we find
nothing but the infinitely small and astonishingly numerous forms of
traffic on which the hordes around us thrive. No corner is too cramped
for the squatting street cobbler; and as for the pipe-cleaners, the
cigarette-rollers, the venders of sweetmeats and conserves, they gather
on the curb or crouch under overhanging windows, and await custom with
the philosophical resignation of the Oriental.

On Dupont Street, between Clay and Sacramento Streets - a single block,
- there are no less than five basement apartments devoted exclusively
to barbers. There are hosts of this profession in the quarter. Look down
the steep steps leading into the basement and see, at any hour of the
day, with what deft fingers the tonsorial operators manipulate the
devoted pagan head.