mental suspense unable to decide which is the filthiest city of the
Republic. The residents of Foochow boast that for offensiveness to the
senses no town can compare with theirs, and although Amoy and several other
places dispute this questionable title, we were inclined to grant it
unreservedly to Foochow. It is like a medieval city with its narrow,
ill-paved streets wandering aimlessly in a hopeless maze. They are usually
roofed over so that by no accident can a ray of purifying sun penetrate
their dark corners. With no ventilation whatsoever the oppressive air reeks
with the odors that rise from the streets and the steaming houses.

In Foochow, as in other cities of China, the narrow alleys are literally
choked with every form of industrial obstruction. Countless workmen plant
themselves in the tiny passageways with the pigs, children, and dogs, and
women bring their quilts to spread upon the stones. There is a common
saying that the Chinese do little which is not at some time done on the
street.

The foreign residents, including consuls of all nationalities,
missionaries, and merchants, live well out of the city on a hilltop. Their
houses are built with very high ceilings and bare interiors, and as the
occupants seldom go into the city except in a sedan chair and have
"punkahs" waving day and night, life is made possible during the intense
heat of summer.

A telegram was awaiting us from the Reverend Harry Caldwell, with whom we
were to hunt, asking us to come to his station two hundred miles up the
river, and we passed two sweltering days repacking our outfit while Mr.
Kellogg scoured the country for an English-speaking cook.

One middle-aged gentleman presented himself, but when he learned that we