and to do this you must first of all sweeten them with the precepts of
the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Confucius will fail you. The Son of God
will reform you and save you! Such thoughts and reflections as these
naturally sprang up in my mind in my walks through Chinatown. I saw
its people on every hand. Sometimes they were in twos, again in groups
of a half a dozen or more. They scarcely noticed us as we walked by
them; they showed no curiosity to observe us, but went on their way as
though intent on one object. They moved about like automatons, as if
they were a piece of machinery; and such as were at work in shops
heeded us not even when we stood over them and watched them as they
handled their tools. It was work, work. They were doing their masters'
bidding like the genii of the lamp; and in the glare of the light in
which they wrought on their bench or at their stand the workers in
gold and silver, the makers of ornaments and jewelry, were like
some strange beings from another world. They work to the point of
endurance. They have their amusements, their holidays, as the Chinese
New Year which comes in February, their processions from time to time,
but their great indulgence is in the use of opium. Once or twice
a month the ordinary labourer or workman gives himself up to its
seductive charms, to its power more fatal to his manhood than
intoxicating drinks taken to excess. The Chinaman is so stolid and
impassive that it is hard to arouse his wrath. He will bear insults
without a murmur for a long time, but in the end he will be stung into
madness and he will give force to all his pent up fires of hate
that have slumbered like a volcano. He may wait long without having
punished his oppressor, but he will bide his time. So it was with the
Boxers in China whose story is so painfully fresh in the memories of
the great legations of the world in Pekin.

The men and women of Chinatown dress very nearly like each other;