money in making roads, the Chinese have applied their ingenuity
to making an indestructible cart. They build it of heavy
timbers, with massive wheels, thick spokes and ponderous hubs,
and as no springs could survive the jolting of such a vehicle,
the body of the cart is placed directly upon the huge axle.
Then a couple of big mules are hitched up tandem and driven
at breakneck speed. A runaway in an American farmer's
wagon over a corduroy road but feebly suggests the miseries of
travel in a Chinese cart. It may be good for a dyspeptic, but
it is about the most uncomfortable conveyance that the ingenuity
of man has yet devised. The unhappy passenger is
hurled against the wooden top and sides and is so jolted and
bumped that, as the small boy said in his composition, ``his
heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, stomach, bones and brains are all
mixed up.'' I tried the cart for a while and gently but firmly
intimated that if nothing better was available, I would walk. I
am satisfied that nothing short of a modern battleship under
full steam could make the slightest impression on the typical
Chinese cart. In my humble opinion, a Chinese cart is like
any other misfortune in life. When necessary, it should be
taken uncomplainingly. But the person who takes it unnecessarily
has not reached the years of discretion and should be
assigned a guardian.

I therefore turned to the shendza. All things considered, it
is the best conveyance for a long interior journey in China.
It consists of a couple long poles with a rope basket work in the
middle and a cover of matting. It is borne by two mules, and
has the advantage of protecting the traveller from the sun and
from light rains. An opening in the back gives him the benefit