but it is certain that all good Chinese deprecate it as an unmixed evil and pray for its extinction. But "free trade "demands that it shall be convenient to the consumer, and free trade is with some a kind of religion. Theft or robbery is the most common crime, and, except in extreme cases, is punished by whipping. Death is the punishment of murder, robbing graves, robbing the Emperor, &c. It is of three kinds: first, and most ignominious, is "the cutting in ten thousand pieces," or hacking to pieces slowly; second, is decapitation with the sword; and third, is strangulation. In Peking this takes place in the broad street of the Chinese city, in the presence of the whole people; and in the autumn, when there is a kind of jail-delivery, a large number suffer. Mr. Secretary Brown states, that he saw some fifteen suffer the two last punishments, the first being very rare. The executioners, who are a part of the machinery of justice, and are not disreputable, were talking freely with those near them. A vast concourse of orderly, grave people filled the street; there was no shouting, no pushing, no oaths, no drunkenness. It was a sad, serious, dreadful time. Most of the condemned, either from long confinement or from being drugged or drunken, seemed but half conscious of their doom. Those to be decapitated bowed their heads, when a single blow of a sharp sword ended their lives. The strangulation was performed by a small cord being placed around the neck, which with a quick twist with a wooden stick ended them. It was not a sight to witness twice.

The justices or magistrates act as examiners as well as judges. Lawyers have not been invented by the Chinese mind. The magistrates are assisted by secretaries-a kind of notary-who from long study and experience are versed in the laws and usages, and who can give any information needed. The magis trate hears both sides, he questions, he decides; and it is said that much bribery is practised, and but little justice got. We can believe it, for even with

us, who have white skins and a very free press, it is thought to prevail to some extent.

A few words upon the religion of this vast people-which we propose to change-may well end this brief paper. The ancient religion of the nation seems to have been an adoration of the powers of nature, and it would seem to have been one inspired by a spirit of love rather than of slavish fear. But its vital life had died out, when Confucius appeared to revive and prolong it. Confucianism may now be called the state religion, that most practised by the emperors and the higher classes. It is a kind of mild rationalism, and is not aggressive. No missionary of Confucianism has ever appeared, so far as I know, in America, proposing to convert us to that faith.

The reverence or worship of ancestors can hardly be called a religion, though it is like one in that it is observed with certain rites. Tablets in honor of the dead are set up in every house over a sort of family altar; and at certain times flowers are offered and papermoney is burned at these shrines. The graves of the departed are also visited and are carefully kept. These graves are everywhere, all over China, in the middle of fields, and by the highways and byways. "China is a great graveyard," said Secretary Brown. Why do you burn paper-money ? I asked of Mr. Fung. "We believe in another life in a kind of Hades, where our friends now are; and we believe they want money there as we do here, and so we burn it, and it ascends in smoke." This money is not the actual money of trade, but it is prepared and sold for this especial purpose.

Two other sects prevail in Peking, that of Taou and that of Buddha.

The religion of Taou (supreme reason) dates from Lao-tze, born 604 B. C. It teaches, or once taught for it seems greatly to have degenerated-the existence of a spiritual world, spirit-agency, and a migration of souls. The priests of Taou have temples where they live, but many of them wander about, living

as they can by the sale of charms, and are looked upon by the Confucians as a sort of cheats.

The Buddhists prevail most largely, have a distinct and defined belief or theology, a consecrated priesthood, and many and extensive temples. There is no weekly day of worship, but at certain times and seasons great and imposing festivals are held, which furnish times for relaxation and devotion; of these the most important is in the spring, at the beginning of their year. A Chinese map indicates forty-seven temples in the Tartar city, and seventy in the Chinese city. Some of these are large and highly embellished, and are surrounded with extensive grounds. The most conspicuous are The Altar of Heaven," "The Temple of the Moon," "The Temple of the Earth," and "The Temple of Agriculture." Near this last is a portion of ground set apart for the annual ploughing of the Emperor and his highest ministers, who thus express their profound admiration for the labors of the farmer, and their wish to propitiate the fruitful god. Among the hills, some fourteen miles from the city, is the great Buddhist temple of "The Blue Cloud; " where during the heats of summer many strangers and citizens resort to find cool rooms, verdure, and shaded walks.

The priests appear not to be or to have been politicians, and the utmost toleration of sects has seemed to prevail throughout the history of this most ancient and wonderful people.

The

persecutions of Christians will most likely be found to have been the result of other than religious jealousy.

The story of Christianity in China has never been written, perhaps cannot be. But the little we know is curious and interesting. It would seem that as early as the sixth century the Nestorians, spreading out from Syria, preached the "illustrious religion" in China, and made converts. But in the year 877 a fierce rebellion broke out, and Jews, Christians, and Mohammedans were slaughtered with the inhabitants, and no more was heard of Nestorian Chris

tianity. Marco Polo, in the thirteenth century, mentions incidentally the presence of Christians in Peking. But in this century a vigorous effort was made by the Romish Church to extend Christianity into the East, and John, of Monte-Corvino, appeared in Peking, the first Christian missionary. He had full liberty of preaching allowed him, and he met with such success that it seemed as if the new religion had got a firm root in China. But in the fourteenth century the Mongol was driven out, and all that it had favored was expelled. Christianity again disappeared. It had left no seed. In the beginning of the sixteenth century the Portuguese reached the shores of China around the Cape of Good Hope; the Spaniards followed, then the Dutch, then the English; but none of them carried Christianity as part of their cargoes.

St. Francis Xavier, the friend of Loyola and the great missionary to the Indies and Japan, died upon the borders of China in the year 1552; and the Jesuit Ricci succeeded in entering the kingdom in 1580, and at last reached Peking (1601), where he established missions, which, for some two hundred years, were allowed to labor,* and with much success, interrupted by various prohibitions and some quarrels, until on the death of the Emperor Kang-hi, in 1722, prohibition and persecution brought all to a disastrous end. The Catholic missionaries kept a feeble hold in Peking, sometimes meeting with a little favor, until in 1820 the new Emperor drove out the last of the Jesuits. A Protestant missionary, Morrison, reached the shores of China in 1807, and set to work to translate the Bible for the Chinese, and it is now to be read by them in their own tongue. The success so far of the Christian missionaries has not been very encouraging. The good they might have done has been annihilated by the vices and excesses of those traders and sailors who were nominally Christians. Yet it would seem the churches do not relax their

Ricci died in Peking, in 1610.

A letter in the Paris Moniteur states that a magnificent cathedral was inaugurated at Peking on the 1st of January, and that a solemn mass was there performed by the Bishop, Mgr. Mouly, in the presence of the diplomatic corps, the Chinese authorities, and the pupils of the schools. The metropolitan church at Canton is approaching completion. Mr. Medhurst, Britannic Consul, laid the first stone of an Anglican church at Kin-Kiang on the 25th of January. Religious temples appertaining to all the different sects are being erected in close proximity to each other; Protestants, Catholics, Anglicans, Greek Schismatics, Buddhists, Mahometans, disciples of Confucius, live side by side, with a perfectly good understanding between them. Free worship is so thoroughly rooted in the habits and manners of the people, that even the Jesuits dare not show themselves to be intolerant.

For all these centuries this vast Brown Nation has lived without us, and has developed its peculiar civilization of

good; now it is about to attempt to assimilate our systems and ideas. Whether its digestion is or is not strong enough remains to be seen. What we beg of Mr. Minister Burlingame is, that he will see to it that with every vice we send them shall go at least one virtue, and that they shall accord to us the like fair treatment. Whether or not the peculiarities of the Mongol type will disappear before the Caucasian or higher type, as we believe it to be, or whether the two will be merged into one, remains to be seen. The usual course of history is that the stronger devours the weaker. Those, therefore, who wish to see the Pekingese as they now appear, must step into Mr. Brady's gallery, and see the very admirable photographs he has made of this most peculiar embassy.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GOOD THAT IS IN SOME HUMAN NATURE.

WHEN Miss Bayles returned from the photographic gallery, in the chill dusk of that November evening which followed upon the arrest of Abel Bellows, her already wearied nerves were further tried by the scene of tribulation into the midst of which she was ushered; for no sooner did she set foot in the hall, than the school-teacher's wife stepped out to relate the exciting news, and to say how poor Mrs. Bellows had been moaning and calling for Miss Bayles, ever since the affair happened.

"We are all sorry for her, and have done what we could for her, but she wants you," said the speaker.

"I will go right up," said the artist, too much surprised and bewildered to care to make any comments; and up she flew, with her light step, enly stopping to lay aside her bonnet in her own room before entering the apartment where Mrs. Bellows sat rocking herself to and fro in the Boston rocking-chair, little Toddle, with frightened blue eyes and uncombed curls, clasped tightly in her arms, the other children sitting, scared and hungry, gazing from afar into their mother's face.

"Dear Mrs. Bellows, if I had known you were in trouble, I would have left my work, and come home to you."

"I always said it! I always said it!" answered Mrs. Bellows, in that sharp, high-strung key betraying misery and excitement.

"What did you always say? Poor Toddle is tired, I know. Has he had his supper? Come to auntie, and have some supper."

"I knew, and I always said it would come to that. He can't deny that I've said it a thousand times. I told him that would be the upshot of it, and he knows it. If he didn't quit wasting his

money on lotteries, he'd be tempted, some time, into worse things. But, to think that he should really rob and murder, and never let on, but keep on that innocent face about it,-oh, Miss Bayles, it sets me crazy to think of it!"

As her friend lifted her child out of her arms, the woman pressed her hands on her temples with a wild look, which really alarmed the other. She saw that it was necessary, in some manner, to calm this excitement; yet, even then, her own indignation burst forth in the question,

"Is it possible that you, too, accuse your husband ?”

"Accuse him? What can I say? Did not the officers come into our rooms and search, and find in the back of the bureau, behind the draw, a piece of the very lace that was stolen? They took it out before my eyes, and I know they thought I had a hand in it, that am as innocent as a babe, and that never had disgrace in the family before. They found the tickets in the little draw, all them worthless things that he's wasted good money on, and has been so foolish as to save up, as if to witness against him; they winked and laughed, and said that was where the money went to. What could I say? I'm his wife, and I'm sorry that I am. He's disgraced me and the children;-I want nothing more to do with him."

Miss Bayles sat down-for Toddle was heavy-pressing the little fellow's cheeks and curls, and saying nothing for the moment. She had liked Abel Bellows extremely. Lowly as was his position, she had appreciated the honesty and kindness, the delicacy and genuine refinement, the pleasant humor and good sense of the man. His consideration for her, shown in so many ways, had won upon her friendship. Her whole nature revolted from believing that he was-that he could be

guilty. Yet, here was his own wife accusing him—the stolen goods found on his premises! She could but recall that, since that tragedy at the store, Abel had not appeared quite natural; there had been a restraint over his usual twinkling gayety; he often started when addressed-was lost in reveries, pale, nervous. Many times he had seemed on the point of making a communication to her, and then retired from the subject in embarrassment. All this she had set down to pecuniary troubles, and a conscience sore on the question of lottery-tickets. Did it, then, mean more and worse than this? Terribly as appearances were against him, the young lady could not consent to such a possibility.

"We are spirits, clad in veils ;

Man by man was never seen.
All our deep communion fails

To remove the shadowy screen."" She murmured this over to herself; yet surely the veil which wrapped the spirit of this simply shrewd, this kindly honest man, was as nearly transparent as human nature ever wore. She would not admit that she had been deceived in him. She would not even admit that he had, in a moment of temptation, done foul wrong to his own nature. She had more confidence in him than his own wife.

Mrs. Bellows was narrow-minded, full of passion and prejudice, while the young artist had that intuitive power of reading others which belongs to genius.

"Mrs. Bellows," she said, presently, "let us not judge him too hastily. Whatever others may say, it is your duty to remain by him, unless he is proven unworthy. Do not take this sudden trouble too much to heart. I have the fullest faith that the cloud

will pass over. In the meantime your children have claims upon you. They are frightened and uncomfortable. I do not believe they have even been fed: have they had any supper or dinner?"

The mother glanced at the cold stove in which the fire had been allowed to die out.

"They ain't had the'r suppers, though I believe Mrs. Wells give them a piece of bread and butter awhile ago. I'll start the fire, and give 'em what there is; but, what they'll do to-morrow is more'n I can say, for the barrel o' flour was just out, and Abel didn't leave me but a couple of dollars this mornin' when he went out."

The sharp voice had sunk into its habitual complaining tone; but, as it said the last words, it trembled, and Mrs. Bellows burst out into a passion of crying. The picture of Abel, going out that morning so cheerfully from his home, which he was never again, perhaps, to enter, arose before her, arousing the wife's tenderness, which had lain dormant before the storm-burst of her anger and reproach.

Miss Bayles thought it best to allow her to "have her cry out." Coaxing the little boy to be good, and sit beside her, she busied herself with the stove, where she soon had a fire and the tea

steeping." Giving Matthew some change, she sent him out for a few eatables with which to cheer and garnish the table; placed Toddle in his highchair, turned the gas up to burn bright

ly; and when all was ready, took Mrs. Bellows' limp hand and drew her up, saying, “Come, have a hot cup of tea. I'm going to take supper with you to-night," and she sat down in Abel's place, that the loss might not be so keenly perceived.

"Oh, where is he? What do you think they will do with him to-night?" asked the wife, piteously, dropping unresistingly into the chair placed for her.

"He will not be very uncomfortable, I hope," was the cheerful answer. "His worst suffering will be mental. You can go and see him to-morrow, and tell him that you will stand by him, and take good care of his children until he is free to resume his place as their protector, and that will be a great solace to him. I doubt not he'll bear the rest very easily, after he knows that his wife will stand by him."

"Ma, what makes you cry so much? Is pa dead?" asked little Abbey, whose