Thus, then, in the midst of this Chinese civilisation, full as it seems to be of absurdity, we see how sensualists, men of taste, and men of learning, all find scope for the employment of their wealth. The Chinese are, like ourselves, quite capable of appreciating the refinements of learning and the pleasures of the intellect; only—and in their eyes this is a merit—they measure both by their own standards. One of the real curses of wealth in China lies in a feature of their domestic organisation. There is not a petty merchant or insignificant mandarin around whom does not crawl a swarm of lazy servants—parasitic maggots, and nothing better. The humblest official cannot step across the street without being escorted by a legion of flunkeys—chair-bearers, flag-bearers, kettle-drummers, footmen, valets-de-chambre, and other valetry ad libitum. And when the master pays a visit to a friend, or to his official superior, every one of these gentry is received in his train, so that welcoming a visitor is like opening the gates to an invading army. I was one day at Pan-se-Chen's when ten of the highest functionaries of the vice-royalty paid him a visit. In an instant the beautiful mansion of Che-pa-Pou was in the military occupation of a regiment of beggars, more or less ragged. Some strutted about under the arcades of the inner courts; others coolly installed themselves in retired corners, and took their ease; while a still greater
