Canton is divided into the old and the new city. The latter, the southern enclosure, was added in 1568, extending the ramparts almost to the river bank. The wall of the older portion still divides the two as in Pekin. On the north this wall rises to include a hill. On the other three sides Canton is surrounded by a ditch, which is filled by the rising tide. There are twelve outer gates and four in the partition wall. Two water‐gates admit boats along a canal which pierces the new city east and west. The gates are closed at night; and in the daytime soldiers are stationed near them to preserve order. As the policing of the city is very bad, the inhabitants of streets and wards frequently join in maintaining guards for the protection of their respective quarters.
The old city, which is very much the larger of the two, contains most of the important buildings. In it are the yamens of the Viceroy, the Major‐General, the Treasurer, the Chancellor, the Tartar General and Major‐General, and of the British Consul, as well as the prisons, the Examination Hall, the pagodas, and the numerous temples, of which there are over 120 in or about Canton. The streets number over 600 in both cities.
In the new town facing the river is the French Missions Roman Catholic Cathedral, a beautiful building of the perpendicular Gothic style of architecture with lofty spires. It is embellished with magnificent stained‐glass windows and polished teak‐wood carvings. It is built on the site of the old residence of the Governor‐General, destroyed during the bombardment by the Allies.
On the south, west, and east sides of the city and across the river on Honam Island, suburbs have sprung up, and including them it has a circumference of nearly ten miles. The houses stretch for four miles along the river; and the banks of boats extend for four or five miles. Out in the stream may often be seen huge junks 600 to 1,000 tons burden, which trade with the North and the Straits Settlements.
In 1874 the population of Canton was 1,500,000, including the floating town of 230,000, and the inhabitants of Honam 100,000. The number has probably largely increased.
Going ashore we installed ourselves in long‐poled open chairs, borne by energetic coolies. As they went along rapidly at a shambling half‐trot, they shouted loudly to the lounging crowds to clear the way. Into the network of narrow streets in the city we plunged. The houses are different to those in Pekin. They are generally of more than one story, well built of brick, with thick walls and verandahs along the fronts of the upper floors. The shops have little frontage, but extend far back. The streets, paved with stone or brick, are darkened by overhead reed matting, supported by wooden frames, which stretch across them to shade them from the sun. So narrow are even the principal thoroughfares that two chairs can hardly pass each other. With much shouting and sing‐song abuse the coolies carrying one are forced to back into the nearest shop and let the other go by. The vistas along these narrow, shaded streets, with their long, hanging, gilt‐lettered sign‐boards—red, white, or black—are full of quaint charm. The busy crowds of Chinese foot passengers hurry silently along, their felt‐soled shoes making no sound on the pavement. Contrary to what I had always heard of them, the Canton populace struck me as not being so insolent or hostile to Europeans as they are reputed. As our chairs moved along, the bearers thrusting the crowds aside with scant ceremony, very little notice was taken of us. A few remarks were made by the bystanders, which one of our party, who spoke Cantonese, told me were anything but complimentary. But all that day throughout the city I found the demeanour of the people much less offensive than a Chinaman in the lower quarters of London would.
The shops were filled with articles of European manufacture. Clocks, cloth, oleographs, lamps, kerosene oil tins, even sewing‐machines were for sale. Eating‐houses, tea shops, stalls covered with the usual weird forms of food, raw or cooked, abounded. The Chinaman has a catholic taste. Horseflesh, dogs, cats, hawks, owls, sharks’ fins, and birds’ nests are freely sold in Canton for human consumption. Carpenters were busy making the substantial furniture to be found in almost every Chinese house. Blacksmiths and coppersmiths added the noises of their trades to the din that resounded through the narrow streets. Peddlers with their wares spread about them on the ground helped to choke the congested thoroughfares. Beggars shouted loudly for alms and drew the attention of the passers‐by to their disgusting sores and deformities.
Canton is famous for its ivory carvers and the artists in the beautiful feather work, the making of which seems to be confined to this city. As I wished to purchase some specimens of this unique art, our party stopped at an establishment famed for its production. The shop was lofty but dark. The owner came forward to receive us, and spread on the counter a large selection of ornaments for our inspection. Trinkets of all kinds, lace‐pins, pendants, brooches were exhibited, all evidently made for European purchasers. The designs were very pretty. Large butterflies shone with the reflected lights and golden lustre of the beautiful green and blue plumage of the kingfisher. Tiny fishes delicately fashioned, birds of paradise, flowers were all reproduced in flimsy gold or silver work. Learning that I was anxious to see the process of the manufacture, the proprietor led me over to watch one of the workmen who sat around busily employed. On a metal ground‐work with raised edges and lines the feathers are fastened to reproduce the colours of the designs. With nimble fingers and delicate pincers the tiny strips of plumage are laid on and cemented. Keen sight is required for the work; and the proprietor told me that the eyes of the workmen engaged in it soon fail. It takes five years for an apprentice to thoroughly learn the art; and after he has laboured at it for two years more his vision becomes so obscured that he has to give it up and seek some other occupation. It is little wonder; for the shops in these narrow, shaded streets are always dark, and the artificial light generally used is furnished only by the cheapest European lamps. The prices of the various articles are very moderate, when one considers the delicacy and beauty of the work. Butterflies an inch across can be purchased for two or three dollars.
Our next visit was paid to the workers in ivory. Here, in a similarly dark shop, men were employed in carving most exquisitely delicate flowers, scenes, and figures. Brushes, mirror‐frames, fans, glove‐stretchers, penholders, card‐cases, and boxes of all sizes were being fashioned and adorned. I was particularly interested in the making of those curious Chinese puzzle‐balls, which contain one within another a dozen or more spheres, all down to the innermost one covered with beautiful carvings which can be seen through the round holes pierced in the sides. The owner of the shop showed me an apprentice learning how to make them and practising on an old billiard ball. Holes are drilled down to the depth which will be the circumference of the second outermost ball. A graving tool, hooked like a hoe, is introduced into them and worked round until there is a complete solid sphere detached inside. It is then carved in designs, every part being reached by turning the ball round until each portion of the surface has come opposite one of the holes through which the carving instrument can reach it. Then a similar process is gone through at a greater depth from the outside, which gives the third outermost sphere; and so on until the innermost ball is reached, which is carved and left solid. There are sometimes as many as twenty‐four of these graduated spheres. To one who has never seen how they are made it seems impossible to understand how these balls within balls are carved. Sections of elephants’ tusks lay about in the shop to prove to the customers that only real ivory is employed; but bone is often used in the making of cheaper articles.
In this trade, too, good sight is necessary; and the proprietor of this establishment told me that the eyes of his workmen soon give out. Here, again, the bad light was responsible. In Kioto, in Japan, I have watched men engaged in damascene or inlay work in dingy attics lighted only by small, smoky oil lamps, and was not surprised to learn that their sight did not last long.