During one of my journeys in the interior, I met with a very curious tomb near the town of Sung-kiang-foo. It was placed on the side of a hill, in a wood, and evidently belonged to some very wealthy or important personage of that city. From the base of the hill to where the tomb stood about halfway up—the visitor ascended by abroad flight of steps, on each side of which were placed a number of figures carved in stone. As far as I can recollect, the following was the order in which the figures were placed; first, a pair of goats or sheep, one on each side; second, two dogs; third, two cats; fourth, two horses saddled and bridled; and fifth, two most gigantic priests; the effect of the whole being most strange and imposing. There is another tomb of the same description near Ningpo, but on a much smaller scale.
The flowers which the Chinese plant on or among the tombs are simple and beautiful in their kind. No expensive camellias, moutans, or other of the finer ornaments of the garden are chosen for this purpose. Sometimes the conical mound of earth,—when the grave is of this kind,—is crowned with a large plant of fine, tall, waving grass; at Ningpo wild roses are planted, which soon spread themselves over the grave, and, when their flowers expand in spring, cover it with a sheet of pure white. At Shanghae a pretty bulbous plant, a species of Lycoris, covers the graves in autumn with masses of brilliant purple. When I first discovered the Anemone Japonica, it was in full flower amongst the graves of the natives, which are round the ramparts of Shanghae; it blooms in November, when other flowers have gone by, and is a most appropriate ornament to the last resting-places of the dead.
The poor, as well as the rich, often keep their dead in their dwelling-houses for a long time; I should imagine, from the numerous coffins which I met with in such circumstances, that many are thus kept for years. The coffins are remarkably thick and strong, and the joints so carefully cemented that no unpleasant smell is emitted during the decay of the body.
Much of the respect which is paid by the Chinese to the memory of their deceased relatives, may doubtless be a mere matter of form, sanctioned and rendered necessary by the custom of ages, but I am inclined to think that a considerable portion springs from a higher and purer source, and I have no doubt that when the Chinese periodically visit the tombs of their fathers to worship and pay respect to their memory, they indulge in the pleasing reflection, that when they themselves are no more, their graves will not be neglected or forgotten—but will also be visited by their children and grand-children, in whose hearts and affections they will live for many, many years after their bodies have mouldered into dust.
Tomb of a Mandarin's Wife.