We set out first to the Temple of the Sleeping Buddha,
where there is a large, fat, reclining figure; then to the Temple of
Horrors--most rightly named, for in a suite of rooms built round three
sides of a large yard are represented all the tortures of the Buddhist
faith, such as boiling in oil, sawing in pieces, and other horrible
devices. The yard itself is crowded with fortune-tellers,
charm-sellers, deputy prayer-sayers, beggars, and all sorts of natural
horrors, exhibiting various deformities. Altogether it is a most
unpleasant place, but still it is one of the characteristic sights of
Canton.
We saw the hotel to-day for the first time. It certainly looks very
hopeless. We were anxious to get in there if possible, as we were such
a large party, but everybody assured us it was quite out of the
question. One gentleman told me he never could fancy using his
portmanteau again after even laying it down on the floor for a few
minutes. The absence of a decent hotel renders Canton an inconvenient
place to visit. The European inhabitants are so very kind, however,
that you are sure to find somebody who knows somebody else who will
hospitably take you in.
[Illustration: The French Consulate, Canton.]
From the Temple of the Sleeping Buddha we went up the height to
breathe a little fresh air, and to see the five-storied pagoda at the
spot where the allied forces had encamped, the Chinese groves in the
White Cloud Mountains beyond, and to gain a general view of the
densely crowded city beneath.
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