Frequently a shipload of 1,500 or 1,600
bodies arrives in one day. The Steamboat Company charges 40 dollars
for the passage of a really live Chinaman, as against 160 dollars for
the carriage of a dead celestial. The friends of the deceased often
keep the bodies in coffins above ground for several years, until the
priests announce that they have discovered a lucky day and a lucky
spot for the interment. This does not generally happen until he--the
priest--finds he can extract no more money by divination, and that no
more funeral feasts will be given by the friends. We passed through
what they call the city of the dead, where thousands of coffins
waiting for interment were lying above ground. The coffins are large
and massive, but very plain, resembling the hollowed-out trunk of a
tree. The greatest compliment a Chinese can pay his older relatives is
to make them a present of four handsome longevity boards for their
coffins. Outside the city of the dead were the usual adjuncts of a
large burying-place--coffin-makers and stone-carvers, all living in
dirty little cottages, surrounded by pigs, ducks, and young children.
Leaving the cemetery and cottages behind, a too short drive brought us
to a lovely valley, where we were to lunch at the temple of San Chew,
in one of its fairest gorges.
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