Backwards March. 337 



politicians are down on John, with a violent, stamping sort of animosity, 

 which makes you think of the rabies. Albeit, the bottom of the business is 

 the fact that the other laboring classes in California, made up mostly of 

 Irish and Scandinavians and the miscellaneous poi-^Jowm of all nations, con- 

 ceive themselves to be ruined by Chinese cheap labor. It is simply the 

 moral of Bret Harte's poem exemphfied and illustrated in practical life. 

 Paddy and Fritz and Bjorne all vote. John does not vote. • Paddy and Fritz 

 and Bjorne are, thereforej/erwmsf poor John, and are anxious for his destruc- 

 tion. They call him a dirty haythen — and I believe it is a true bill. 



My scurryings around Chinatown convinced me that human dirtiness 

 is not one of the lost arts. Nevertheless, the better class of Chinese are clean 

 enough, and dress with a certain elegance. You may even see nabobs among 

 them. I could perceive, here and there, unmistakable evidences of a kind 

 of filthy luxury, which one might possibly admire with his eyes, but would 

 not care to touch with his fingers. I went, under direction of an intelligent 

 guide, and accompanied by my friend Mason, through several bazaars and 

 shops, and especially on a visit to the great upstairs restaurant, so called, 

 and the central joss-house. Our cicerone explained everything to us, in 

 tolerable English, as we went along. Nor was he devoid of wit in his pun- 

 gent comments on the things Asiatic which he had the pleasure of show- 

 ing us. 



The restaurant might well deserve a chapter and the joss-house another, 

 if we were to do justice to the peculiar interest which they excited. In the 

 former place I saw the most elegant woodwork which it was ever my pleas- 

 ure to examine. The establishment is rented out, night by night, to groups 

 of oriental revelers, who pay 1600 a session for the use of the hall and the 

 appurtenances thereto. This, of course, includes the table d'hote and all 

 incidentals ; and I learned that some of the incidentals were of such horrible 

 wickedness that it would agitate your hair if I should tell you about it. In 

 the joss-house I saw Mumbo Jumbo himself and all of his family. I learned 

 from the guide that the Chinese theory of Mumbo is that he is not present 

 in the wooden idol which sits up there solemnly before you. He is out in 

 the air. When you want him to come in ard inhabit his effigy, you ring 

 the big bell which hangs by the vestibule. 



Mumbo hears it, and in he comes, invisible to mortal eye, and ensconces 

 himself in his wooden semblance up there on the platform. Thereupon 

 the worshiper makes known his wishes in prayer. He gets down and hits 

 his forehead on a cushion on the floor, and then, after having expressed his 

 wants, he casts lots, whereupon he is able to discover, by cabalistic writings 

 on little slips of bamboo or red paper, what the answer of Mumbo to his 

 prayer may be. One Mumbo is for Day, another for Night; one is for the 

 Wind, and another for Thunder. It is all very beautiful, but I was much more 

 interested in watching the expression of my guide's face and the tones of his 

 voice, to ascertain how much stock lie took in the business. It was not much. 

 I could see clearly enough that he was far gone into the purlieus of skep- 



