A Chinese Banquet 143 



perspiring brow, and a few whiffs of the common hubble- 

 bubble, which a lad is told off to constantly hand round to 

 each guest. This he does, the burning match in one hand, 

 the pipe in the other, presenting the long brass stem to the 

 mouth. Little red paper napkins, five inches by two, are 

 folded before each guest, but are totally insufficient to wipe 

 away the grease-spots with which the varnished table at an 

 early period gets covered, bones, gristle, etc., being spat 

 out on the floor to mingle with the tobacco from the per- 

 petually relighted pipes. All the while one is seated on 

 a high, hard wooden stool, which is torture to a weary 

 western traveller, but on which the Chinese loll about from 

 morning to night. At last, to my intense relief, appeared 

 a dirty servant with the wooden rice-tub, which he placed 

 on a sideboard, along with a pile of little rice-bowls. Then 

 with a wooden scoop he filled a bowl for each guest with 

 the steaming grain, and the dinner was practically over. 

 But the bowl, if accepted, must be emptied to the last grain, 

 or you are set down as totally wanting in manners. To 

 assist in this, some of the greasy and now cold soup out of 

 one of the dishes on the table is emptied by each guest into 

 his bowl, thus enabling him to pick up the last grain. After 

 the rice, tea is served, and no more wine can be touched. 

 I never could find any other reason given for this inexorable 

 rule than that wine is made from the seed, and tea from the 

 leaves of plants, and to take wine on the top of tea would 

 be placing the son above the father. Such fanciful reasons 

 for possibly practical customs abound in China. Chinese 

 dinners have been described over and over again, but I have 

 narrated this one, as I think few have given an idea of their 

 tediousness and the absence of all that we deem comfort. 

 Still, to mijf with the people, one must swallow one's 

 antipathies, and conform to their habits. 



