CHAPTER XX. 
A CHINESE DINNER-PARTY 
I CAN NOT part from my Chinese friends m Kashgar 
without adding a brief account of a Chinese dinner- 
party, which I shall never forget. I had scarcely re- 
covered from dining at the house of Tsen Daloi, a kind 
of mayor of the city, when I had the honour to be 
invited, along with the staff of the Russian consulate, 
to a similar function at the palace of the Dao i ai. _ 
I recollect something about an ancient Greek deity 
who swallowed his own offspring. I have read m Persian 
legend about the giant Zohak, who devoured two mens 
brains every day at a meal ! I have heard rumours of 
certain African savages, who invite missionaries to dinner, 
and crive their guests the place of honour inside the pot. 
I have been set agape by stories of monstrous big eaters, 
who at a single meal could dispose of broken ale-bottles, 
open penknives, and old boots. But what are all these 
things as compared with a Chinese dinner of state with 
its six-and-forty courses, embracing the most extraordinary 
products of the animal and vegetable worlds it is possible 
to imagine? For one thing, to mention no more, you 
need to be blessed with an extraordinarily fine appetite 
— or else be a Chinaman — to appreciate smoked ham 
dripping with molasses. 
When a Chinaman issues invitations to dinner, he 
sends out one or two days beforehand a tiny card o 
invitation contained in a huge envelope. If you accept 
the invitation, you are supposed to keep the car , i >ou 
have not time, that is if you decline, you are expected 
to send it back. If the banquet is appointed for twelve 
o’clock, you need not go before two p.m. Should you 
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