NUMBER SIXTEEN.
Hong Kong, January, 1871.
It was a warm and bright Sunday morning when the French steamer “Phase” dropped anchor in the beautiful harbor of Hong Kong, and my impression at the time has been confirmed by a ten days’ residence, that this is the most picturesque as well as one of the most spacious harbors in the world. Rio Janeiro is said to resemble it, but neither it nor the Bay of Naples can rival the beauty of the scene before us. The mountain rises abruptly from the water's edge, and is crowned by “Victoria Peak,” seventeen hundred feet above the sea. The houses are built tier above tier, and from the water it seems a city of palaces, stretching far up the hill side, and for more than two wiles along the shore. Beyond the town, on the left, I see the “Happy Valley,” where I can catch a glimpse of the English cemetery embowered in tropical foliage; for with all its beauty of location Hong Kong is not healthy, and many an American and European who has come to this Eastern land in search of a fortune, remains here in possession only of six feet of Chinese earth.
Landing here is but a repetition of the scene at Shanghai, but I have learned something by experience. A hundred sampans surrounded the steamer, some manned by males, but the greater number by females, and the shrill pipes of the women drown the bass tones of their male competitors. I ean over the rail, and before leaving the deck close my contract with a young Ama-
