SNOWY VALLEY.
LEFT Ningpo for Snowy Valley on the 4th of April. My conveyance was a native house-boat
hired to take me some eighteen miles up stream to Kong-Kai. It was nearly midnight when
1 started from the Ningpo wharf, and we hoped to reach Kong-Kai village about 9 o'clock next
morning. But, as usual, the boatmen no sooner got clear of the floating bridge and city than
they dropped anchor to wait, as they pretended, for the tide, but in reality to gain time and money.
Induced, after much delay, to stick to their bargain and proceed, they landed me at the allotted
time at Kong-Kai. My party was made up of four coolies to transport my baggage, together with two Chinamen
who had been in my service for some years, and who were the constant companions of my travels. We set out
for the hills, enjoying as we advanced the sweet perfume of bean and of rape fields, which stretched in a golden
meadow to the distant margin of the uplands in front. Everything shone with freshness and beauty in the morning
licdit; the country around us seemed a perfect garden of cultivation. In the midst of a scene such as this it was
painful to find, in the village of Kong-Kai, a festering sore on the face of the landscape, and to be forced to exchange
the balmy breath of the fields for the foul air of mud-polluted alleys. As I stood at this hamlet on its old bridge,
a striking contrast presented itself to my gaze. Looking towards the hills through the pale green foliage of an
overhanging tree, you might discern the river flowing between its reedy banks and reflecting the feathery plumes
of bamboo and the more distant objects of the landscape. There, too, gliding on his loaded raft down stream,
was the owner of a cargo of earthenware, resting on his oar, basking in the sun, and smoking the pipe of leisure
and contentment. To the left, towards Kong-Kai, a small temple reposed in the deep shade of an ancient tree, and
there were squalid villagers trooping out from the mire of a lane that formed the leading thoroughfare. One
group had scaled the treacherous height of a dung-heap which had sunk, faint with its own odours, against the
gateway of the shrine. The temple, the lanes, the shops and houses of the village, wore an air of dreary decay
and blight thoroughly in keeping with its opium-wasted inhabitants. Here we procured mountain-chairs for
the eighteen-mile journey to Teen-tang Monastery. The chair-bearers looked worn and feeble, but as I walked
a good deal they were not overtaxed.
It was a great relief to turn one's back upon the village and inhale the pure air of the plain. We passed several hamlets on the way, and in these the people seemed cleaner and in better condition. The women and children of this district adorn their raven tresses with the bright flowers of the azalea, a plant found in great profusion on the surrounding hills. The halting-places were little wayside temples. In one I met two old women, the priestesses of the shrine; they were most haggard, ill-favoured crones, and it was with grave forebodings that I allowed them to prepare my repast As they leant over a fire of reeds in the dim light of an inner court, with hideous idols glaring around, I should not have been surprised had I seen them vanish in the smoke, and once I half suspected that I was being made the victim of some spell or incantation, for I observed one of these beldames stretch forth her withered hand to pluck a leaf from some strange plant which grew in a pot near the altar, and then she dropped the herb mysteriously into the cup of tea which she handed me. I sipped the decoction daintily, eyeing the old priestess the while, but nothing came of it. Probably she divined the drift of my thoughts, for her oaken face shrank up into a weird grin. The tea was good, but the cakes brought from behind a smiling goddess were as preternaturally tough.
The dilapidated outer porch of one of these wayside temples is represented in No. 5. Skilfully modelled images, the size of life, are here seen guarding the portals, and my lean chair-bearers are also pictured gambling with an itinerant fruit-seller.
Farms and clumps of fine old trees studded the well-tilled plain, and the haystacks piled up curiously round the trunks of trees added to the peculiarity of the scene.
The ascent of the mountains to the Monastery of the Snowy Crevice afforded a succession of the finest scenery to be met with in this part of China. The azaleas, for which the place is celebrated, were in full bloom, manthng the hills and valleys with rosy hues, and throwing out their blossoms in clusters of surpassing brilliancy against the deep green foliage which binds the edges of the path. The mountains in many places were thickly wooded,
