Pennsylvania School of Horticulture for Women - Wise Acres Yearbook (Ambler, PA)

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huge horns, lowered; no movement except the chewing- of his cud. The size of the grave mound varies, depending upon the number of wives. One of the Emperors had 500 wives, who were compelled to be buried with him; it made quite a mountain. Now flashes by a camel-back bridge over a canal and often across the fiat fields looms up a large red sail. You strain your eyes to catch the least glimpse of this, for you are certain it is sailing right across the grain. Then come the mulberry orchards, first an isolated one, then more and more, until on each side of the railway are groves of them, with men and women gathering leaves in large baskets. Two baskets are slung at each end of a bamboo pole and carried thus to the hungry silk worms in the sheds, whose eating sounds like a rushing wind. These orchards are finely cultivated between the ro .vs and planted with soy or buckwheat. The low trees are often shorn entirely of leaves. Now I see some fields, from which thp first crop of grain has been harvested, and fresh seed just planted. It is easy to know that seed has been put in. for there are the marks of the bare feet that have trod it in; myriads of toot prints up and down, back and forth, close together, one man following after the other, the first man making a normal step, the next a step behind, and so on over the entire field. No land is ever idle, rotation of crops, the muck from the canals, and human fertilization supplying plant food. For this reason we cannot ever eat celery or lettuce or any raw vegetable, the soil is so full of typhoid and dysentery germs. But for all that, we love China—it is like a verse I saw at the movie last week: Oh, take me back to Siberia, The land of measles and diphtheria. Now my attention is called to the dining table again, for the three train hands have come in to eat. The rice is served in a small, wooden tub; they order fish, pork, a dozen fried eggs and several quarts of tea. They put the rice in large bowls and pile on all the other stuff indiscriminately. The teapot is passed around to wash it down, and they drink out of the spout! This is why we carry our own teapots along. Two of the men start without waste of time to shovel the food in with chopsticks, making sucking noises above the noise of the train. One of them bows his head and returns thanks, being a Christian. In ten minutes that food has vanished and they are off. Some plain women now come in to order rice and tea, having a lunch basket with accessories. They are dressed in trousers and coat of plain black cotton cloth. An American lady gets on and sits beside me; I say to her, “how strange to see the Chinese women in trousers and the men in skirts.” “You mean,” she said, “how strange to see our men in trousers and the women in skirts,” and I think I agreed with her. The camphor tree is in bloom and the pale green, feathery bamboo bows to us in the breeze. It is worth a trip to China to see the bamboo in moonlight. You feel like Alice in Wonder- 10

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ON THE SHANGHAI-HANGCHOW RAILWAY Caroline G. Peeler When you take a trip in China you carry both food and water, if you are wise. In order to make the 7.30 train, I rose when it was still dark, “Dosovou” had ready for me a breakfast sufficient for two, a bottle of water, oranges, and food for my next meal on the train. He, himself, called a ricksha and tucked me in carefully, my luggage stowed fore and aft. A 200 mile trip on a Chinese railway all alone means that your senses must be keenly alert—ears, eyes and hand—for only by means of motions could one make herself understood, .unless by chance English is spoken. So, from the time I bought my “one-piece” ticket, second-class missionary rate, $2.30 going, $3.10 returning, I began to feel those thrilly creeps one gets over a brand new pleasant experience. Fortunately, the cars were so crowded that there was no seat for me in the second- class carriage, so I was taken into the dining car to sit on the only seat at the front end of the car, facing the dining table in the middle, with six chairs surrounding it. At this table a continuous stream of hungry ones took their turns, and if you want to read character, watch people eat! First came a high class Chinese girl, with her hair in bangs, and long drop earrings of pearl and jade. The Chinese women wear no hats. She was smoking a cigarette, and on her long tapering fingers were handsome jewelled rings. She drank tea and smoked leisurely. She looked as dainty in her coatee of rich brocade of gray, blue, and lavender and trousers of pearl colored silk as tho she were at home and not in a smoky train. Next came a father with two boys, richly dressed in black brocade coats that reached to their heels. They ordered foreign food—fried chicken, white bread and butter, marmalade arid tea, and ate with forks! After they had finished their chicken the boy brought in towels, wrung out of scalding hot water, and they washed their faces and hands. No feast is complete without the hot water towel wash; at a real feast the water is perfumed. I have almost come to believe that the reason why the Chinese have such fine textured, smooth skin is because they have' these hot water face baths. Last summer, at the Chinese theatre, when the thermometer rose to 100, boys went through the audience with hot water tow'els. To facilitate the passing, however, one boy would throw towels across the theatre to another, so that huge white towel balls were flying back and forth and you glimpsed the play between them as best you could. The face washing kept up the entire time. Now I look out of the window at the scenery. Emerald green fields of newly planted rice, cultivated by men and buffalos walking ankle deep in water. Canals everywhere, between which the fields are laid off in geometric lines to the last inch, except where the grave mounds, or small hillocks, are located. Some of these are so old that the tops are covered with large trees, while the newer ones afford grazing for a lone buffalo. He looks like a graven image standing at the peak of a grave mound, his head, with its 9

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land. The canals are teeming with life, large families of children swarming over the tiny one-room sampans they call home. Now and then one drops overboard, but there are plenty more! In five hours I arrive in Hangchow, the beautiful, where I am met by my friend. We jump into rickshas and race thro the electric lighted streets, so narrow at times that a fat man has to draw in his corporosity to escape a bump. Hangchow was the summer play place of the Emperors, reached by canal from Peking. The longer portion of the Grand Canal was made in the sixth century, A. D., and it is almost 900 miles long. In places it is often 100 feet wide, with sides frequently faced with stone. Fine stone bridges, memorial arches, and lofty pagodas are its gems of architecture and over all is the wonderful atmospheric coloring with the vivid greens, reds, tans, indigo blues and browns, from which, no doubt, inspiration was supplied for the embroideries and pictures on silk. In the beautiful lake at Hangchow is the Emperor’s Island, connected by causeway to the mainland. We went across the lake in a boat, paddled thro beds of lotus and lilies ready to bloom. In an hour we go ashore, walk up several hundred stone steps to see a Buddhist temple. We enter the quaint garden inside the dragon wall, going thru the moon door; the pathways are mosaic designs of dragons, stars, fish and lotus, worked out with pebbles of various colors, broken brick, small stones and bits of white crockery,- the passing of centuries having mellowed the whole effect delightfully. You cannot imagine the quiet loveliness of that big, age-old temple! In a corner, all alone, was a worshipper, kneeling in front of a table with a book open before him. On one side of him was a large cuplike bell (a bell upside-down) ; on his other side was a smaller bell. The priest struck the large bell with a piece of wood, the end covered with a wad of cloth, one stroke of which made that metal cup sing with reverberations for five minutes. While this one was singing, he struck the smaller one, then his own voice rose in rich tones, chanting the words slowly and in perfect harmony with big and little bell cups. As we went down the valley we could hear the nn+sic of the temple for a long distance. Thru the valley we walked for five miles, coming out to a sea wall, thousands of years old, and 150 miles long. Again we climbed the hills to get a view of villages, trees, temples, arches and mountains across the river—it looked like the Bay of Naples away back in old China. 11