At a temple called the Pavilion of the Fire Genii, our attention was directed to the print of a man’s foot in a rock, which, by the Buddhists, is called Buddha’s Foot. The Chinese consider this temple one of the most remarkable “lions” of the city; but we had already seen so many gilded images that the fantastically arrayed genii of this pavilion made but little impression upon us. In alighting from our chair at the Mohammedan mosque,--which is nothing more than a plain temple,--we were immediately surrounded and pressed upon by a motley crowd of men, women, and children. The greater part of them were miserable beggars, and as some were suffering from disease, as well as poverty, their near neighborhood was not only disagreeable, but fearful. Giving a hurried glance, therefore, at the interior of the building, we returned to our chairs, and were borne to the Tartar portion of the city. There, happy and cheerful-looking women came to the doors, and smiling, bowed as we passed. The ears of these Tartar women were pierced in three places, and from every puncture little hoops of gold or silver wire were pendant. There is no place in the world where a crowd collects in a shorter time than in the streets of Canton; and a woman from the West, when looking after the “lions” of the city, seems to be regarded with quite as much interest as a whole menagerie of wild animals. Whether at a shop or at a temple, we were immediately followed by a great crowd, so that it was not only difficult, but exceedingly disagreeable to move about. At one of the Confucian temples the students, or _literati_, occupying it were so eager and curious to see the European woman write her pencilled notes, that some of them drew near and looked over my shoulder. A woman educated to write was a _rara avis_ to these civil and scholarly followers of the wise Confucius. Laughing, however, and chatting very agreeably with Dr. Kerr, they seemed to regard such an encroachment upon the sphere, which is almost entirely monopolized by their sex in China, very good-naturedly. Sometimes, when being carried along the street, I found it difficult to suppress a smile as the natives, with staring eyes and mouths agape, peered and gazed at me through the windows of my chair, or, stretching their necks, essayed to look in at the door. I can never forget my first Sunday in Canton, nor with what painful sadness I passed through the busy streets of the suburbs of Honam, when on our way to attend service at the English Chapel. It was pitiful to see the poor shopkeepers, artisans, and laborers toiling and pursuing their avocations as usual. The streets were filled with the same restless, noisy, and jostling crowd. There were the open shops, and the money-changers sitting at the corners of the business thoroughfares, with piles of copper cash before them. It was a most melancholy reflection that the people had no Sunday, and knew nothing of its peaceful and soothing influence.