It was with hope and fear that I took my way to the Pine Street palace. It was my fear that was realized. Mrs. Bowser fell to my lot--indeed, I may say that I was surrounded by her in force, and surrendered unconditionally--while Luella joined Mr. Carter, and Mrs. Carter with Mr. Horton followed. Corson was waiting for us at the old City Hall. I had arranged with the policeman that he should act as our guide, and had given him Porter and Barkhouse as assistants in case any should be needed. “A fine night for it, sor,” said Corson in greeting. “There's a little celebration goin' on among the haythens to-night, so you'll see 'em at their best.” “Oh, how sweet!” gushed Mrs. Bowser. “Is it that dear China New Year that I've heard tell on, and do they take you in to dinner at every place you call, and do they really eat rats? Ugh, the horrid things!” And Mrs. Bowser pulled up short in mid career. “No, ma'am,” said Corson, “leastways it ain't Chaney New Year for a couple of months yet. As for eatin' rats, there's many a thing gets eaten up in the dens that would be better by bein' turned into a rat.” Looking across the dark shrubbery of Portsmouth Square and up Washington Street, the eye could catch a line of gay-colored lanterns, swaying in the light wind, and casting a mellow glow on buildings and walks. “Oh, isn't it sweet! So charming!” cried Mrs. Bowser, as we came into full view of the scene and crossed the invisible line that carries one from modern San Francisco into the ancient oriental city, instinct with foreign life, that goes by the name of Chinatown. Sordid and foul as it appears by daylight, there was a charm and romance to it under the lantern-lights that softened the darkness. Windows and doors were illuminated. Brown, flat-nosed men in loose clothing gathered in groups and discussed their affairs in a strange singsong tongue and high-pitched voices. Here, was the sound of the picking of the Chinese banjo-fiddle; there, we heard a cracked voice singing a melancholy song in the confusion of minor keys that may pass for music among the brown men; there, again, a gong with tin-pan accompaniment assisted to reconcile the Chinese to the long intervals between holidays. Crowds hurried along the streets, loitered at corners, gathered about points of interest, but it seemed as though it was all one man repeated over and over. “Why, they're all alike!” exclaimed Mrs. Bowser. “How do they ever tell each other apart?” “Oh, that's aisy enough, ma'am,” replied Corson with a twinkle in his eye. “They tie a knot in their pigtails, and that's the way you know 'em.” “Laws! you don't say!” said Mrs. Bowser, much impressed. “I never could tell 'em that way.” “It is a strange resemblance,” said Mr. Carter. “Don't you find it almost impossible to distinguish between them?”