“Towards the south, the sun and the fogs are fighting over the islands, which at this moment stand out in black groups on a liquid gold ground, framed in silver. Towards the north we look over the town, officially called Victoria, and vulgarly Hong Kong. It is stretched out at our feet, but we only perceive the roofs, the courts, and the streets; further on the roadstead is crowded with frigates, corvettes, gun‐boats, steamers belonging to the great companies, and an infinity of smaller steam and sailing vessels of less tonnage. In front of us, at three or four miles distance, is a high chain of rocks, bare and rugged, but coloured by the setting sun with tints of rose colour and crimson, resembling a huge coral bracelet. That is the continent. Towards the west are the two passages which lead to Canton and Macao; to the north‐east is a third passage, by which we ourselves have come. The sea here is like a lake, bordered on one side by the rocks of _terra firma_, and on the other by the peaks and summits of the Hong Kong cliffs. I have seen in many other lands softer and more harmonious effects of light, but I never saw any so strange. “Victoria is charming, sympathetic, and imposing: English and yet tropical—a mixture of cottages and palaces. Nowhere can be found a happier combination between the poetry of nature and the prose of commercial life; between English comfort and the intoxicating exuberance of the south. The streets, which are well macadamised, well kept, and beautifully clean, run in a serpentine fashion along the rock, sometimes between houses, of which the rather pretentious façades are coquettishly veiled by the verandahs, sometimes between gardens, bamboo hedges, or stone balustrades. It is like Ventnor or Shanklin seen through a magnifying‐glass and under a jet of electric light. Everywhere there are fine trees—banians, bamboos, and pines. One may go on foot from one end of Hong Kong to the other, and yet always be in the shade. No one dreams of walking. Nothing is to be seen but chairs or palanquins. The coolies, their heads sheltered by enormous straw hats, carry you at a rattling pace. Nothing can be more delicious than a night promenade in an open sedan‐chair. In the lower part of the town the scene is most animated and busy; officers and soldiers in red uniforms and with swarthy complexions (Sepoys), Parsees, Hindoos, Chinese, Malays, European ladies in elegant toilets, and men and women with yellowish skins, dressed like Europeans (half‐caste Portuguese). The higher you climb the quieter you find it. Insensibly the town turns into country. Scramble up still a little higher, and you are in the middle of rocks, bare of trees, but covered with odoriferous shrubs, and traversed by a fine macadamised road, with glimpses of views here and there of marvellous beauty.”(19) [Illustration: THE CUSTOM HOUSE, SHANGHAI.]