regards San Francisco
as his capital and the great joss-house in that city as his temple.
, like most of his countrymen, is pious.
No joss-house has been raised in the village near Pinos Point, for the fishermen cannot afford the luxury of a priest; but in every shanty on the bluff, we find an image of Buddha on the mantelpiece, just as in every Basque hovel we see a cross, and in every Russ
cabin an icon of the Virgin.
Poor though he be, each Mongol keeps a small cup of tea simmering and a few spikes of cedar-wood burning in front of his joss.
“Man better go, alleesame,” says Ah Tim
, “without his rice and opium, than leavee joss without his tea and cedar-wood, all-ee-same, no.”
In one tenement five or six men are sitting down to dinner — a mess of cabbage boiled in tallow, flanked by a little fried shell-fish-each moon-face with his chop-sticks in his hand.
Before sitting down they look to the joss, and see that his tea is warm.
On rising from their meal they light a few cedar matches and leave them to burn out; but they do these acts of worship without delicacy and reverence, showing nothing of that awe which