So much for the tinker, but then China is full of itinerant craftsmen and sidewalk salesmen, so much so that probably no country in the world can even approach her in the number of these or in the variety of things they offer for sale. They must surely repose on the very lowest rung of that ladder, on top of which, metaphorically speaking, sit our renowned Merchant Princes. Usually they are not even on the lowest rung, but are quite content to remain on the ground, their wares spread out, exposed alike to the gaze of passers by and the dust of the street. While some will sit all day beside their small stock-in-trade and never say a word until someone comes to buy, others arc rarely ever silent and squat on their haunches singing a never-ending song about the quality of their merchandise.

However, in spite of the immense diversity of the things they have to sell, they fall readily into three classes: first, those who sell food and drink, forming quite the largest section; next, those who sell articles, in the manner of the old fashioned pedlar, from silks and satins to nuts and bolts; and finally, those who sell "service" (though that has a very modern ring about it), such as our friend the tinker, the letter writer, the shoe-maker the fortune-teller or the man who so deftly mends one's broken cups.

Few Chinese can cook well. Even the rice which forms their staple diet is rarely cooked well, and certainly not with any consistency. Further, such a large percentage of Chinese, away from the fields and villages, take the place of beasts of burden that they rarely know exactly where they will be when meal time comes round, or when hunger calls, as the case may 'be. Moreover, a great number of tid-bits which the lower classes prefer can only be made with special apparatus or cooked in a special oil. Consequently, though the price of either apparatus or oil may be very low, most of these people are so miserably poor that they can no more think of buying this apparatus or the necessary quantity of oil than we would think of buying the aeroplane which brings our air mail to us. As might be expected, there is quite a flourishing business done in cafeterias, or what has to pass for such among a people who have to live most of their lives on a dollar or two (gold) a month. Actually, the enterprising "seeawjaih" captures a large percentage of this trade. This is the man who carries a food-stall about with him, and his methods, judged by modern standards of salesmanship, are correct enough. He sells the people what they like, he gives service with sales, and his delivery of the goods is most prompt. It certainly is, for the simple reason that he takes his portable restaurant with him, carried on his sh~ilder. and sets it up right beside his "prospects."

However, let us be a little less general, and look for a moment at these peripatetic food sellers in some detail. First of all, the word "seeaw-faih," is a general term given to all hawkers, irrespective of their merchandise, and means small seller or little merchant, which iswhat they are. Each of the small sellers of food-stuffs specialises in one variety, though, to be sure, there is one special contraption, somewhat resembling an old rustic bower, carried about by some of them, which is capable of turning out two or three courses. The owner of this particular piece of framework announces his coming by beating with a stick on a piece of bamboo some eighteen inches long by three inches in diameter. The resulting sound is a very penetrating "tock-tock tock-tock," which is definitely aided by the fact that the bamboo, being hollow, acts as a sound-box, giving a depth to the noise which it would not otherwise possess. This particular noise is the exclusive right of food sellers who carry round with them a fire (and many of them do) on which to cook the raw materials made up at home before they set off on their rounds. Some of the lesser lights in the cooked-food world, whose outfit is not sufficiently strong to allow the carrying of a large piece of bamboo permanently attached to some point where they can conveniently batter it, carry instead two small pieces of bamboo, one of which they hold cupped in the hollow of the left hand while they beat on it with the other. By varying the size of the hollow of the hand, notes of varying depth can be produced. One of the joys of a quiet evening, starting at about eleven at night, let us say, is to have one of these fellows, or his more well-to-do confrere, stake a claim immediately under one's bedroom window and proceed to let the neighbourhood know of his arrival. The only variations from the ceaseless "tock-tick-tock-tock" come when he and his customers hold loud and lengthy discussions about the state of the weather, or indulge in an equally lengthy and much more loud altercation about the change that ought to be given. There is little argument about the prices. Custom seems to have fixed these at a generally accepted level. The trouble is that an ever.fluctuating exchange rate causes the copper value of a dollar to vary from day to day. Incidentally it might be a help to the better understanding of prices to know that one United States dollar is worth in the neighbourhood of twelve hundred coppers. It can generally be taken for granted, then, that, unless the customer presents the exact amount, there is sure to be an argument about the change.

It would seem at first incredible that fires can be carried round the streets in any large numbers. The actual mechanical difficulty of carrying fire about, the danger to the carrier and all who come near and the necessity for constant attention would seem to make this an impossible feat to all but asbestos clothed acrobats, yet it is a sight so common in China that no one remarks it. In the heart of crowded thoroughfares, where he would appear to be in imminent peril of being capsized by the mere crush of the throng, or away on the narrow foot-paths that count as roads in the rural areas and lead from village to village, this Prometheus wends his toilsome way, always at the same speed and always belabouring his insistent bamboo.

He performs this seeming miracle, except in the case of the specially constructed frames to which reference has been made, by enclosing his fire in a fire-clay lined metal container. Above this fire his oil, or his broth, or whatever hell's brew he may be responsible for, sizzles and stinks in a metal bowl about a foot and a half wide. This is suspended by wire, though often enough it is only rope, to one end of a bamboo carrying rod some six feet in length. At the other end hangs a basket, or perhaps a special container, in which he carries two things: his supply of fuel for the fire and his supply of raw "doh;fuh" (tou-fu), or bean curd, which he cooks as occasion demands.

Taking his stand at some busy corner he really need never make a sound to advertise his coming. The unbelievably vile stench from his oil docs that for him. Still, he "tocks" away, or bellows "Ooooh-urh" at the top of his voice, till a customer comes into view. From a shelf in the rear portion of his outfit he takes one or two slabs of dough, half an inch thick and three inches square, and slips them lovingly into the gently seething oil. The latter immediately responds with a burst of fury, and the chef gets to work with his chopsticks, turning his bean flour cakes over and over. In a few moments they are ready, a dab of some red condiment is added to them, they are put on a large leaf, wrapped in paper or simply tied together with strong grass, and the purchaser goes his way. These cakes are rarely eaten on the road, but are usually consumed indoors, no doubt with rice.

Here is a fellow standing by a busy water front. The rear end of his outfit (for obvious reasons the fire is always carried in front) looks quite clean and is even covered with a pyramidal glass roof. A coolie who has been lounging round suddenly decides that it is time he fed, and from some hidden receptacle in the neighbourhood if his waist he produces three coppers, which he hands to Kay-sz, the soup seller. The latter produces a moderately clean bowl, wipes it on his apron, though this makes not the slightest difference to the bowl, and lifts one side of the glass pyramid. Ensconced within are six or seven saucers of varying size, each one with a separate spoon or ladle. Lifting it as though it were gold, he places a small portion from each saucer in the bowl. What the stuff is, goodness only knows, though each in turn ]ooks like barley soaked in water, very dirty sugar, dried sea.weed, ant's eggs, red bird seed and lichen. If one asks nicely, one will be told what each ingredient is, but to attempt to translate its name into English is virtually impossible, as we have no single word that exactly conesponds. When the bowl contains a table-spoonful or so of this mixture it is withdrawn from the glass case and moved to the other container. Here it is filled up with hot water, a dash of "Lea and Perrins" (native variety) is added, and the bowl, complete with a porcelain spoon, is handed over to the waiting coolie. The whole process takes less than thirty seconds.

Probably the most popular of the cold food merchants is the one known as "mah-larmee" (ThAli ha-mien), or the seller of cold macarom. Most Chinese are very fond of macaroni (though perhaps vermicelli would be a better translation), long and very thin strips of cooked dough of a peculiar consistency, solid, and not hollow as is the macaroni so beloved of Italians. This fellow has no need to carry a fire, and his snack counter is in consequence rather cleaner. Still, cleanliness is a purely relahve term with the Chinese coolie at the best of times, and the cloth covering his pile of vermicelli may be clean, or it may not. The chances are that it will no, The second counter, in this case, contains the bowls, the spoons, the various sauces and powders and a supply of the various liquids with the aid of which it is possible to consume cold macaroni. Unappetising as it may sound, these fellows do quite a large trade, more especially in the hot weather and so on and so forth-their name is Legion. There is the small boy who sits by the road side all day long telling a rarely attentive world that his cakes cost only one copper each; the amah who goes along with her little basket half covered with cloth from which she dispenses sunflower seeds, plaintively calling "8hing-wad8e" as she walks; the sugar-cane seller; the fruit merchant; the candy seller; and the purveyor of mare's milk - all these and many others in addition to those one might expect to find, such as the man who sells cooked rice or bread, bread in this case being "cuh ping" (to-ping), or large cakes, somewhat resembling our own scones. The man who sells mare's milk is definitely a novelty. One is surprised one day to hear the persistent ringing of a bell, and still more so when one sees that the bell is tied round the neck of a small pony, beside which canters a rather leggy foal. Both are being led by a small boy who carries a wooden bucket on his arm. One receives one's third and greatest surprise when one finds out that the object is to sell the pony's milk. This is not consumed as food, but because it is believed to possess certain medicinal properties, and, whatever the true facts may be, it is certain that never a day goes past in a large town without a sight of the familiar milk pony. Actually the word milk conveys nothing definite to the Chinese mind, as it does to the mind of the Westerner, used to large quantities of the health.giving fluid from his babyhood upwards. The Chinese never use the word milk alone but say cow's milk or mare's milk, just as we might say goat's milk to distinguish it from milk. Most Chinese live their whole lives arid never see "new nah" (niu nai), or cow's milk.

Second in point of numbers to the purveyors of food-stuffs come the men who sell the ordinary merchandise of everyday life. This phrase is perfectly correct: it seems almost impossible to think of anything in any way portable that is not being offered for sale by some enterprising "seeaw-faih." To photograph them all would need scores of plates, endless hours on the prowl and illimitable patience. The latter in any case is particularly necessary, because, in common with most Orientals unfamiliar with the ways of the West, the majority of lower class Chinese are afraid of the camera and will run away and hide at the sight of one being used. Any attempt to take them with a stand camera would be almost impossible, as even the promise of a large bounty will not overcome their ingrained fear of the strange contraption. A small unobtrusive reflex camera is probably the best way in which to get them. The food-stuff sellers are fairly easy game, as they cannot very easily run away; but the dry goods men and drapers, with their lighter and less precarious loads, are able to make much "snappier getaways" on the appearance of the camera.

Here again, these men, or women, fall readily into two classes: those who carry their wares round all day on their shoulders, and those who set up little temporary department stores on the sidewalks. The drapers, who will sell one socks, handkerchiefs, garters, bibs, singlets and practically anything ready made, invariably find some convenient corner where they can display their goods to advantage, realising, no doubt, the value of the art of window dressing. But by far the more interesting are those who go about the streets, and, by some peculiar call, or by making some special noise, indicate to the neighbourhood that "spring is here." These men will sell one fly swatters, coat hangers, back scratehers, iron grids, wire mats, metal bowls, chairs, buttons, scrubbing brushes, dress lengths, lace or enamel ware. Walt Whitman alone could do justice to the things they have for sale, but nothing short of a gramaphone record could give any adequate idea of the sounds they make when advertising their presence. Many of them, of course, shout or emit a long wailiug chant, but others carry some piece of apparatus with which they make the noise peculiar to their special line of business. Thus the cloth seller has a small drum attached to a handle, in size and shape somewhat resembling a frying pan. On one side hangs a large bead suspended on a piece of cord five or six inches long, and, as he goes along, our friend the cloth merchant gives the handle two or three rapid twists backwards and forwards in such a manner that the bead is banged hard, first against one side of the drum then against the other in rapid succession. This noise is repeated every few paces. Other energetic hopefuls tinkle small bells with a peculiar sound. Some beat gongs, and some, most hopeful of all, go happily along the road using whatever they have to sell in the manner in which it is meant to be used. These include the itinerant fiddle seller, the flute player and the vendors of musical instrument generally.

Finally we come to the men (though once more we have to add, and women) who offer to sell us their skill as workmen. Of these the tinker, with a discussion of whom we began this article) is the best known. Like the others, he carries his full stock-in-trade on his shoulder, but has gone one better than they, probably by virtue of the fact that he is a tinker. He utilises the movement of his carrying pole to advertise his presence by placing half a dozen curved pieces of brass at one end, threaded together through holes. As the pole jigs up and down, so these pieces of brass swing backwards and forwards, making a steady "ching-chink ching-chink", which can be heard a surprisingly long distance away. For a few coppers he will make one a new key, mend an old lock, solder a broken brass bowl or mend a leaky pipe.

The public letter writer is another institution of note; though he is usually quite ready to turn an honest penny as a fortune teller, should the opportunity arise. He has no distinguishing call or cry, but sits in the shade of some convenient wall and waits. The great masses in China are still illiterate, and will be for a long time to come. A son, who has arrived in Foochow from some place away inland on the banks of the Yangtze, wants to let his anxious parents know of his safety: the nearest letter writer will do it for him, glad not only to receive the payment which is his due, but glad also of the chance of receiving a little more news to pass on to his friends. The letters as a rule are more formal than the average business letter. "I have this day landed in the city of Foochow, having had fair winds and good salling," they begin, irrespective of whether the immigrant came by steamer or junk, and the rest of the letter is in somewhat similar vein. Still, it serves its purpose and that is all that matters.

Another unusual person in the "fung-ee-joo" (feng i-fu), or, literally, the 'mend-coat woman". This is precisely what she does. Planting herself at some spot where the coolies and labourers will no doubt be resting awhile, she produces her work-basket and an assortment of odd patches, and offers to mend anything, from the cloth facing of slippers to a yard-wide rip in a coat. She is in great demand for sewing strong cardboard or even thin leather to the soles of socks in order to make them last longer. These women seem a happy enough little group, and will sit sedately sewing in the sun for hours without so much as lifting their heads.

A final class, though not salesmen in the strict sense of the word, includes the men who carry about with them one or other of the many different types of gambling stands. There is little chance of fortunes changing hands, however, in connection with these fellows, as they are mainly patronised by the very young children. There are two main types of gambling gear. In one a pointer spins round above a board, the board being divided into coloured sectors at the narrow end of which are two or three bright toys. Placing one's copper on one of the sectors, one spins the pointer round, and, if it comes to rest on the particular colour one has chosen, one may pick any toy one wishes. In the second class three or more Chinese playing cards are placed on a tray. The "croupier" holds in his hand a pack containing three or four of each of the cards shown. Placing one's coin on one of the exposed cards one draws from the pack, and, if the cards correspond, one wins.