A Glimpse Of China. In A Chair.

(Foo-chow.)      From the bright and blinding sunshine,         From the whirling locust's song,      Into the dark and narrow fissures         Of the streets I am borne along.      Here and there dusky-beaming         A sun-shaft broadens and drops      On the brown bare crowd slow-passing         The crowd of the open shops.      We move on over the bridges         With their straight-hewn blocks of stone.      And their quaint grey animal figures,         And the booths the hucksters own.      Behind a linen awning         Sits an ancient wight half-dead,      And a little dear of a girl is         Examining - his head.      On a bended bamboo shouldered,         Bearing a block of stone,      Two worn-out coolies half-naked         Utter their grunting groan.      Children, almond-eyed beauties,         Impossibly mangy curs,      Take part in the motley stream of         Insouciant passengers.      This is the dream, the vision         That comes to me and greets -      The vision of Retribution         In the labyrinthine streets!