From: China Through the Stereoscope

SHANGHAI, China .. There is the busy Huangpu River (Whangpoo) to our right. It is a half-mile in width here and turns first toward the northeast, then again to the north; so that its confluence with the Yangzi River and the anchorage of the large ocean vessels lies directly north of us in line with the direction of our vision and twelve miles distant. On our arrival we landed about a half-mile farther down the stream, to the right of the farthest building we can see. In our "rikishas" and with our wheelbarrows laden with luggage we came along a street a short distance in the rear of those far-away buildings; then, along the street before us, which is the center of the English quarter of the European settlement. The American quarter begins at the bend in the river and extends down stream farther than we can see. The French quarter, which we shall see from our next position, lies behind us and extends southward to the walls of the native city.

That fine building on the right-hand side of the street is the Imperial Bank of China, and we looked from that dormer window in this direction toward the north. In that first outlook over the city we saw flag-poles; in this direction we see others. I think we can see the English flag on the first one and the French red, white and blue on the signal staff by the black ball. Pootung lies between these two photos, across the river. There the villagers used boat as a main mode of transportation. There are cross lanes, water-separation lanes and wall-seperation lanes. In northern China, small lanes are called "hutong." But in the south, they are named "nongtang." Small lanes formed because Wuxi people liked to live in compact communities. Long or short, wide or narrow, straight or zigzag, those small lanes made travelling easy for residents. Cross lanes made full use of space, residential houses are built up high and the lanes passed beneath them. The water-separation lanes were built to channel rain water away from the base of houses. Wall-separation lanes were constructed between wealthy people's courtyards.

There is no accessible point of elevation over the city for a panorama; there is no street with light and space enough to enable one to obtain a view. It is a wilderness of low, one-story buildings with weather-blackened tile roofs, surrounded by five miles of old crenulated brick wall, and is supposed to contain about a million inhabitants. Within it is traversed by lanes or streets which might better be termed fetid tunnels seething with filth and teeming with miserable and vicious-looking humanity. Odors are suffocating, and the eyes can find nothing attractive or beautiful to rest upon; squalor, indigence, misery, slush, stench, depravity, dilapidation, decay prevail everywhere. One almost fears to enter a place of so many repugnant scenes and hurries away after a brief glance. The saying that "distance lends enchantment" will answer for the native city of Shanghai; therefore, you will, I hope, be satisfied to view the dim outline of it by those long, square structures near the white space far away and in line with that signal staff which bears the French flag and marks the beginning of the French quarter of the city. In greatest possible contrast there lies directly before us a continuation of the Bund in the European city, where all is bustle and activity; the streets are broad, well macadamized and lined with beautiful trees. The houses are surrounded by gardens filled with fragrant shrubs and flowers. The river before the native city is a chaos of junks and sampans; here, out in the stream are many fine coasting steamers from all ports of the Empire, and farther up you see lying at the wharf stately, modern steamers that ply on the Yangzi or down the coast to Ningbo. 
 

The tea-house is a national institution in China; they are found in every city and town and village, and even in country places by the wayside, where they consist often of a shed or a simple shelter of thatch or matting. It may be said that they take the place of the beer saloon of the Western world. Comparisons may be odious, but in studying a people or a nation one is compelled to make them, and since reaching Shanghai most of the comparisons have been against the Chinaman; but in the matter of the respective national resorts, as the teahouse versus the beer-saloon, a comparison is scarcely admissible, because the frequenters of the tea-house are people of the highest respectability, and I cannot say so much in reference to patrons of the beer-saloon.             Go To Shanghai Page