There was a tropical heat that day, not a breath of wind stirring, and not a shady corner to be found anywhere. It was one of those stifling and suffocating days of our Chinese summer. I was trying to find some place where to spend the afternoon with some degree of comfort, when some one knocked at my door.

They were friends of mine, who had come to ask me to go bathing with them. They had been considerate enough to bring a sedan-chair for my use with them, and so off we went.

Beyond the N.E. gate of Fou-Tcheou there is a warm sulphurous spring, which is very much frequented by the inhabitants of the town. Some go and bathe in the common pool, which is reserved for the cure of diseases of the skin; others, who come either for cleanliness or merely for pleasure, take private cabins. I need not say that there are separate pools for the two sexes.

There is nothing picturesque about the bathing pools, and so I will not describe them; but I should like to say a few words about the inner arrangements, which have nothing in common with those in similar establishments in Europe or Turkey.

The house is always built in the middle of lofty trees, and its foundations are sunk, wherever possible, in a running stream. The building, which is one or, at most, two storeys in height, is reached through a vast peristyle. The shape of the house is either round or square, either all in glass, or else abundantly lighted with windows made of silk, or of transparent paper, in carved wood frames. Against the windows on the front are placed little tables, spaced out like those in a restaurant. The cabins are behind. As soon as the bathers arrive they are received by the employÉs, and, when they have taken their seats, tea and pipes of tobacco are served. At the same time each bather receives some water-melon seeds to help him to while away the time whilst he is waiting for his bath. Then the water-carriers begin to busy themselves, carrying smoking pails of hot water, which they have just drawn from the spring.

There is a round bath in each cabin, and across it is laid a plank, on which the bather sits without plunging his body into the water. He is provided with a large sponge, and uses it to sponge himself all over with the hot water in the bath. As soon as the bath is finished the bather dresses and returns to his table, where a lunch is served, composed of light and exquisite dishes. Here the bathers drink wine, laugh, and talk, or play at the game which resembles the Italian game of “morra,” where you have to guess the number of fingers which are held up by the players. The loser has to drink. Fortunately the cups are very small, or it wouldn’t be possible to lose very often. After dinner, card games are played, or chess, or dominoes. An orchestra attached to the establishment plays its sweetest melodies.

Thus the rest of the afternoon is spent in the fresh air, under the shadow of the high trees, with their thick leaves. It is, as you see, a kind of hydropathic casino. As soon as the sun has set, and before the moon is too bright, a move homewards is made across the fields in the sedan-chairs.

In the north the baths are inside the towns, and thus are not so well situated as where they are in the country. The arrangements are, however, almost the same as those I have described, except that incense is burned in each cabin, and in such quantities, that as you enter the thick smoke gets into your eyes and makes them smart and water. The reader will notice that I only speak about warm baths. I must explain that the Chinese do not like cold baths, which they consider to be very bad for the health. It is only the children of people living by the river-sides who take cold baths. Cold water is so generally disliked in China, that lukewarm water is almost always used for washing. We won’t even drink cold water, and that is one of the reasons why tea is so largely used at home, the infusion giving us an excuse for drinking hot water.