There is a very common statement made by persons who have lived in China--among the people, but not of them--and the more superficial the acquaintance, the more emphatically is the statement made, that the ordinary Chinaman, be he prince or peasant, offers to the Western observer an insoluble puzzle in every department of his life.

He is, in fact, a standing enigma; a human being, it may be granted, but one who can no more be classed than his unique monosyllabic language, which still stands isolated and alone.
This estimate is largely based upon some exceedingly false inferences.
It seems to be argued that because, in a great many matters, the Chinaman takes a diametrically opposite view to our own, he must necessarily be a very eccentric fellow; but as these are mostly matters of convention, the argument is just as valid against us as against him.
"Strange people, those foreigners," he may say, and actually does say; "they make their compass point north instead of south.

They take off their hats in company instead of keeping them on.

They mount a horse on its left instead of on its right side.

They begin dinner with soup instead of dessert, and end it with dessert instead of soup.