is still what it was in the ancient years—what it was, in spite of some internal alterations, in the days of Mr. E. H. Parker, the late Mr Donald Spence, and others—gloomy house, on a gi-amy and dirty street, and externally as like an orthodox British consulate as an Irish shieling "is like the: Viceregal Lodge in Dublin. True the old always honourable and to be honoured, flies or rather droops over the roof, but even the dropping fig does not reconcile a Britisher to so inglorious a building. It says much for the patient endurance of the various men who, by force of duty, have been compelled to exist in quarters utterly unworthy their position, if not from a Chinese standpoint somewhat derogatory to the great interests they are supposed to represent and watch over. Her Majesty's Board of Works might, one may very reasonably think, have done something long ago towards erecting a more suitable building for Her Majesty's servants in so important a city as this.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.