The story of the rise of the Manchu dynasty is like a romance, and no parallel to it is to be found in the pages of history. In the middle of the sixteenth century there was no Manchu Empire, and the Manchus themselves were wild, uncultured barbarians without any written language, living in caves which they hollowed in the earth, and engaged in constant warfare with other tribes living like themselves in the northern part of that country which we call Manchuria, the central and southern part being inhabited by the Chinese. In the year 1559 Noorhachu was born, with the prospect of becoming ruler over six little hamlets; by the year 1616 he had conquered all the adjacent tribes and founded the Manchu kingdom, receiving from the “great Ministers” the title of Ying Ming—“brave and illustrious.” Noorhachu’s military conquests and singular political sagacity alarmed the Chinese, whose frequent attacks and whose murder of his father and grandfather had roused his deep-seated enmity. He prepared an army of picked men, and drew up a paper of “seven hates,” addressed to the Emperor of China. Instead of despatching it to the Emperor, he addressed it to Heaven, burning the document with full sacrificial rites, after which he started his campaign (1617) by attacking the Chinese in the territory east of Moukden. In the midst of this campaign he was recalled to his capital, Hingking, by the news that a Chinese army of 200,000 men was approaching. On reaching Moukden this force divided into four armies of equal size: they were all in turn defeated by the smaller forces of Noorhachu within the space of five days, the number of killed being computed at 45,000. After one month’s rest he led his victorious troops to the conquest of Moukden and Liao Yang, and at the latter place he built a palace for himself and made it the seat of government.

Noorhachu, or as he was afterwards styled, Taidsoo = the Great Ancestor, was far-sighted enough to recognise that his only means of holding the large territory which he had won was by wise and good administration, and in this he was successful. In 1625 he retired to Moukden and made it his capital; in the following year he died there, after an unsuccessful campaign against the Chinese. They were led by a determined general who brought (for the first time) “terrific western cannon” against him, which had been cast by Jesuit missionaries.

Noorhachu was buried in the Foo Ling tomb, east of Moukden, a fitting resting-place for the great founder of the Manchu dynasty. It was during his son’s reign that the Manchu dynasty was firmly placed upon the throne of China in the person of Noorhachu’s grandson, a boy of five years old (1644). His father had been summoned by the Chinese to aid them against several hordes of rebels who had devastated the empire, and he sent a powerful army led by his brother. The Manchus, after defeating the rebel army, marched on Peking, where Li Dsuchung, the most noted rebel leader, had entrenched himself, and where the last of the Ming Emperors had in consequence committed suicide. Li Dsuchung had indeed proclaimed himself Emperor in his stead, but after a reign of one day he fled from the city at the approach of the Manchus, was pursued by them, and severely defeated. The Manchu general at once sent for his nephew—the ninth son of the reigning monarch, a child of five years old—and placed him upon the throne, himself acting as Regent. The new Emperor received the title of Ta-tsing, or “Great Pure”—the name of the present dynasty. The Regent was an able ruler, and soon succeeded in dispersing the rebels and restoring order throughout the empire. At the end of six months comparative peace had been established, and the Regent issued a proclamation that all who submitted to the new rule would enjoy the same rank, position, and emoluments, as they had done under the Ming dynasty.[2] He ordered sacrifices to be offered at the Ming tombs, and that a tomb should be erected for the last of them, where sacrifices should also be offered. He postponed the enforcement of the humiliating law requiring change of dress, the shaving of the head, and wearing of the queue and Manchu cap, and he promised those who complained of the neglect of etiquette and music among officials, that proper attention should be given to this matter as soon as war was at an end. It is an interesting fact that the Manchus should afterwards have so completely succeeded in imposing their dress on the Chinaman, the wearing of the queue becoming universal; but equally interesting is it to observe that the women never could be made to adopt it. The Manchu woman’s dress is to this day quite different from the Chinese, from its wonderful wing-like head-dress down to its large shoes. The Chinese woman refused to unbind her feet, and was in consequence never admitted within the precincts of the palace at Peking. In fact it may be stated that whereas it is impossible to distinguish between a Chinaman and a Manchu, there is no part of a Chinese woman’s dress which is quite the same as a Manchu’s. The latter have different styles of arranging their hair from the spreadeagle style, so commonly seen in Peking, to the curious one shown in the sketch (see next chapter), and also wear different kinds of shoes—some with a heel attached to the centre of the sole, others with a flat white sole some two inches thick.

The foregoing historical details are mainly drawn from Dr. Ross’s book, “The Manchus, or the Reigning Dynasty of China.” The uniqueness of the story lies in the fact that when the Manchus conquered China they were merely a horde of savages attacking a highly educated people, infinitely their superiors in number and resources. They not only conquered them, but for centuries they imposed their yoke upon them, always hated, yet always obeyed. As the centuries elapsed the Manchus grew weaker in their own country, and never fused with the conquered race. In China proper they still live apart; walled Manchu cities may be found within many walled Chinese cities; and it is only last year that the stringent rule forbidding Manchu women to marry Chinese husbands has been rescinded. It needs no explanation to see why the opposite rule held with regard to Manchu men marrying Chinese wives, who, ipso facto, lost their nationality.

I have tried to show in the foregoing pages how the Manchus won their position in China, and also how the southern part of Manchuria, including Moukden, was originally Chinese. Those who wish to wrest it from China are seeking to take an integral part of the empire. No one who visits Moukden can fail to see that it is a thoroughly Chinese city, with its magnificent walls and gateways, and the big drum tower and bell, like the one at Peking. Alas for the modern utilitarian spirit! Already they are beginning to pull down the fine old gateways, and to replace the inimitable shop fronts with shabby imitations of European ones.

It was cold weather when we walked through those fascinating streets, and in the fish shops we saw quantities of frozen as well as dried comestibles. Game was plentiful and cheap, and the frozen deer had quite a life-like appearance, standing waiting for a customer. In one street nothing but boots was being sold, and the fact was evident from afar, for outside the shops were hung gaily painted effigies of boots, some two feet in length. Above some shops were dragons, over others tigers, or the phœnix, or lotus blossoms all painted in every colour of the rainbow, and hanging from them signboards bearing the name of the shopkeepers. The cash shops have almost a screen of strings of gigantic cash dependent from the eaves. The curio shops still contain things to charm the soul of the artist, though every day sees their treasures diminishing, to be replaced by modern imitations. The glorious jade that used to be obtainable is scarcely to be found, and the bronzes have mostly been carried off to the West; still one hopes for the best, and carries off a few things, which if not so old as they boast to be, have at least an air of antiquity and some noble suggestion of the glory of the art of the Ming dynasty.

Our first expedition at Moukden was naturally to the Foo Ling tombs to see where the great founder of the Manchu dynasty lies buried. It is disappointing to be unable to gain information as to the date of the tomb, but no doubt the Manchus adopted the architecture and arts of China at an early stage of their conquest.

It was by no means a promising morning when we set out, but our time was limited, and we had persuaded the doctor to take an unwonted holiday from his strenuous labours, so delay was impossible. Where no guide-books are obtainable, it is doubly valuable to have kind friends willing to place their knowledge at your disposal, and doctors are skilful at smoothing other things as well as pillows; in fact I can give no better advice to travellers than to try and secure the help of the medical missionary—the busier the better—as a guide to all that is best worth seeing in the foreign field. Dr. Young had kindly procured for us the requisite permit to visit the tombs, which can only be obtained through the British Consul. We set out in a weird glass chariot, quite suggestive of Cinderella’s coach; it had windows the whole way round, and was lined with mouse-coloured plush, not to mention a fine mirror opposite to us. We had a retainer standing on a step behind, who spent all his time jumping on and off, as he required to lead the horse round every corner and over every obstacle in the road. Passing outside the city we saw an endless stretch of graves beyond graves; then we came to a beautiful park-like place where lilies of the valley grow thickly in the spring—but alas! people are digging them up so ruthlessly, that it is to be feared there will soon be none left. The trees seemed to grow finer and finer as we neared the tombs. The wall surrounding them has been damaged by its occupation during the war, when the Japanese troops took possession and were attacked by the Russians: the wall is riddled by bullets, but it is astonishing how comparatively little damage had been done. The gateway is beautifully decorated with green tiles, and there are handsome large green medallions set in the Venetian red wall. Inside is a fine avenue of hoary trees leading to the main avenue, in which are some curious stone animals; these are so familiar to us by photos and by the description of other travellers, that it is unnecessary for me to attempt it. They form but a detail of the fine effect which is created by the lofty buildings among the trees, enclosed within a high wall. The colouring of the building—mellowed by time—is superb, and as we saw it under the fast falling snow, was most impressive.

Some difficulty attended our entrance despite the permit, but the doctor’s tact overcame it, and once inside they were most civil to us, and became quite interested when I began to sketch. The actual grave of Noorhachu, or Taidsoo, the grandfather of the first Manchu Emperor of China (Ching dynasty 1644), is a lofty mound at the far end of the enclosure, and surrounded by a wall of its own. The entrance by which the ruling Emperor approaches the tomb is very fine, a handsomely carved marble pailow surrounded by trees, and as we looked at the whole group of buildings from the top of the wall, along which there is an excellent walk, they form a most impressive sight. The trees are full of mistletoe, but of a different species from ours; it has either yellow or scarlet berries, and in some trees we saw both varieties.

There are many interesting monuments in Moukden, but I venture to think this is the finest of all. The design is copied from the Ming tombs near Peking, and it is said that it was originally planned to carry away the stone animals from the former in order to use them for the Moukden tombs. This design was frustrated, however, for a descendant of the Mings accidentally heard of it, whereupon he at once went and mutilated all the stone beasts, knocking off the ear of one and the beard from another, and thereby rendering them useless. While this explanation is merely a tradition, the fact remains. The Ming tombs, forty miles north of Peking, are designed on a much larger scale than the Moukden ones, and cover a distance of several miles in length, as compared with acres in the case of the latter. In my opinion this detracts considerably from the effect, as only one detail can be properly seen at a time; first the fine marble pailow of five gateways, then at varying distances other gateways (very dilapidated), then a square tower containing a stone tablet on a tortoise, then a dromos of stone animals and warriors facing one another, with a considerable space between each couple, so that the sixteen couples extend over a space nearly a mile in length. Between them and the tombs is a considerably greater distance, and whereas the above-mentioned memorials are all in a straight line, the thirteen tombs are arranged in a fan shape at the base of the hills which enclose the end of the valley.

These Peking tombs date back to the time of the Ming dynasty, which ended in 1644, and the Moukden tombs are considerably later. Their whole design is taken direct from the former, and there is no attempt to introduce any Manchu characteristics. The reason for this is obvious; the Manchus were emerging from a state of barbarism, and possessed no architecture worthy of the name.

After the tombs the most interesting building at Moukden is the palace, for which also an order has to be obtained through the Consul. We visited it twice.

This palace is thoroughly Chinese in appearance (I failed to ascertain its date, but it is at least some centuries old), with its gorgeous golden roofs and Venetian red walls. The façades are decorated with coloured tiles of great beauty and infinite variety of detail: they challenge comparison with some of the majolica most highly prized in Europe. Under the wide eaves there are finely carved dragons, stretching their sinuous length from end to end. The buildings are ranged court beyond court, with a fine staircase leading to the innermost one at the back. But the main object of the visitor is to see the priceless treasures locked up in its rooms, for they contain the most valuable possessions of the Chinese throne. Unfortunately, when admittance has been obtained, it is not easy to see the treasures, for they are carefully wrapped up in cases, or stacked in hopeless confusion in cupboards, and are taken out one by one and laid on a table for the visitor to see them, and then put away again. First we were shown imperial robes, studded with pearls and jewels, then jade-mounted swords. Jade is considered by the Chinese to be the most precious of all stones, and it is one of the hardest to cut. “It was first brought to England from Spanish America by Sir Walter Raleigh,” says Bushnell (“Chinese Art,” p. 134), and he derived the word “jade” from the Spanish piedra de hijade—“stone of the loins.” Vessels of jade are always used in the Chinese Imperial ritual worship, and must be of various colours, according to the particular ceremonial in which they are employed.

After showing us these things the officials began to lose their distrust, and invited us to come inside the enclosure and peer into the dark cupboards, whence we picked out things that looked particularly attractive, but found that the waning light prevented our doing justice to the opportunity.

It was on our second visit that we were shown the much more valuable collection of bronzes and porcelain, the door to which could only be unlocked after prolonged effort, and in the presence of special officials. Other visitors besides ourselves were anxious to enter, but a special permit was required, and they were sent away disappointed. The porcelain was piled in endless heaps in glass cases, which probably remained unopened for decades, and there was no attempt at classification. The beauty of colour and design could be but imperfectly realised, as sets of bowls or dishes were all piled in one another, so as to occupy the least possible space, and there was but little variety in proportion to the large quantity of china displayed. A visit to the British Museum gives a much better conception of this form of Chinese art. It was much the same case with the bronzes, and it was even more difficult to see them than the china. There was one fine example of the “gold splash,” which is so well represented at the South Kensington Museum in Mr. Behren’s collection. To my great disappointment there was little variety of design. It is to be hoped that the Chinese may be sufficiently imbued by the modern spirit to make them copy (to a certain extent) the arrangement of our museums, so that the art treasures contained in the palace may be more accessible to visitors. Outside the palace were the curious fences known as “deer’s horns,” which are also to be seen at the great tombs and outside official buildings. They are long pieces of wood set at right angles to one another as closely as possible, and running through a long heavy beam. The lower ends of the cross pieces are heavy, and are set into the ground, the upper ones taper to a point: altogether the “deer’s horns” form a strong, though simple, barrier. They are usually painted red.

After seeing the palace we visited the fine church, built by the native Christians after the destruction of the former one by the Boxers in 1800. It seats several hundred people, and has a native pastor. It may interest readers to know that among the State papers found during the Russian occupation of Moukden was a description of the destruction of the property of the Christians. This was written in Manchu, which is quite different from Chinese writing, and bound in imperial yellow silk, enclosed in a yellow silk box and sent to Peking. There it was countersigned by the late Emperor and late Dowager Empress, and sent back to Moukden to be placed in the State archives. Could any more conclusive proof be found that the Boxer outrages were sanctioned by the Court at Peking? We were privileged to see this interesting historical document.

At the time of the Boxers all the missionaries in Manchuria were obliged to flee, some without time to take even necessary clothing with them. One of the most popular doctors learnt afterwards that the robbers in a certain village had planned to carry him off in order to save him from the Boxers! It is impossible to overestimate the influence of the medical missionary, and no mission field has been more favoured in this respect than Manchuria. The medical mission work was started at Moukden in 1882 by Dr. Christie, who has steadily built up the work there, and whose new hospital is the model for what such institutions should be. Despite the prejudices of the people, the work has steadily grown. The renown of the foreign doctor has spread for hundreds of miles, and the message which is nearest to his heart has been carried into remote villages in the Long White Mountains by patients who return from the hospital not only cured, but also imbued with the missionary spirit which has brought a new life to them. The respect which is felt for this work is shown in no way more clearly than in the fact that when the hospital was obliged to be left for ten months during the war between China and Japan, the buildings with their contents were left absolutely unharmed.

Not so fortunate, however, was the hospital during the Boxer time, for all the buildings were destroyed by fire, and when they might have been rebuilt, another desolating war swept over the country. The missionaries had returned and had their hands more than full, for Moukden was the refuge to which crowds of destitute Chinese were driven. No less than seventeen refuges, containing some 10,000 people, were under the care of the missionaries, for the officials thankfully recognised their efforts and cooperated with them, doing similar work themselves. There were as many as four hospitals being carried on at the same time, for not only were there numbers of wounded, but epidemics of smallpox and fever spread among the refugees.

When at last the time came for building the new hospital, the money granted as an indemnity for the destruction of the former ones by the Boxers was wholly inadequate, for the price of everything was more than quadrupled. The Chinese were not slow to show their sense of indebtedness for the unstinted labours on their behalf, and the new buildings, owing to their generosity, were built on a larger scale than before. The Japanese, too, came forward with most generous aid, in return for the work that had been done for their wounded during the war. Marshal Oyama sent a donation of about £100 for the Red Cross work, and ordered all the wood required for the buildings to be sent up by rail, free of charge, from Newchwang. This was of the greatest importance, as there was no seasoned wood to be obtained in Moukden, and it meant a saving of several hundred pounds. The Viceroy sent a gift of over £600, to which he added another £150 when he opened the new hospital. Another friend carted all the bricks and tiles; a director of the Chinese railway ordered all the requisite Portland cement and floor tiles to be brought up free of charge from Tang Shan to Hsin Muntun, and others helped in various ways. No wonder the hospital is such a splendid success, when it has such workers and such friends! It has several wings radiating out from a long central corridor, with a fine operating theatre at the end. There is an X-ray apparatus and other special furnishings.[3] There are outbuildings for students, &c., a laboratory and class-rooms, besides the preaching hall, where service goes on daily.

But what, it may be asked, is the staff for this large work? The surprising answer is one man; only last year has a second been appointed, to give a part of his time to assisting Dr. Christie. He has, of course, trained Chinese assistants to help him in the work, and very efficient some of them are, and two Chinese hospital evangelists, who follow up the cases, but the bulk of the work falls on himself. What would our doctors at home think of having to perform ten operations in a day, after handing over nine minor ones to the assistants? But that was the case the day we visited the hospital. It accommodates 110 patients, and the beds do not lack occupants. The attendance of out-patients is frequently 200 or 300 per morning, so that the attendance for the year is very large, last year numbering over 26,000. After the recent visit of the Naval Commission returning from Europe, a request came for medical aid for 200 men with badly frost-bitten ears, as the soldiers are not allowed to wear ear-muffs when on parade. It is not etiquette to wear ear-muffs or spectacles when speaking to any one, and the curious custom is now coming into fashion of touching the glasses instead of removing them. The hospital is a free one, but poor as are many of the patients, few of the in-patients leave without giving an offering, and many out-patients do the same. Some of the beds are supported from home, and it only requires £5 per annum to support one.

It will be seen from these figures how requisite it is to have a larger staff, and to undertake (what is now being planned) a training college for the Chinese. The late Viceroy promised a yearly sum of about £420 for this purpose, but as he has been replaced by an anti-foreign Viceroy, it was feared that his promise would not be ratified by his successor. Despite the further fact that the new buildings are not yet begun, when the matter was placed before him he promised to consider it, and shortly afterwards sent word that the sum had been duly placed in the bank to the credit of the mission. The college will be a union one of the Irish Presbyterians and the United Free Church of Scotland, and may draw students also from the Danish Lutheran stations, the only other missionary society working in Manchuria. As there are now some 40,000 Christians there will be no difficulty in finding students, though it will not be entirely confined to Christians.

The course will be a thorough one, extending over five years after the preliminary examination, and diplomas will be given. The estimated cost of the new buildings and equipment is £2500, and two houses for professors £1500. An excellent site has already been obtained through the generosity of the Chinese, which is close to the hospital.

I have described at some length the medical mission here, and yet have done scant justice to it; of the women’s work a word must also be said. There are two fully qualified women doctors, and their hospital, with accommodation for seventy patients, is so crowded, that a new wing is now being added. They do a large amount of work in the people’s homes, as many of the ladies are not to be reached otherwise, also they do work as far as time allows in the district round Moukden. When it is known that the doctor is coming, patients crowd to see her; and one realises a little the magnitude of the work when one chances to see the missionary come back utterly worn out by a two days’ visitation, having interviewed over 900 patients in that short space of time.

Women’s work in Moukden is not merely medical, but also educational. Besides the training of Bible women there is an excellent girls’ boarding school, for which new buildings (badly needed) are in course of erection. Great excitement was caused in the little community by the girls being taken, for the first time in their lives, to see an exhibition. It is rather disappointing to the traveller who thinks he is going to the genuine Far East to find it invaded by industrial exhibitions and school excursions, but alas, such is the prosaic fact.

We devoted a day to visiting the imperial tombs on the north of the city, and although it was the end of March, we suffered intensely from the cold, and had not the advantage of going in a glass coach as we did on the occasion of visiting the eastern tombs. The road was too rough, and even the solid droshky built in Odessa, and drawn by two sturdy beasts, was severely tested by the frightful ruts into which we were frequently plunged. The Russian driver was a capital, good-tempered fellow, and never hesitated to drive through a quagmire or up a bank into a ploughed field when necessity compelled. After three hours’ driving we approached a fine bluff crowned with pine-trees, among which gleamed the golden roofs of the tombs, so we knew that our destination was at hand.

“Deer’s horns” palisades enclosed the wood at the base of the cliff, and we turned up a gully to the left of it. The road soon became very steep, and we left the carriage to climb up on foot. The view of the entrance gate among the trees as seen in the accompanying sketch, was peculiarly striking after the long drive over the dun-coloured plain, for as yet there was no sign of spring. Passing through the gateway we soon came to the lofty façade of the main enclosure, and a surly old guardian of the place came to challenge our entry. We produced the permit, which we had obtained through the Consul, and were kept a long time waiting before we were allowed to enter, but there was plenty to interest us in the scene. It was a sort of square, with the dwellings of the officials on either side, and at the lower end a small temple facing the plain below, down to which were long flights of steps, and then a steep paved incline the same width as the steps and with balustrades at the sides. Lofty pine-trees surrounded the place, and scattered amongst them at the bottom were stone animals and figures. At a short distance from the steps was the State entrance gateway, but that was closed. One could imagine how fine the effect would be to see a gorgeous royal procession enter the gateway from the plain, cross the short level space under the avenue of pine-trees, and mount the long ascent to the towering, golden-roofed temples behind which the imperial tomb stands. The colouring in the brilliant sunlight looked very rich as it gleamed among the dark pine-trees.

Before leaving, we asked the man who had showed us round if we could have some hot water for tea, but he said there was none, so we took our things outside, and sat down to sketch and lunch. At first I could not think what was the matter, for the paint seemed thoroughly intractable; then it suddenly dawned on me that no sooner was a wet wash laid on the paper than it froze. Yet this was the last week of March, and midday, with the sun shining full on us. Sketching generally seems to be done under difficulties, and this trip more so than ever. It will be understood how doubly welcome was the sight of our guide returning to say that he had got hot water for us, and he took away our teapot and filled it, for all Chinese understand the right making of tea. As we were drinking it shortly afterwards, a pitiable figure came creeping up the hill, evidently suffering acutely from asthma. When we offered him a cup of hot tea a look of intense gratitude shone in his eyes, and when he had drunk it, still speechless, he drew himself up and made a European military salute, then passed slowly on to the gateway.

As we returned to the city we agreed that no one should fail to visit the tombs who comes to Moukden. It is of course tiresome to have to get permits, and takes a little time, but there is nothing within the city that is half so picturesque as these two groups of tombs, to each of which a whole day should be devoted. Some inscriptions at the Foo Ling tomb, we were told, are quite unique, but the heavy snow when we were there prevented our doing justice to the fine details of architecture.

There is an unpromising-looking hotel at Moukden called the Astor House, but Americans who stayed there assured us it was quite comfortable, and every one passing through Moukden ought certainly to stop and see it, especially in view of its being so rapidly modernised. The old temples seem to be in a state of utter disrepair, and the most interesting one, the Fox Temple, will soon cease to exist. The worship of the fox is very common in Manchuria, and is especially incumbent upon officials, all Mandarins being supposed to do it, as the fox is the keeper of the seals of office. Doolittle, in his “Social Life of the Chinese,” says: “There is in connection with some of the principal civil yamens a small two-storied building devoted to the worship of his Majesty, Master Reynard. There is no image or picture of a fox to be worshipped, but simply an imaginary fox somewhere. Incense, candles, and wine are placed upon a table in the room of the second storey of this building, and before this table the Mandarin kneels down and bows his head in the customary manner, as an act of reverence to Reynard, the keeper of his seals of office. This sacrifice, it is affirmed, is never performed by deputy. The Chinese believe the official seal of the Mandarin, after he has arrived at his yamen, to be in the keeping of the fox. They assert with great earnestness, and apparent sincerity, that if the Mandarin did not worship the fox on his arrival at his residence, his seal of office would shortly disappear in some inexplicable way, or some singular and strange calamity would certainly befall him or his yamen.”

We visited the Temple of Hell, where all sorts of horrible penalties are vividly depicted in stucco, and these are more terrible as indicating what Chinese punishments have been, than in suggesting what may be expected in the future world. The temples seem to be little frequented by the people, and it is only on certain occasions that the people flock to them. The ancestral tablets in his own home have the main part of a Chinaman’s devotions.

On our second visit to Moukden we had rather a rickety droshky, and were amused to see the way the driver arranged the luggage. The Chinese never make any difficulty about the quantity, for fear by so doing of losing a fare. The man therefore entirely filled his footboard with luggage, and seated himself on it with a large bag of bedding on his lap. We had not gone far when a wheel rolled off into the gutter, and we waited some time for it to be put on again, the luggage meanwhile being deposited in the road. The job was not satisfactorily managed, for we had to go very, very slowly, and have the wheel continually hammered on. It began to rain, and in order to put up the hood most of the luggage had to be piled on the top of ourselves, and we found it, to say the least, both hot and heavy. At last our driver gave up in despair, and by means of signs made us understand that he would go and fetch another vehicle. When he returned with a cart the transfer was soon made, and our driver with great secrecy explained that he had bargained with the carter to take us to our destination for a certain sum. The difficulty then arose as to how we were to pay him, for we only possessed Japanese and Pekingese money, which he eyed with distrust, and declined to accept. We gave him, however, a rather liberal fare, and pointed to him to take it to a big shop, opposite which we were standing. There he was reassured as to its value, and came back smiling; he thrust his head into the cart with a final rejoinder to us only to pay the right fare to the carter, evidently feeling that we were liable to spend our money too lavishly.