BY C. F. GORDON CUMMING.

I think the only enjoyable time of the day, during the burning summer in dusty, dirty, dilapidated Peking, is the very early morning, before the sun rises high, and while the air still feels fresh, and one can enjoy sitting in the cool courts which take the place of gardens, and listen to the quaint music of the pigeons as they fly overhead. This is no dove-like cooing, but a low melodious whistle like the sighing of an Eolian harp or the murmur of telegraph wires thrilled by the night wind. It is produced by the action of cylindrical pipes like two finger-ends, side by side, about an inch and a half in length. These are made of very light wood and filled with whistles. Some are globular in form and are constructed from a tiny gourd. These little musical boxes are attached to the tail feathers of the pigeon in such a manner that as he flies the air shall blow through the whistle, producing the most plaintive tones, especially as there are often many pigeons flying at once—some near, some distant, some just overhead, some high in the heavens; so the combined effect is really melodious. I believe the Pekingese are the only people who thus provide themselves with a dove orchestra, though the use of pigeons as message-bearers is common to all parts of the Empire.

There is one form of insect life here which is a terrible nuisance—namely, the sand-flies, which swarm in multitudes. They are too cruel, every one is bitten, and the irritation is so excessive that few people have sufficient determination to resist scratching. So of course there is a most unbecoming prevalence of red spots, suggestive of a murrain of measles!

I have been told that I am singularly unfortunate in the season of my visit, and that if only I had come in September I should have found life most enjoyable (I recollect some of the residents at Aden likewise assuring me that they really learnt to think their blazing rock quite pleasant!) I suppose that I am spoilt by memories of green Pacific isles and sweet sea breezes, so I can only compassionate people who, till two months ago, were ice-bound—shut off from the world by a frozen river—and now are boiled and stifled!

Such of them, however, as can get away from their work in the city have the delightful resource of going to the hills, and establishing themselves as lodgers at one of the many almost forsaken temples, where a few poor priests are very glad to supplement their small revenues by a sure income of barbaric coin. The Pekingese themselves are in the habit of thus making summer trips to the hills—so many of the temples have furnished rooms to let—with a view to encouraging the combination of well-paid temple service with this pleasant change of air.

I am told that many of these temples are charmingly situated, and have beautifully laid-out grounds. A group called “The Eight Great Temples” is described as especially attractive. They are dotted on terraces along the face of the western mountains, about twelve miles from the city, and among their attractions are cool pools in shady grottoes all overgrown with trailing vines and bright blossoms; stone fountains, where numberless gold-fish swim in crystalline water, which falls from the mouth of a great marble dragon; curious inscriptions in Thibetan and Chinese characters, deeply engraven on the rocks and colored red; fine groups of Scotch firs, and old walnut-trees; and in springtime I am told that our dear familiar lilac blossoms in perfection. Then there are all manner of quaintly ornamental pagodas and temples, great and small, with innumerable images and pictures, and silken hangings, and all the paraphernalia so attractive to the artistic eye.

Among the points of chief interest in the immediate neighborhood of Peking, the Summer Palace of course holds a foremost place, and there I found my way yesterday by paying the penalty of eight hours of anguish in a hateful springless cart, which is the cab of Peking, and the only mode of locomotion for such as are not the happy possessors of horses.

The manifold interests of the day, however, far more than compensated for the drawbacks of even dust and bumping, which is saying a great deal. A member of one of the Legations had kindly undertaken to show me the various points of interest to the north-west of the city, and we agreed to try and escape some heat by starting at 3.30 A.M., at which hour I was accordingly ready, waiting in the courtyard to open the gate. It was a most lovely morning, the clear moonlight mingling with the dawn, and the air fresh and pleasant. I had full leisure to enjoy it, for the carter, who had promised to be at the Japanese Legation by three, was wrapped in slumber. So my companion had to begin his day's work by a two miles' walk to fetch me. Luckily, my carter had been more faithful, so we started in very fair time; indeed, I profited by the delay, for as we passed through the great northern gate, there on the dusty plain—just outside the walls—we came in for a grand review of the Eight Banners, by Prince Poah of the Iron Crown. Such a pretty, animated scene, with all these Tartar regiments galloping about, and their gay standards flashing through the smoke of artillery and the dust-clouds, which seem to blend the vast plain with the blue distant hills and the great gray walls and huge three-storied keep which forms the gateway.

The latter is that Anting Gate of which we heard so much at the time when it was given up to the British army after the sacking of the Summer Palace; not, however, till their big guns were planted on the raised terraces within the sacred park of the Temple of Earth, all ready to breach the walls.

The Prince's large blue tent was pitched on a slightly rising ground apart from the others, and was constantly surrounded by gorgeous officers in bright yellow raiment, with round, flat black hats and long feathers, who were galloping to and fro, directing grand charges of cavalry. It did seem so funny to see a whole army of ponies; for there are no horses here, unless the foreign residents chance to import any.

These Eight Banners are all Manchus or Mongol Tartars, or at any rate are descended from such, Chinese troops being ranged under the green standard. These Eight Banners which, as I have said, are multiplied, are plain white, red, blue, and yellow, and the same colors repeated, and distinguished by a white edge and white spot. These companies are supposed to defend different sides of the city, the colors having some mystic relation to the points of the compass; except that yellow is in the middle, where it guards the Imperial Palace. Red guards the south, blue the north, and white the west, whilst the east is nominally given up to the green standard, which, however, being composed of Chinamen, is not admitted to the honor of guarding the forbidden city. I am told that the Banner Army numbers upwards of a hundred thousand men, who supply Tartar garrisons for the principal cities of the Empire.

We got out of the cart and secured a good position on a small hillock, whence we had a capital view. A number of Tartar soldiers who were off duty gathered round, and were quite captivated by the loan of my opera-glasses. Then they showed us their wretched firearms (which certainly did not look as if any European could have superintended the arsenal where they were manufactured), and also their peculiar belts, containing charges of powder only, and yet we are told that in addition to first-class firearms, which are being ceaselessly manufactured at the Government arsenals at Tientsin, Shanghai, Canton, Foochow, Nankin, and other less important places, the Chinese Government spares no expense in buying both ammunition and firearms of European manufacture. I suppose they are kept in reserve for real war!

A picturesque company of archers rode by on stout ponies, holding their bridles in the right hand, and in the left their bows, the arrows being cased in a leathern quiver, slung across the shoulders. As to their swords, instead of hanging from the waist, they are stuck under the saddle-flap; each man's cap is adorned with the tails of two squirrels, which is the correct military decoration. Now though we Scots are quite ready to believe that blackcocks were created for the express purpose of bequeathing their tails to adorn the caps of the London Scottish (the said tails having very much the jovial, independent character of the bird itself), it really is impossible to see the fitness of things in selecting poor little squgs as military emblems, unless to suggest the wisdom of he who fights and runs away! Anyhow, it now seems as if we might find a profitable market for all the thousands of squirrel's tails which are annually wasted in our north-country woods. I quite forgot to take note of the fan and the pipe, which I am told are invariable items in the accoutrements of the Chinese soldiers.26

Returning to our cart we next drove to the Ta-tsoon-tsu, or Temple of the Great Bell. It is a large Buddhist monastery. The priests, who occupy separate houses, are a civil, kindly lot, very different from the Lamas of the Yung-ho-Kung! There are curious paintings of Buddhist saints in the halls; but the great object of interest is the huge bell, which is said to be the largest hanging bell in the world. Anyhow, it is a wonderful piece of casting, being nearly eighteen feet high and forty-five feet in circumference, and is of solid bronze four inches thick. It is one of eight great bells which were cast by command of the Emperor Yung-lo about A.D. 1400, and this giant is said to have cost the lives of eight men, who were killed during the process of casting. The whole bell, both inside and out, is covered with an inscription in embossed Chinese characters about half an inch long, covering even the handle, the total number being 84,000! I am told that this is a whole classic.

This gigantic bell hangs in a two-storied pagoda, and underneath the beam from which it is suspended hangs a little bell, and a favorite amusement of Chinese visitors to the temple is to ascend to a gallery, whence they throw small coins at the little bell, in hopes of hitting it, on the same principle, I suppose, that they spit chewed prayer-papers at certain gods in the hope of hitting them! The throwing of cash is certainly more profitable to the priests, as the coins fall into a rim round the great bell and become temple property. This great bell, which is struck on the outside by a suspended ram of wood, is only sounded when—in times of drought—the Emperor in person or the Imperial Princes as his deputies come to this temple to pray for rain. Theoretically, they are supposed not to rise from their knees till the rain falls in answer to their prayer, and responsive to the vibrations of the mighty bell.

There is sore need of rain now, so I suppose the bell will be struck ere long. Apparently it is reserved as a last resource, for already the little Emperor and the Empresses Regent have been pleading for rain in the gorgeous yellow tiled temple at the entrance to the Forbidden City, and Prince Yeh, as the Emperor's deputy, has been repeatedly sent to pray for rain in a most strange open-air temporary sanctuary close to the Bell Temple. We discovered this quite by chance, having observed a large circular inclosure in the middle of a field of standing corn.

We halted and went to see what it was, and we found that it consisted of eight screens of coarse yellow mats, with great yellow dragons designed on them. Four of the screens form a circle having four gaps. The other four are straight, and are placed outside, so as to guard and conceal the entrances. In the centre a square raised platform of earth forms a rude altar, at the four corners of which are four vases of the coarsest pottery, containing plants; straggling and much trampled corn grows between and around them, as in the field outside. In a small tent close by we found a sleepy watchman, who told us about the Prince's devotional visits to this very primitive oratory.

After four hours of intolerably weary jolting in our dreadful cart, we arrived at Wan-Shu-Shan, which is the only portion of the grounds of the Summer Palace (the Yuen-Ming-Yuen) to which foreigners are still admitted, as they have there wrought such hopeless ruin that I suppose it is not thought worth while to shut them out; and truly it is sickening even now to look on such a scene of devastation. The park, which is now once more closed to the barbarians, contains fine palatial buildings, faced with colonnades and altogether of a very Italian type, having been built under the direction of the Jesuits, but the beautiful pleasure grounds, where we wandered over wooded hills all strewn with beautiful ruins, is purely Chinese, and as such is to me far more interesting.

Our first halt was beside a well whose waters are so deliciously crystalline and cold that they seemed to our parched and dusty throats as a true elixir. So famous is this pure spring that the daily supply for the Imperial Palace is brought thence in barrels, in a cart flying a yellow flag, with an inscription in black characters stating that it travels on the Emperor's business—a warning to all men to make way for it. The water near the city is all bad and brackish, so such a spring as this is a priceless boon.

This wonderland has been so often described since its destruction, that in its present aspect the whole seems familiar ground; but it is new to me to learn anything concerning it in its palmy days, from the pen of an eyewitness, and so I have been much interested in reading a curious account of these Imperial pleasure-grounds written in 1743 by Mons. Attiret, a French missionary, whose talent for painting led to his receiving an order to make drawings for the Emperor at the Summer Palace.

He tells how he and his companions were conducted to Peking by a Chinese official, who would on no account allow them to look out of the windows of their covered boats to observe the country, still less to land at any point. The latter part of the journey they were carried in litters, in which they were shut up all the day long, only halting at wretched inns. Naturally, when they were released from this tedious captivity and beheld these beautiful grounds—the Yuen-Ming-Yuen—the Garden of gardens, they supposed themselves in Paradise, and here they seem to have remained for a considerable time.

M. Attiret describes the ornamental buildings, containing the most beautiful and valuable things that could be obtained in China, the Indies, and even Europe—ancient vases of fine porcelain, silk cloths of gold and silver, carved furniture of valuable wood, and all manner of rare objects. He counted no less than two hundred of these palaces, each of which he declared to be large enough to accommodate the greatest nobleman in Europe with all his retinue. Some of these towns were built of cedar-wood, brought at great expense from a distance of fifteen hundred miles; some were gilded, painted, and varnished. Many had their roofs covered with glazed tiles of different colors, red, yellow, blue, green, and purple, arranged in patterns.

What chiefly astonished the artist was the variety which had been obtained in designing these pleasure houses, not only as regarded their general architecture but such minor details as the forms of the doors and windows, which were round, oval, square, and of all manner of angled figures, while some were shaped like fans, others like flowers, vases, birds, beasts, and figures.

In the courts and passages he saw vases of porcelain, brass, and marble filled with flowers, while in the outer courts stood mythological figures of animals, and urns with perfumes burning in them, resting on marble pedestals.

Most of these buildings were but one story high, and, being built on artificially raised ground, were approached by rough steps of artificial rock work. Some of these were connected one with another by fanciful winding porticoes or colonnades, which in places were raised on columns, and in others were so led as to wind by the side of a grove or by a river bank.

Wonderful ingenuity was displayed in so placing these houses as to secure the greatest possible variety of situation, and to command the most varied views. Every natural feature of the ground had been elaborated, so as to produce charming landscapes, which could scarcely be recognised as artificial; hills, of from ten to sixty feet in height, were constructed, divided by little valleys and watered by clear streams forming cascades and lakes, one of which was five miles in circumference. On its calm waters floated beautiful pleasure-boats, including one magnificent house-boat for the amusement of the ladies of the palace.

In every direction, winding paths led to quaint little pavilions and charming grottoes, while artificial rock-work was made the nursery for all manner of beautiful flowers, much care being bestowed on securing a great variety for every season of the year. Flowering trees were scattered over the grassy hills, and their blossoms perfumed the air. Each stream was crossed at frequent intervals by most picturesque and highly ornamental bridges of wood, brick or freestone adorned with fanciful kiosks, in which to repose while admiring the view. He says the triumph of art was to make these bridges twist about in such an extraordinary manner that they were often three times as long as if they had been led in a direct line. Near some of them were placed some very remarkable triumphal arches, either of elaborately carved wood or of marble.

M. Attiret awards the palm of beauty to a palace of a hundred apartments, standing in an island in the middle of the large lake, and commanding a general view of all the other palaces, which lay scattered round its shores, or half concealed among the groves, which were so planted as to screen them from one another. Moreover, from this point all the bridges were visible, as each rivulet flowed to the lake, round which the artificial hills rose in a series of terraces, forming a sort of amphitheatre.

On the brink of the lake were network houses for all manner of strange waterfowl, and in a large reservoir, inclosed by a lattice work of fine brass wire, were a multitude of beautiful gold and silver fish. Other fish there were of all manner of colors—red, blue, green, purple, and black—these were likewise inclosed. But the lake must have been well stocked, as fishing was one of the favorite recreations of the nobles.

Sometimes there were mimic sea-fights and other diversions for the entertainment of the Court, and occasionally illuminations, when every palace, every boat, almost every tree was lighted up, and brilliant fireworks, which M. Attiret declared far exceeded anything of the sort he had witnessed in France or Italy.

As to the variety of lanterns displayed at the great Feast of Lanterns, it was altogether amazing. From the ceiling of every chamber in every palace, they were suspended from the trees on the hills, the kiosks on the bridges. They were shaped like fishes, birds, and beasts, vases, fruits, flowers, and boats of different form and size. Some were made of silk, some of horn, glass, mother-of-pearl, and a thousand other materials. Some were painted, some embroidered, some so valuable that it seemed as if they could not have been produced under a thousand crowns. On every rivulet, river, and lake floated lanterns made in the form of little boats, each adding something to the fairy-like scene.

At the time when the Barbarian army so ruthlessly forced their way into this Chinese paradise it was in the most perfect order—a feature by no means common even in the houses of the greatest mandarins.

Forty small palaces, each a marvel of art, occupied beautiful sites within the grounds, and the footpaths leading from one to another were faultlessly neat. The sheets of ornamental water, lakes, and rivers were all clean, and each marble bridge was a separate object of beauty, while from out the dense foliage on the hill, yellow tiled roofs, curled up at the ends, gleamed like gold in the sunlight.

Within the palace were stored such treasures of exquisitely carved jade, splendid old enamels, bronzes, gold and silver, precious jewels of jade and rubies, carved lapis lazuli, priceless furs and richest silks, as could only have been accumulated by a long dynasty of Celestial rulers.

Cruel indeed was the change when a few hours later the allied forces arrived. The English cavalry was the first to reach the ground, but did not enter. The French quickly followed by another approach, and at once proceeded to sack the palace; so that when the British were allowed to join in the work of devastation and indiscriminate plunder, all the most obviously valuable treasure had already been removed, while the floors were strewn knee-deep with broken fragments of priceless china, and every sort of beautiful object too cumbersome or too fragile for rough and ready removal, and therefore ruthlessly smashed with the butt ends of muskets, to say nothing of the piles of most gorgeous silks and satins and gold embroideries, which lay unheeded among the ruins.

Then when the best of the steeds had been stolen, the doors were locked and Indian troops were posted to guard the treasures that remained (no easy task), till it should be possible to divide them equally between the forces. When this had been done the share apportioned to the British was at once sold by public auction, in order that an immediate distribution of prize money might allay the very natural jealousy which would otherwise have been aroused by the sight of French soldiers laden with the Sycee silver and other treasures which they had appropriated.

But though wagon-loads of what seemed the most precious objects were removed, these were as nothing compared with what was left and destroyed, when the order was given to commence the actual demolition of the principal buildings: a work on which two regiments were employed for two whole days, ere the hand of the destroyer was stayed by a treaty of peace, and so happily a few wonderful and unique buildings still remain as a suggestion of vanished glories.

Of course all this was done with the best possible intentions, by way of punishing the Emperor himself and his great nobles for the official deeds of treachery, rather than injure the innocent citizens of Peking. Yet it seems that these would have accepted any amount of personal loss and suffering rather than this barbarous destruction of an Imperial glory—an act which has so impressed the whole nation with a conviction that all foreigners are barbarous Vandals, that it is generally coupled with their determined pushing of the opium trade. These two crimes form the double-barrelled weapon of reproach wherewith Christian missionaries in all parts of the Empire are assailed, and their work grievously hindered.

We devoted about three hours to exploring these beautiful grounds, of which might well be said, “Was never scene so sad so fair!” Even the ornamental timber was cut for firewood by the allied barbarians, though enough remains to beautify the landscape.

The grounds are enclosed by a handsome wall of dark-red sandstone with a coping of glazed tiles, and its warm color contrasts pleasantly with the rich greens of the park and the lovely blue lake with its reedy shores, and floating lotus blossoms. One of the most conspicuous objects is a very handsome stone bridge of seventeen arches, graduated from quite small arches on either side to very high ones in the centre. It is commonly called the marble bridge, because of its beautiful white marble balustrades with about fifty pillars on either side, on each of which sits a marble lion, and of all these I am told that no two are quite alike. Each end of this bridge is guarded by two large lions, also of marble. This bridge connects the mainland with an island about a quarter of a mile in circumference; it is entirely surrounded with a marble balustrade like that of the bridge. In the centre of the isle is an artificial mound, on which, approached by flights of steps, and enclosed by yet another marble balustrade, are the ruins of what must have been a beautiful temple.

Another very striking bridge, which spans a stream flowing into the lake, is called the Camel's Hump, and has only one very steep arch, about forty feet high. What makes this look so very peculiar is the fact that the banks on either side are almost level with the stream, so the elevation is purely fanciful. The bridge also has a beautiful marble balustrade.

A third, very similar to this last, crosses another winding of the stream, where it flows through flooded rice-fields, and so appears like an extension of the lake. Along this stream there is a fine avenue of willow-trees fully a mile in length.

Ascending a wooded hill, which is dotted all over with only partially destroyed buildings, we thence had a most lovely view of all the park, looking down on the blue lake, the winding streams, the various bridges, the blue mountain range, and the distant city of Peking with a foreground of most picturesque temple buildings and fine Scotch firs, dark rocks and green creepers.

Though the general feeling is one of desolation (as one climbs stairways, passing between numberless mounds of rubble, entirely composed of beautifully glazed tiles of every color of the rainbow, and all in fragments), there are, nevertheless, some isolated buildings which happily have quite escaped. Among these are several most beautiful seven-story pagodas. Of one, which is octagonal, the lower story is adorned with finely sculptured Indian gods. Two others are entirely faced and roofed with the loveliest porcelain tiles—yellow gold, bright green, and deep blue. They are exquisitely delicate and are quite intact; even the tremulous bells suspended from the leaves still tinkling with every breath of air.

Another building, which is still almost perfect, is a beautiful little bronze temple, near to which is a fine triple pai-low, or commemorative arch, and there are others of indescribable form, such as a little globe resting on a great one, and the whole surmounted by a spire representing fourteen canopies. But nothing save colored sketches (of which I secured a few) could really give any idea of this strange place or of these singular buildings.

On the summit of the hill there still stands a very large two-storied brick building, entirely faced with glittering glazed tiles of dazzling yellow, emerald green, and blue, with a double roof of yellow porcelain tiles; among its decorations are a multitude of images of Buddha in brown china. It is approached by a grand triple gateway of white marble and colored tiles, like one we saw at the Confucian temple in the city of Peking.

There are also a great variety of huge stone pillars and tablets, all highly sculptured; the dragon and other mythical animals appearing in all directions. There are bronze beasts and marble beasts, but only those of such size and weight as to have baulked all efforts of thieving visitors, whether native or foreign, whose combined efforts have long since removed every portable image and ornament.

To me the most interesting group of ruins is a cluster of very ornamental small temple buildings, some with conical, others, with tent-shaped roofs, but all glazed with the most brilliantly green tiles, and all the pillars and other woodwork painted deep red. On either side of the principal building are two very ornamental pagoda-shaped temples, exactly alike, except that the green roof of one is surmounted by a dark-blue china ornament, the other by a similar ornament in bright yellow.

Each is built to contain a large rotatory cylinder on the prayer-wheel principle, with niches for a multitude of images. In fact they are small editions of two revolving cylinders with five hundred disciples of Buddha, which attracted me at the great Lama temple as being the first link to Japanese Scripture-wheels, or Thibetan prayer-wheels which I have seen in China, and the existence of which has apparently passed unnoticed. It is needless to add that of course every image has been stolen, and only the revolving stands now remain in a most rickety condition.

When we could no longer endure the blazing heat, we descended past what appears to have been the principal temple, of which absolutely nothing remains standing—only a vast mound of brilliant fragments of broken tiles, lying on a great platform; steep zigzag stairs brought us to the foot of the hill, where great bronze lions still guard the forsaken courts.

Parched with thirst, we returned to the blessed spring of truly living water, and drank and drank again, cup after cup, till the very coolies standing by laughed. Then once again climbing into the horrible vehicle of torture, we retraced our morning route, till we reached a very nice clean restaurant, where we ordered luncheon. We were shown into a pretty little airy room upstairs, commanding a very fine view of the grounds we had just left. After the preliminary tiny cup of pale yellow tea, basins of boiling water were brought in, with a bit of flannel floating in each, that we might wash off the dust in orthodox Chinese fashion. The correct thing is to wring out the flannel, and therewith rub the face and neck with a view to future coolness.

Luncheon (eaten with chop sticks, which I can now manage perfectly) consisted of the usual series of small dishes, little bits of cold chicken with sauce, little bits of hot chicken boiled to rags, morsels of pork with mushrooms, fragments of cold duck with some other sort of fungus, watery soup, scraps of pigs' kidneys with boiled chestnuts, very coarse rice, pickled cucumber, garlic and cabbage, patty of preserved shrimps, all in infinitesimal portions, so that, but for the plentiful supply of rice, hungry folk would find it hard to appease the inner wolf. Tiny cups of rice wine followed by more tea completed the repast for which a sum equivalent to sixteen shillings was demanded, and of course refused; nevertheless, necessitating a troublesome argument.

We hurried away as soon as possible, being anxious to visit a very famous Lama temple, the “Wang-Tzu,” or Yellow Temple. As we drove along I was amazed to notice how singularly numerous magpies are hereabouts. They go about in companies of six or eight, and are so tame and saucy that they scarcely take the trouble to hop aside as we pass.

Though the drive seemed very long still, we never suspected anything amiss till suddenly we found ourselves near the gates of the city; when we discovered that our worthy carter, assuming that he knew the time better than we did, and that we should be locked out of the city at sunset, had deliberately taken a wrong road, and altogether avoided the Yellow Temple. Reluctantly yielding to British determination, he sorrowfully turned, and we had to endure a long extra course of bumping ere we reached the temple, which is glazed with yellow tiles (an Imperial privilege which is conceded to Lamas).

This is a very large Lama monastery, full of objects of interest, of which the most notable is a very fine white marble monument to a grand Lama who died here. It is of a purely Indian design, and all round it are sculptured scenes in the life and death of Buddha, Of course, having lost so much time, we had very little to spare here, so once more betook us to the cart and jolted back to Peking.

As we crossed the dreary expanse of dusty plain, a sharp wind sprang up, and we had a moderate taste of the horrors of a dust-storm, and devoutly hope never to be subjected to a real one.

The dread of being locked out is by no means unfounded. Punctually at a quarter to six, one of the soldiers on guard strikes the gong which hangs at the door, and continues doing so for five minutes with slow regular strokes. Then a quickened beat gives notice that only ten minutes' grace remains, then more and more rapidly fall the strokes, and the accustomed ear distinguishes five varieties of beat, by which it is easy to calculate how many minutes remain. From the first stroke every one outside the gate hurries towards them, and carts, foot passengers, and riders stream into the city with much noise and turmoil. At six o'clock precisely the guard unite in a prolonged unearthly shout, announcing that time is up. Then the ponderous gates are closed, and in another moment the rusty lock creaks, and the city is secure for the night.

Then follows the frightful and unfragrant process of street watering, of which we had full benefit, as our tired mule slowly dragged us back to our haven of rest under the hospitable roof of the London Missionary Society.—Belgravia.