If the reader imagines that a correspondent having seen an engagement, rushes to a telegraph office, scribbles out an account and straightway hands it in for transmission, he is very much mistaken. The man who acted in that way would be beaten by the expert every time. Mr. Bennet Burleigh drafts his messages with the greatest care, and accurate and precise though he is, he never fails to revise in a quite wholesale fashion before dispatching what may appear to be only a hurried account after all. Dr. Morrison writes and rewrites, and revises and rewrites and weighs the value of every word--the use of the exact word characterizes his style--then when he is finished the draft is usually type-written by his secretary. Even then, by the time the Chinese telegraph operators have completed their work upon it, the message may be in such a state as to need its reconstruction almost before it is fit to be forwarded to the next relay station. Hours are often spent by competent correspondents in drafting even a moderately long telegram, and the time required to write a serviceable message a column in length is much more than proportionately greater. The longest message I wired was immediately after my return from Port Arthur, and it consisted of only two hundred words--many correspondents rarely send important news in any telegram of more that half that length. Possibly one of the most interesting personalities in the journalistic world of to-day is that of Dr. G. E. Morrison, the _Times_ correspondent at Peking. He is an Australian by birth and education, a doctor of medicine by profession, an investigator by nature and a diplomat by predilection. Every one knows that he was born at Geelong in 1862, that he has walked across Australia and China, practised medicine in Spain, and is fond of shooting. In appearance he is unlike the average North China resident, though he is of medium height and build, is clean shaven and wears his ashen grey hair cropped short. There is something distinguished about Dr. Morrison, something he does not derive from his immaculate attire, from the nabob stick with which he toys as he walks, or from the forward inclination of his head, characteristic of thinkers. Indeed his manner at first suggests the pedagogue, but when you see the man you know you have something more; you have a man who can and does think for himself, a man who can scheme, and with dogged pertinacity peg away until that upon what he has set his heart upon having is obtained. He is hard as a Manitoba winter; a man of resolution and of power, a man devoted to an idea, or a principle, or a rule of life; a man who will go long lengths to gain a point, who will find out means with which to accomplish his self-set task, who will get at the right people and use them; a man who is unlikely to be generally loved, but may be esteemed, and cannot but be admired for what he is; a man who may not possess many real