We must not forget that the Summer Palace is a town in itself, a city inhabited by thousands of mandarins, Court functionaries, attendants, servants, and labourers. The number, I believe, is estimated at ten thousand, and the daily expenses at something incalculable. The country all round is marvellously cultivated. It is interesting to watch the people at work in the fields, and see by what primitive methods they obtain such surprising results. At last we arrive at the palace, and are met by such a crowd that it is with difficulty that any progress can be made at all. Most of the legations have sent out guards with tents, where the representatives can put on their full dress. We gather afterwards before the palace gates in a typical yamen, a choice specimen of Chinese domestic architecture, simple in conception, but elaborate in detail. Prince Ching, Minister for Foreign Affairs, arrives; unquestionably a striking figure and an interesting personality. Slim, even fragile, his yellow skin covers the bones of his face like an old parchment, pale and wrinkled, and the brightness of his small, beady eyes makes a striking contrast. The introductions at once begin; but as Prince Ching does not speak either French or English, his secretary acts as interpreter. If I remember correctly, this gentleman is a member of one of the numerous Li family; but what I specially recollect is his exquisite manner, exceptional refinement, and wide knowledge. He speaks perfect French, has travelled all over Europe, has stopped in our capitals for years, and taken a special interest in our scientific institutions. I confess to very much surprise when he began to testify his personal appreciation of my own national university of Buda Pesth. Perhaps it is the old-fashioned Chinese dress, mandarin hat, or pigtail, that causes Western people to feel astonished at finding among natives of the Yellow Empire sometimes a more thorough knowledge of the West and a deeper insight into our minds than we can realize. The empty compliments have been exchanged--and empty indeed they are. At last an escort of palace guards and mandarins arrives, to lead us towards the inner palace gate. I wish I could have fixed the picture then unrolled before my eyes; or have possessed a lantern of real magic, that could picture now all I saw, outline and colour and haze, all that was bright and all that was shadow! It was a scene never to be forgotten. A crowd dressed in all the hues of the rainbow, carrying silken flags, embroidered banners, painted inscriptions, gauze-covered lanterns, and glittering trophies: all the emblems of power, all the symbols of the Celestial Empire. The wondrous crowd stretches into a scattered procession and winds across the narrow lane like a giant serpent, with shimmering scales, in a fairy tale.