The Russian Residence, or Consulate, as it is still sometimes called before the world, is a yamen like all other public buildings in China, only perhaps a little more ruinous than those I saw in the morning. The interior is greatly lacking in comfort and luxury. It gives rather the impression of a camp than of a home; there is no furniture beyond what is strictly necessary, and nothing has been done to make it pretty or attractive. The only redeeming feature is the table, which appears to be permanently set for meals. It is covered with quite as many little dishes as the table of the Mandarin, but instead of fruit and sweetmeats, they contain hors-d'oeuvres, such as caviare, herrings, smoked salmon, cucumber, and all the innumerable varieties which compose the famous national _Zakouska_. There was a perfect array of bottles on the table; I do not remember ever seeing so many crowded on to one table. There were wines from the Crimea, various liqueurs, and vodka. During dinner the guests smoked perfumed cigarettes, and talked of their family affairs and distant homes. It was difficult to realize that the boundless plains of Siberia separated us from the banks of the Neva, for the picture before me was so typically Russian, in all its variety of shades and colours. I almost felt as if I were "in company with the gentlemen" of Tourguenieff. My visit to Mukden had certainly been full of interest. Not only the town itself, its famous monuments, and its strangely superannuated people, but the whole situation as it is at present, offers endless scope for speculation. Chinese mandarins and Russian generals, Cossacks and coolies, how oddly they are amalgamated in incoherent groups! What developments may not the future have in store? Truly this is a fascinating problem. Will Manchuria be more prosperous under the new regime? Will the people be able to rise to a higher level? As I took leave of the spot, now so desolate, where the mission settlement once stood, I asked myself whether it would ever be rebuilt and whether men would come forward to take the place of those martyrs who had sacrificed their life in the cause of the orphans and forsaken children of China. Casting one last lingering look upon the place, which I should probably never see again, the dismal outline of the ruined bell-tower seemed to rise up in pathetic protest against human intolerance and blind persecution. THE RETURN JOURNEY The city of Mukden contained so much that was of interest to me, that my stay there was prolonged beyond my original intentions. The Governor, to whom I had related all the difficulties and discomforts of my journey, very kindly placed a carriage at my disposal and gave me an escort to see me safely back to the station. But perilous as the outward journey had been, the return was no less full of various emotions.