the Sha-ho, and the Russians were entrenching on the North bank. Thus ended General Kuropatkin’s offensive movement. Fifty guns fell into our hands. We buried ten thousand dead Russians--funeral pyres blazed in every direction; and everywhere we came upon new and ghastly evidences of the disaster that had overtaken the enemy. Chapter XXXVI A FORLORN HOPE. PANLASANTZU, NOV. 1. On the brown plain to the North-west of Temple Hill rises a rocky mound--the scene of one of the most stirring episodes in the battle of the Sha-ho. The Chinese call it the Three Pillars of Stone, and hold it sacred to the god who is good to little children in the realms of Pluto. Grey craigs spring from the two extremities, and fall abruptly into the valley. In the centre, where the ridge bends like a strained bow, stands a Temple. Tower and walls are dark with the twilight of a thousand years, and look as old as the three pillars of rock that shoot up in their midst. It is a miniature Pantheon. From the gate over which that fierce warrior and national hero Kwan is the sleepless sentinel, you ascend to a series of tiny shrines crowded with painted images of Buddha and his many incarnations, and come at last to the altar of the god to whom bereaved parents pray for the repose of the souls of their little ones. In the shadow of the grey craig, within hexagonal walls, sits the great god, Buddha, serene and contemplative, with a circle of disciples about him. Alas! the images are broken, and lie prostrate at the feet of the great Bud. From their placid brows have been plucked the gems with which piety adorned them, and in their breasts are gaping wounds made by sacriligious hands in search of hidden treasure. But the gods of the heathen have been avenged, for great was the slaughter of the men who overthrew their images and polluted their shrine.