“The Peace of the East”--that is the literal meaning of Antung--was one of the immediate causes of the war. In accordance with commercial treaties concluded between China on the one part and Japan and the United States on the other, it was a treaty port open to foreign trade. Russia had another destiny in view for Antung, but the new diplomacy which ratifies and signs treaties with an electric pen that reaches on the instant across the world, proved too quick for the fate ordained in St. Petersburg, and “The Peace of the East” is still nominally an open port. An American Consul had been appointed, and was reported to be on his way hither. Antung is situated on the right bank of the Yalu, about twenty miles from its mouth, in the province of Feng-t’ien. The approaches and estuary are not charted, but are well known to the masters of coasting vessels who make occasional visits in the Autumn to purchase raw silk and cocoons. Navigation is rendered difficult by shoals and sandbanks, yet junks can ascend the river for fifty miles, and the Japanese gunboats that bombarded the Russian position North-west of Antung have shown that a channel may be found for steamers of deeper draft than was generally supposed. A large number of junks are employed in the commerce of Antung which is considerable, the imports consisting of nankeens, oil, iron, and provisions; while the exports are timber, planks, bean-cake--an excellent horse feed--liquorice, and “wild” silk. Measured by our own standards Antung is not clean. The smells that rise up from unexpected places and assault you are occasionally alarming; dust and dirt affront you on all sides; and the people are unwashed. Yet compared with most Chinese cities, Antung is a Dutch kitchen, and to step from Korea into Manchuria is to step out of a noisome swamp into a clear cool stream. The streets are fairly wide and the footpath, where it exists, is raised two or three feet above the road. The houses are one storied and are built of dark stone roofed with heavy tiles. At its best the town has a mean and dingy aspect, and does not improve on closer acquaintance. When the Japanese entered, the streets looked like rows of poor shops with the shutters up, for Chinese doors are shutters, as you discover when in answer to knock and cry of “Kaimeni” the side of a house begins to come away in sections. Those of us who kept up with the advance were quartered upon a wealthy merchant at whose door stood one of the glorified sign posts. His house is a type of all well-to-do houses in Manchuria. On each side of the entrance hall is a large and lofty room with shelves along the walls, and at one end a broad platform covered with straw matting. These are the shops or warehouses. The shelves are empty, for everything has been removed and hidden until confidence has been restored by the proclamations which the Japanese make haste to post upon the walls calling upon the people