We left Moukden at 8 A.M. by the ordinary Japanese train, but the permanent line to Antung is only completed for a short distance. In our carriage there was a framed notice in Japanese, of which there was apparently an abbreviated form in English below, which ran, “Hands off the rope, please.” No rope or check-string was visible, so the order was rather a dead letter. After travelling two and a half hours we had to change to the light railway on which are no first-class carriages. The accommodation was limited in every way, and the narrow benches made us long for the “cushioned seats” which Maggie’s brothers found so reposeful in “What every woman knows.” Despite the beauty of the scenery the way seemed long: hour after hour passed by, while still we crept up the mountain gorges. The Manchurian side showed little vegetation on the crags, except some stunted pine-trees. On all the Japanese lines we were struck with the large number of soldiers hanging about. The Chinese Government granted permission for one soldier to every ten miles of railway; but there are 15,000 men to 703 miles of railway, according to Mr. Tyenaga’s reckoning in an article entitled “Manchuria’s Strategic Railway.” They are quartered in various places. Yet Japan notified to the Powers the withdrawal of her troops from Manchuria only a few months ago! At midday we made a short halt, and the Japanese officers had tea served to them, and produced their “luncheon baskets.” These consisted of three neat little trays, a paper serviette, and chopsticks: the top tray was filled with rice, the next with a vegetable salad, and the third with rissoles, fish, and other savouries. Another Japanese passenger produced from his sleeve a toothpick, knife, fruit, &c. It was a continual source of interest to us to see what came out of that receptacle—note-book, pencil, handkerchief, cigarettes, matches, a veritable box of tricks; finally he selected a lump of coal from a truck attached to the rear of the carriage, wrapped it in paper, and added it to the other treasures up his sleeve, or perhaps it would be more correct to say down his sleeve, for it formed a sort of pouch. He was an interesting specimen of the indeterminate Jap, so common in Manchuria; his clothes, the first day of the journey, were a mixture of European, Chinese, and Japanese, but next day he appeared in a sort of European clerical black suit and white shirt, a costume which was by no means adapted to his mode of sitting. He took off his elastic-sided boots, climbed on to the narrow seat on which he had previously placed a folded blanket, gathered his clothing carefully together, and sat down cross-legged. If it had not been for the large felt wideawake hat which rested on his ears, he would have looked, with his folded arms, like some contemplative Buddha. Much of the time he spent in sleep, but every now and then he woke up, and at once set to work with feverish energy, writing rapidly in his note-book.