The town is full of little carriages and rickshas, and a network of trams takes the passenger for an hour’s drive for the lordly sum of twopence, first class, and a penny farthing second class. As we drove in a tram to Chinatown in order to view the outskirts, we saw the beginnings of a park, a golf course, a baseball ground, a chrysanthemum garden, and various other things, but more amusing were the little bazaars and shops with their English notices—“To sell Flesh,” “Boots and Shoesmakea,” “High Barber,” “Royal House Hair Cutting,” &c. &c. English is the one European language which makes its way into every corner of the earth, and will with ever-increasing rapidity tend to become the universal means of communication. As an instance of this fact, the Chinese Government has just issued an order that henceforth English is to be the language in which science shall be taught throughout the Chinese Empire. This will, I fear, be a severe blow to our German friends, who were confidently expecting China to follow the example of Japan and take German as the scientific medium of instruction. We left Dalny by the evening train for Liao Yang, _en route_ for Ashiho, which forms the subject of the next chapter. CHAPTER XIV Ashiho As we journeyed northward once more the cold steadily increased, and a biting wind found its way even into the railway carriages. At Kharbin a perfect blizzard had been blowing the previous day, and as it happened to be the Russian Easter, banks were closed and the tickets for the Russian State express train were not to be purchased. We discovered that the train service was all to be changed the next day, May 1st, and no time-tables were obtainable. The British Consul kindly promised to get our tickets on the Monday, and ascertained that we could join the express at Ashiho, a few stations down the Vladivostock line, where we were going to spend the week end. We reached Ashiho about 9 o’clock, and set out for our destination in a droshky. It was a most perilous drive in the dark, for the roads—or what pass muster as roads—were in the worst possible condition; the spring thaw had set in, and the surface of the ground was a hopeless quagmire destined to last until there should be sufficient sunshine to dry it, for the wet was unable to penetrate the still frozen earth. Our friends at Hulan had set out that morning to meet us at Kharbin. After a long weary walk in a snowstorm they found the Kharbin steamer on the Sungari River crowded with passengers. An hour’s wait in a piercing wind was followed by the information that it was quite uncertain whether the boat would go at all that day, so they gave it up in despair and returned home. Practically speaking all traffic is stopped on the country roads at this time of the year, and those who walk must be prepared to wade knee deep in black mud to reach their destination. We had no catastrophe during our half-hour’s drive, but it was more by good luck than anything else.