This exhausted the sights of the Temple of Heaven. We returned through the park to the railway station, where we procured rickshas to take us to the hotel. Strong, active coolies whirled us along over the wide, flagged road that runs through the Chinese town. We passed crowds of Celestials trudging on in the awful dust, springless Pekin carts drawn by sturdy little ponies, an occasional Bengal Lancer or German Mounted Infantryman, through streets of mean shops, the fronts hung with gaudy sign‐boards, until we reached the wall of the Tartar city. Before us stood the Chien Mên Gate, the brick tower above it roofless and shattered by shells, the heavy iron‐studded door swung back. We rumbled through the long, tunnel‐like entrance, between rows of low, one‐story houses, and soon reached the famous Legation Street, the quarter in which lie the residences of the Foreign Ministers and the other Europeans in Pekin. We passed along a wide road in good repair, by gateways at which stood Japanese, French, and German sentries, by the shattered ruins of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. All around the Legations lay acres of wrecked Chinese houses, torn by shells and blackened by fire—a grim memento of the outrage that had roused the civilised world to arms. At length we reached a broad street leading from the Ha‐ta‐man Gate, turned to the left down it, and drew up before a small entrance in a line of low, one‐story houses. Above it was a board bearing the inscription, “Hôtel du Nord.” Jumping from our rickshas, we paid off the perspiring coolies, and, walking across a small courtyard, were met by the proprietor and shown to our quarters. The hotel, which had been opened shortly after the relief of the Legations, consisted of a number of squalid Chinese houses, which had been cleverly converted into comfortable dining, sitting, and bedrooms. An excellent cuisine made it a popular resort for the officers of the Allies in Pekin, and we found ourselves as well catered for as we could have done in many more pretentious hostels in civilised lands. A short description of the chief city of China may not be out of place; though recent events have served to draw it from the obscurity that enshrouded it so long. It is singular among the capitals of the world for the regularity of its outline, owing to the stupendous walls which confine it. These famous battlements are twenty‐five miles in total circumference, and the long lines, studded with lofty towers and giant buttresses, present an imposing spectacle from the exterior.