At the far end of this stood a long, low building with the conventional Chinese curved roof. It was constructed of brick and wood, the latter for the most part curiously carved. The low‐hanging eaves overspreading the broad stone verandah were supported by worm‐eaten pillars. The portico and doorways were of fragile lattice‐work, trellised in fantastic designs. It was the main portion of Prince Chong’s residence and resembled more a dilapidated summer‐house than a princely palace. Here we were met and welcomed by our hosts, Major Dobell, D.S.O. and Lieutenant Williams, who ushered us into the anything but palatial interior, which consisted of low, dingy rooms dimly lighted by paper‐covered windows. The various chambers opened off each other or into gloomy passages in bewildering and erratic fashion. Camp beds and furniture seemed out of keeping with the surroundings; but a few blackwood stools were apparently all that Prince Chong had left behind him for his uninvited guests. Thanks to our friends’ kindness, we were soon comfortably installed, and felt as much at home as if we had lived in palaces all our lives. It took us some time to learn our way about the labyrinth of courts. The buildings scattered through the yards would have afforded ample accommodation for a regiment; and a whole brigade could have encamped with ease within the circumference enclosed by the outer walls. The place of most fascinating interest in the marvellous capital of China is undoubtedly the Forbidden City, the Emperor’s residence. With the wonderful attraction of the mysterious its very name, fraught with surmise, is alluring. Nothing in all the vastness of Pekin excited such curiosity as the fabled enclosure that had so long shrouded in awful obscurity the Son of Heaven. No white man in ordinary times could hope to fathom its mysteries or know what lay concealed within its yellow walls. The ambassadors of the proudest nations of Europe were only admitted on sufferance, and that rarely, to the outermost pavilions of that sacred city, the hidden secrets of which none might dare reveal. But now the monarch of Celestial origin was an exile from the palace, whose inmost recesses were profaned by the impious presence of his foes. The tramp of an avenging army had echoed through its deserted courts; barbarian voices broke its holy hush. Foreign soldiers jested carelessly in the sacred chamber where the proudest mandarins of China had prostrated themselves in awe before the Dragon Throne. Within its violated walls strangers wandered freely where they listed; and Heaven sent not its lightnings to avenge the sacrilege. Surely the gods were sleeping!