While the capital of the Celestial Kingdom languished in the grasp of the accursed barbarian, admittance to the Forbidden City was granted to anyone who obtained a written order from one of the Legations. This was readily given to officers of the armies of occupation. Provided with it and a Chinese‐speaking guide, a party of us set out one day from the British Legation to explore the mysteries of the Emperor’s abode. A short ricksha ride brought us to the Imperial city. A rough paved road through it led to the gateway of the Palace, at which stood a guard of stalwart American soldiers. Quitting our rickshas, we presented our pass to the sergeant in command. The gates were thrown open, and we were permitted to enter the sacred portals. Before us lay a large paved courtyard, the grass springing up between the stone flags, leading to a long, single‐storied pavilion, seemingly crushed beneath the weight of its wide‐spreading yellow‐tiled double roof. To one who has imagined undreamt‐of luxury and magnificence in the residence of the Emperor of China the reality comes as a sad disappointment. The Palace, far from being a pile of splendid and ornate architecture, consists of a number of detached single‐storied buildings, one behind the other, separated by immense paved courtyards, along the sides of which are the residences of the servants and attendants. The outer pavilions are a series of throne rooms, in which audience is given according to the rank of the individual admitted to the presence in inverse ratio to his importance. Thus, the first nearest the gate suffices for the reception of the smaller mandarins or envoys of petty States, the next for higher notabilities or ambassadors of greater nations, and so on. The description of one of these throne rooms will serve for all.