A raised foundation, with tier above tier of carved white marble balustrades, slopes up to a paved terrace on which stands a large one‐storied pavilion. Its double roof blazes with lustrous yellow tiles; the gables are ornamented with weird porcelain monsters. The far‐projecting eaves, shading a deep verandah, are supported by many pillars. From the courtyard steps on either side of the sloping marble slab, curiously carved with fantastic designs of dragons and known as the Spirit Path, lead up to the terrace, on which are large bronze incense‐burners, urns, life‐size storks, and other birds and animals, with marble images of the sacred tortoise. From the verandah many doors lead into the vast and gloomy interior. A lofty central chamber, supported by gilded columns, contains a high daïs, on which stands a throne of gilt and carved wood with bronze urns and incense‐burners around it. The daïs is surrounded by gilded railings and led up to by a flight of half a dozen steps. Behind it is a high screen of carved wood. Screen, walls, and pillars are gay with quaint designs of writhing, coiling dragons in gold and vivid hues, or hung with huge tablets inscribed with Chinese characters. The ceiling is gorgeously painted. The whole a wonderful medley of barbaric gaudiness. From the principal chamber a few smaller rooms lead off, crammed with wooden chests containing piles of manuscripts. As we wandered about this pavilion our movements were closely watched by the custodians; for many of the Imperial eunuchs had been permitted to remain in the palace and entrusted with the keys and charge of the various buildings. As, after the fairly exhaustive looting that took place on the capture of the city, no further plundering was allowed, these men were instructed to watch over the safety of the contents of the palace that had escaped the first marauders; and they kept a sharp eye on visitors who endeavoured to secure mementoes. Despite their vigilance, one of our party succeeded in carrying off a little souvenir which he found in a chamber off the throne room. It was a small, flat candlestick, which its finder hoped would prove to be gold. It was only of brass, however, as he subsequently discovered; and he commented disgustedly on the parsimony of a monarch who could allow so mean a metal within his palace. In the usual spirit of tourists, to whom nothing is sacred, we each reposed for a few moments in the Emperor’s gilded chair, so that we could boast of once having occupied the Throne of China. I doubt if future historians will record our names among those who have assumed that exalted position.