Passing through this building, we emerged upon another courtyard, at the far end of which stood a similar pavilion. Its interior arrangement differed but slightly from the one which I have just described. There were several of these throne rooms, one behind the other, all very much alike. Along the sides of the intervening courts were low buildings of the usual Chinese type, which had served as residences for the palace attendants. We came to a large joss‐house, or temple, the interior filled with gilded altars, hideous gods, memorial tablets, bronze incense‐burners and candelabra, silken hangings, and tawdry decorations. Here the reigning monarch comes to worship on the vigil of his marriage. In amusing proximity was the Emperor’s seraglio. The gate was closed during the allied occupation, and on it was a notice to the effect that “the custodian has strict orders not to admit any person. Do not ill‐treat him if he refuses to open the gate for you. He is only obeying orders.” It was signed by General Chaffee, United States Army, and was significant of many things. So the hidden beauties still remain a mystery to the outer world. Near one of the pavilions a giant bronze attracted our attention. It represented an enormous lion, with particularly ferocious countenance, reposing on a square pedestal, one long‐clawed fore‐paw resting on the terrestrial globe. Beneath the other sprawled in agony a very diminutive lion, emblematic of China’s enemies crushed beneath her might. The sculpture seemed rather ironical at that epoch. Passing onwards through a puzzling maze of courtyards, we reached at length the most interesting portion of the palace, the private apartments of the Emperor, the Empress‐Consort, and that notorious lady the Empress‐Dowager. Like all the rest of the Forbidden City, they were merely one‐storied, yellow‐roofed pavilions separated by courts.