Our priestly guide refused to sell us any of these figures, though evidently sorely tempted by the sight of the almighty dollar. He evidently refrained from doing so only through fear of being found out, not through any respect for his sacred images. Having gazed into Buddha’s face and vainly endeavoured to experience the feeling of rapture that it is supposed to produce, we passed out to a balcony that ran round the exterior of the building. We were high up above the ground, and we looked down upon the jumble of quaint, yellow gables, the courtyards with their lounging groups of bullet‐headed priests, and away over the panorama of Pekin to where the tall buildings of the Imperial city rose above a sea of low roofs. On descending again into the temple, we looked at the altars with tawdry ornaments, artificial flowers, faded hangings, and fantastic gods, and then passed out to the court. Our guide, having extracted alms from us, led us to another but smaller temple, and handed us over to its custodian priest, who unlocked the door and led us within. Round the walls were life‐sized gilt images—all of one design, and an exceedingly indecent design it was; and we had little respect for the morals of the ancient Chinese deified hero it represented. After visiting several other buildings containing little of interest, we induced some of the monks to let us photograph them. They were pleased and flattered at the idea, and posed readily; indeed, one who had been standing at the other side of the courtyard, seeing what was going on, rushed across and insisted on joining the group, anxious that his features, too, should be handed down to posterity. Throwing them a handful of small coins, which caused a very undignified scramble, we passed out of the gate. Seating ourselves in our rickshas, we drove to the Temple of Confucius, close by. It is devoted to the present Chinese faith, which is a mixture of ancestor‐worship and Confucianism, and consists of several buildings standing in pretty, tree‐shaded courts. The main temple contains long altars, on which are nothing but tablets with Chinese inscriptions—maxims of the worthy sage. Larger tablets hang on the walls. Confucian chapels are not interesting; and we were disappointed at the bareness of the interior. Similar but smaller buildings stood at the end of avenues in the grounds, but none repaid a visit.