Trotting on, we reached a long village bordering the road on each side. It was quite a populous and thriving place. The inhabitants looked sleek and content; and shops stocked with gay garments or weird forms of food abounded. Half‐way down on the left‐hand side a narrow lane led off from the highway. At the corner stood a sign‐post with the words, “Au palais de l’été.” It was our road. We turned our ponies down it, nothing loth, I warrant, to exchange the hard stone flags for the soft ground now underfoot. We were soon clear of the houses and among the fields. Passing a belt of trees that had hitherto obstructed our view, we saw ahead of us a long stretch of low, dark hills. Far away to our left front, from a prominent knoll a tall, slender pagoda rose up boldly to the sky, and straight before us, standing out on the face of the hills, was a confused mass of buildings—the Summer Palace. We broke into a brisk canter, the canter became a gallop, and we raced towards our goal. As we drew nearer, and could more clearly distinguish the aspect of the buildings, we slackened speed. On the summit was a temple which, so one of our party who had visited the place before told us, was known as the Hall of Ten Thousand Ages. Below it stood a curious circular edifice, with a triple yellow roof. It was built on a huge square foundation, on the face of which were the lines of a diamond‐shaped figure. These we afterwards found to be diagonal staircases ascending to the superstructure which was the Empress‐Dowager’s own particular temple. Trees hid the lower portion and concealed from our view a lovely lake that lies at the foot of the hills. Passing onwards by a high‐walled enclosure, we reached a wide open space, at the far end of which were the buildings of the palace proper. Out in the centre of it stood one of those Chinese paradoxes—a gateway without a wall, similar to the one at the Great Lama Temple. It was gaily painted with weird designs in bright colours. We rode past it and reached the entrance to the outer courtyard. At it was a guard of an Indian infantry regiment which was quartered in the Summer Palace. Dismounting, we passed through the gate and found ourselves in a large court. Facing us was a long, low building of the conventional Chinese type. It was a temple. On the verandah stood large bronze storks and dragons. We had seen too many similar joss‐houses to care to visit it; so we secured a sepoy to guide us through the labyrinth of courts to the pavilion that was occupied as a mess by the officers of the troops garrisoning the palace—a British Field Battery and the Indian regiment. Here we were warmly welcomed and ushered into a building of particular historical interest; for in this very pavilion the Emperor had been confined.