Between us and the sea lay the strong and well‐armed forts that had fallen before the audacious challenge of the little _Pigmy_. From their walls floated the flags of the Allies; and Cossacks, German, Japanese, and Indian troops could be seen upon their ramparts. Behind us lay the ruins of what must have been a large fortified camp just inside the Wall. To the left the town of Shanhaikwan lay penned in by its lofty but antiquated fortifications. Past it the Great Wall ran away to the west until lost to our sight among the slopes of a range of hills. Here and there the climbing line was seen topping the summit of a steep eminence, and one could appreciate the magnitude of the task of its builders when they set themselves to fence China from the ravaging hordes of the unknown lands. And away north and south stretched the thin shining line of the railway, along which the soldiers of the Czar hope to swarm one day to plant their eagles once more in Pekin, never again to be removed. As we stood on the Great Wall flocks of snipe and duck flew past us to the south, already fleeing before the approach of the dread winter of Northern Asia. We went on to pay a visit to the forts, which, when they were held by the Chinese, had been armed with powerful and modern guns. Concerning one of these forts an amusing story, illustrative of foreign guile, was told. The place was occupied by one Power, who had quartered in it a battery of artillery. In the re‐arrangement of the garrison of Shanhaikwan, at a council of the allied commanders, it was decided that this fort should be handed over to the English. But although the foreign General agreed at the time, all the subsequent endeavours of the British to induce him to name a day for the evacuation and transfer were fruitless. Regrets, excuses, indefinite promises were freely made; but some unexpected and insurmountable obstacle invariably intervened. At length when the surrender of the fort could no longer be refused, a certain date for the foreign troops to march out and the place to be handed over to the English was fixed. The day arrived. The relieving British garrison marched up to the gate. There they were met by the apparently bewildered foreign commander, who expressed considerable astonishment at their presence. When reminded that this was the day agreed upon, he smiled politely, and assured the British officers that they had made a mistake. He pointed out that they had apparently calculated by the modern style calendar, forgetting that the old style was still in vogue in some countries and had been adopted by him in his reckoning. Consequently the day had not yet come. Lost in unwilling admiration at this clever instance of duplicity, the British were obliged to withdraw.