Above the town the island rises in terraced slopes to the summit, four to six hundred feet high, the regular outline of which was broken by mounds of upturned earth that marked the beginning of a new fort. On the hillside are long stone walls with gates at intervals, which date from the Chinese occupation, built by them, not to keep the enemy out in time of war, but to keep their own soldiers in. Well‐laid roads lead to the summit or round the island. The slopes are green with small shrubs and grass, but nothing worthy of the name of tree is apparent. Towards the eastern end were the rifle‐ranges, near which a fort was being constructed. In the harbour was a powerful squadron of British battleships and cruisers; for Wei‐hai‐wei is the summer rendezvous of our fleet in Chinese waters. To the south the mainland lay in a semicircle. Rugged, barren hills rise abruptly—in many places almost from the water’s edge. Where the ground slopes more gently back from the sea lines of substantial stone barracks have been erected for the Chinese Regiment, with excellent officers’ quarters and a good mess. Nestling among trees—almost the only ones to be seen on the iron‐bound coast—lies a large village. East of it a long triangle of embrasured stone wall—the base on the shore, the apex half‐way up the hill behind—guards the original town of Wei‐hai‐wei, which still owns Chinese sovereignty, though all the country round is British territory. A few good bungalows and a large and well‐built hotel mark where the future Brighton of North China has already begun to claim a recognition; for in the summer months the European residents of Tientsin, Pekin, even of Shanghai are commencing to congregate there in search of cool breezes and a healthy climate. High up above all towers the chain of rugged hills from whose summits the victorious Japanese gazed down on the wrecked Chinese fleet and the battered forts of the island. Behind it, forty miles away, lies the little‐known treaty port of Chifu with its prosperous foreign settlement.