“We got down from the chairs and went in. At the door stood the old Chinese official who had given me the two yellow boys. He now handed me the remaining four, and we entered the monastery. Within there was an immense image of Buddha, covered with gold leaf. The temple was lofty, and dimly lighted, and the colossal image of Buddha, glittering as though of pure gold, and holding the sacred lotus in his hand, ascended into the lofty upper spaces of the temple. A circular stairway, mounted around the inner walls of the temple so that one might go up to the very face of the Buddha, sitting in his eternal calm. “All along this stairway there were images in clay, painted in divers colors. “About us as we entered the temple were crowds of Buddhist priests, their heads shaven, and wearing the characteristic dress—the long yellow robe confined at the waist by a sash, and felt-soled slippers. They moved noiselessly, as though they were the spirit company attendant on this immense image. However, we were not come to idle before the wonders of a Buddhist monastery. The Chinese official went on and we followed behind him. He passed through a door at the rear of the shrine, and we were at once in an immense, low room. It was a very big room. “One was not able to see what decorations the walls had contained, as they were heaped on all sides to the ceiling with bales of silks, furs, and embroideries; and all about were chests and boxes, piled in some confusion, as though they had just been brought in. The whole chamber was a warehouse, and it was filled to the ceiling, except for a narrow passage through the middle. This we traversed, and, coming to the end of it, passed through a yellow door into another chamber. We entered here a room of lesser dimensions; but it was fitted up after the usual idea of Chinese luxury—great mirrors around the walls; rich rugs on the floor; a variety of clocks, all going at a different hour; and many screens and tapestries. “In the middle of the room in a chair padded with silk cushions sat the Viceroy. He was an ancient man, evidently at the end of life. His face was like wrinkled parchment. The white, straggling beard remained on his face; but the whole dome of his skull was bald. It was as bare as the palm of a hand. It was yellow with age. “But the most striking thing in the place was the women. “The whole room was literally crowded with young Chinese women; the daughters of the important men of the province. They sat about on the priceless carpets, clothed in exquisite silks, embroidered with designs of their hereditary houses. They looked like quaint dolls, their hair knotted in the usual Chinese fashion with gum, and thrust through with ornaments of jade, and gold pins; their mouths painted.” “Gawd,” said Bow Bell, “what a layout for the Hun! Mohammed couldn’t beat it in his heaven. Get along!” Colonel Swank continued in his dreary, monotonous voice.