The fourth watch has sounded; now what shall we do? It comes on to rain and we're all soon wet through;

If I'd only my waterproofs, then I'd not mind,

But alas! in my hurry I left them behind.

The fifth watch now sounds-other sounds, too, we hear, For the dogs and the cocks bark and crow "dawn is near;"

I'm worse now than ever; my eyes fill with tears,

Which I've scarcely wiped dry 'ere the daylight appears.

We tidied our clothes-that was very soon done—
To the front of the "travelling pavilion we run,
Get ready the chair, and without more ado,

We start off again, just as if we all flew.

On the third morn at daylight we entered the hills;
Oh! didn't we puff and get red in the gills!

Talk of roads—those we'd had were in sooth bad enough,
But-description fails here—in short, they were rough.

Range above range of mountains meet the eye,

Whose lofty summits spear the azure sky ;

Hills in confusion rise on every side,

Their distant tips with autumn's purple dyed.

This is another heaven; the view from here
Is grandly beautiful. A rustic bridge

Spans a small mountain stream, whose waters leap

From rock to rock, till playfully they bound
Over a mimic precipice, draping its face
With a transparent veil of liquid gems
Fringed with a bordering of sun-gilt spray.
Like words of love from half-reluctant lips,
It murmuring falls, and dies away in sighs
And gentle whispers as it nears the bridge
And glides beneath it on its sinuous way,
Its glistening face now glancing in the sun,
Now hid from view.

Our gaze was soon fixed on a glorious sight,

Which filled every bosom with pride and delight;

We forgot all the straits we'd till now struggled through. As, stately and grand, the Great Wall loomed in view.

We thought how, in old times, its founder Shih-huang* Bestowed on brave Mêng-cheng-whose name lives in song

A girdle of jade in the great olden hall,

For daring to follow her lord to the Wall.

But for beautiful scenes, or thoughts such as these,
We cared not; they could'nt our weary limbs ease;
Old white-bearded rustics we passed made us feel,†
The contempt they themselves took no pains to conceal.

* The "First Emperor."

† The old men on the road pointed at them with ridicule, calling them cowards and runaways-it is presumed not very loudly.

We jogged along rapidly early and late,

The hardships we suffered 'tis needless to state,

Suffice it to say we soon other hills passed,

Where the roads were more rugged and steep than the last.

Sometimes 'twas so steep we could hardly get on,

Ropes were tied to the chair and it had to be drawn ; What with pushing and pulling we sweat, puffed and

blowed,

Till we'd got it well over a bad bit of road.

We whipped on our nags and continued our flight,
And arrived at Lan Ping on the 15th at night;
The round autumn moon shining brightly o'erhead,
Her silvery rays o'er ten thousand li shed.*

Each home has its offering of fruit, cakes and wine—
Had I been at home I'd have sure offered mine;
For there-in enjoyment my friends I should meet,
Here I should like to get something to eat.

I've no one to talk to, so I raise up my eyes

To the bright moon, and heave some tremendous long sighs;

And I say to myself, "here's a plight to be in

Right or wrong, don't I wish myself back in Pekin!

* The writer of this song, in spite of hardships, evidently had an eye to scenery, etc.

Since I left home I've all sorts of hardships endured

I couldn't be worse off I feel quite assured—

For I haven't so much as a cash in my pouch,

And for eight nights I've had the bare ground for my couch.

I would relish some wine, were it only a cup,
I really do think it would quite cheer me up,
And make me forget all my troubles;—at least
It would help to get over the mid-autumn feast.

No such luck, so I threw myself down on the ground,
And was soon fast asleep—the next morning I found,
On awaking, the bright sun far up in the sky-
He'd commenced his day's journey, so also must I.

We got ready the chair and off we all ran,

Till 'ere long we neared the well-known river Lan,
The white waves were roaring and boiling like steam,
The ferry boat, too, was adrift down the stream.

We a floating bridge crossed to the opposite shore,
Which we all reached in safety-then trudged on once

more,

O'er a long winding road,-many mountains we passed, Till we saw to our joy Jehol's pailow at last.*

Memorial arch.

Soon we got in the thick of the bustle and row—
Shops for medicine, tea, wine, tobacco, yang yao;*
It beat all the places I'd ever been in,

And put me in mind of Pouch Street in Peking.†

Gawky, white-hatted rustics, as clumsy as bears,‡ Went staring about-pedlars hawking their waresOld and young, rich and poor, men, women and boys, Seemed to try who could make the most horrible noise.

Small paper umbrellas were hung at each door,
A proceeding I'd never heard tell of before;
Why hang them up there I'm sure I can't say—
Our women would think 'twas the 35th day.§

Through hubbub and noise we continued our march
And shortly we passed the Memorial Arch;

* Opium.

+ Outside the "Front Gate" of Peking are two semicircular streets or arcades, where miscellaneous articles both for use and ornament are sold; these might reasonably be termed " Fancy Bazaars." They are called respectively East and West Pouch Lane. Lit."Spoonies."

On the 35th day after a death, paper money is hung at the doorways previous to being burnt. I cannot ascertain why umbrellas were hung up; the custom must be peculiar to the place, as must be some others I have met with.