of the last great
funeral only nine years ago. I could see the imperial yellow bier
slowly, solemnly, borne over the gray Peking hills. In it lay the
dead body of the Dowager Empress, Tz'u-hsi--most dreaded yet most
beloved--the greatest empress of the last century, the woman who
tasted of life and power through the sweetest joys to their bitter
core.

We spent the first night at an inn on the outskirts of a tiny
village. It was a clean inn, too--very different from those in south
China. The great courtyard was crowded with arriving carts. In the
kitchen dozens of tired _mafus_ were noisily gulping huge bowls of
macaroni, and others, stretched upon the _kang_, had already become
mere, shapeless bundles of dirty rags. After dinner Smith and I
wandered outside the court. An open-air theater was in full
operation a few yards from the inn, and all the village had gathered
in the street. But we were of more interest to the audience than the
drama itself, and in an instant a score of men and women had
surrounded us. They were all good-natured but frankly curious.
Finally an old man joined the crowd. "Why," said he, "there are two
foreigners!" Immediately the hum of voices ceased, for Age was
speaking. "They've got foreign clothes," he exclaimed; "and what
funny hats! It is true that foreign hats are much bigger than
Chinese caps, and they cost a lot more, too! See that gun the tall
one is carrying! He could shoot those pigeons over there as easily
as not--all of them with one shot--probably he will in a minute."

The old man continued the lecture until we strolled back to the inn.
Undoubtedly he is still discussing us, for there is little to talk
about in a Chinese village, except crops and weather and local
gossip.

We reached the Eastern Tombs in the late afternoon of the same day.
Emerging from a rocky gateway on the summit of a hill, we had the
whole panorama of the _Tung Ling_ spread out before us. It was like
a vast green sea where wave after wave of splendid forests rolled
away to the blue haze of distant mountains.

The islands in this forest-ocean were the yellow-roofed tombs, which
gave back the sun in a thousand points of golden light. After the
monotonous brown of the bare north China hills, the vivid green of
the trees was as refreshing as finding an unknown oasis in a sandy
desert. To the right was the picturesque village of Ma-lin-yu, the
residence of Duke Chou.

From the wide veranda of the charming te