much beauty and style in a Chinese house, and most of the
people we know have them, and we are becoming tired of being "tourists."
Let me describe these Chinese houses. Each "house" consists of anywhere
from two to a hundred little separate one-story buildings, the whole
collection inclosed by a stone wall, ten feet high, with broken glass on
top. Within this compound, or surrounding and protecting wall, the
various houses are arranged symmetrically in squares, built around
courtyards that open into one another. They are laid off with beautiful
balance, and the courtyards, large or small, are usually paved with
stone. Sometimes trees are planted in them, or bridges and rock gardens
and peony mountains are made. The finer and more numerous the houses,
the more beautiful and elaborate the architecture of these separate,
single buildings, the larger and more elaborate the courtyards, the more
filled they are with trees, lilac-bushes, stone bridges, and other
charming details. As one enters the compound, the building facing one is
the residence of the mandarin himself. Back of it lies the house of his
"number-one" wife, and back of that, each surrounded by its own
courtyard, are the houses of his other wives and of the various members
of his family. All are quite separate one from the other, yet all are
connected by passages leading through moon-gates in the dividing walls,
one courtyard opening into another in orderly, yet rather confusing,
profusion. However, we are not looking for anything grand and
imposing--a palace or the abode of some old mandarin. We know several
people who live in such stately homes, but we shall be satisfied with a
simpler house, consisting of fewer buildings and fewer courtyards.

Inside the compounds, these various separate buildings are divided by
invisible partitions into "rooms." In the ceiling one sees arrangements
by which a wall can be built in, a screen adjusted,--a big carved
screen,--or some sort of partition erected by which the house can be
further subdivided. These possibilities for subdivision, whether by
elaborately carved woodwork or by simple paper screens, are described as
rooms, whether partitioned off as such or left open as one big one.
Therefore one rents one's house according to the number of rooms it may
be divided into, whether the division is made or not. We find we cannot
possibly live in a house of less than twelve rooms, or four by ordinary
reckoning. One house (three