d seven spans. As the train moved at
snail's pace there was plenty of time to take in the desolate scene,
stretches of mudflats alternating with broad channels of swirling,
turbid water; and, unlike the Yangtse, gay with all sorts of craft, the
strong current of the Yellow River rolled along undisturbed by sweep or
screw.

Once across the Hoang Ho and you enter the loess country, dear to the
tiller of the soil, but the bane of the traveller, for the dust is often
intolerable. But there was little change in scenery until toward noon of
the following day, when the faint, broken outlines of hills appeared on
the northern horizon. As we were delayed by a little accident it was
getting dark when we rumbled along below the great wall of Peking into
the noisy station alive with the clamour of rickshaw boys and hotel
touts. In fifteen minutes I was in my comfortable quarters at the Hotel
des Wagons Lits, keen for the excitement of the first view of one of the
world's great historic capitals.

Peking is set in the middle of the large plain that stretches one
hundred miles from the Gulf of Pechihli to the Pass of Nankow. On the
north it is flanked by low hills, thus happily excluding all evil
influences, but it is open to the good, that always come from the south.
So from a Chinese point of view its location is entirely satisfactory,
but a European might think it was dangerously near the frontier for the
capital city of a great state. Years ago Gordon's advice to the Tsungli
Yamen was, "Move your Queen Bee to Nanking." And just now the same thing
is being said, only more peremptorily, by some of the Chinese
themselves. But for the moment lack of money and fear of Southern
influences have carried the day against any military advantage, and the
capital remains where it is. Perhaps the outsider may be permitted to
say she is glad, for Nanking could never hope to rival the Northern city
in charm and interest.

The most wonderful thing in Peking is the wall. That is what first holds
your attention, and you never for a moment forget it. There it stands,
aloof and remote, dominating the city it was set to defend, but not a
part of it. Huge, massive, simple, it has nothing in common with the
gaudy, over-ornamented, unrestful buildings of the Chinese, and as you
enter its shadow you seem to have passed into a different world.

Often before breakfast I climbed to the top of the wall beyond the Water
Gate for a run with Jack before the