ABOUT eighteen miles from our last night's quarters the country became dotted here and there with meagre squares of meadow land, on which the diminutive black goat of the country, or a scraggy, sore-backed donkey, grazed in peaceful comfort; while sundry hares, smaller and lazier than our own, scampered with easy pace from the path of the intruders to seek a nest in the nearest ling-bush. ‘Far in the downy cloud,’ regardless of the sun's intensity in the fierceness of the July midday, the little North China skylark, the Pehling, or ‘Hundred-spirited bird,’ ‘blithesome and cumberless’ as its congener in our own land, though imperceptible to the eye, inspiringly threw out its gushing song with the most lively abandon — the thrilling melodious gusts descending from the heavenly promenade like those of

Soon the glad song drives away one-half of our fatigue as we plod on, eager for the first inn, where breakfast may be got ready in some way or other.

An old man is at work in a grass-plot cutting the short thin herbage, and as our road is not altogether well marked out, we cross over to inquire. Poor old fellow! he is in a great state of unfeigned alarm at our sudden appearance, and makes an attempt to run away, but a second thought convinces him that his weak limbs could not carry him beyond the field, so he stands still, ready to supplicate for pity.