ONCE more the road takes a dive downwards towards a better class of houses, set off by a group of fine old weeping willows, wheels round them—again ascends, and behold, far before us, and rather to our right on the very top of a commanding hill, rising high above the surrounding level, stands nobly out from the sky the Pharos-like pagoda of Lanchow, very much resembling indeed, from our point of view, a majestic lighthouse perched on a bold headland, with its closely aggregated, projecting eaves stuck out from its sides as if it were the petrified body of a mammoth centipede. This edifice was an excellent landmark, as our course lay through the town of Lanchow, and nothing further was required but to take the first by-lane or path that led off in its direction. It proved a good two hours' ride, through, at first, segregated farm steadings, slowly improving the farther we bent into the plain—then neat cottages gathered between them, and at last orchard, garden, paddock, and village entirely supplanted the wide fields—becoming treeshaded lanes wound out and in, doubled back and twisted forward, until extrication from the pleasant maze looked all but feasible.

A greater turn than usual carried us within sight of a high parapeted brick wall, with two-storied towers at each angle, almost hid in the foliage of massive old willows growing within the enclosure.