We now resume our journey to Peking along the old highways. Four hours from Tsi-nan-foo we reached the famous Yellow River, well called ‘China's Sorrow.’ The Emperor Kia King, A.D. 1796—1811, in his will gave it this name, and speaks of it as having been from remotest ages ‘China's Sorrow.’ When we crossed it looked peaceful enough, for the waters were low, but the current was very rapid, and altogether it looked the kind of stream one would not like to trust. At this ferry there was visible one of the numerous griefs inflicted on the government by this treacherous river, viz. a fine bridge almost completely destroyed. In the centre of the stream several arches still remained. Originally the bridge seemed to have been strongly and solidly built, but the arches had been too low. The river swept under as long as it could, but when the waters rose and it gained force it rushed over and carried away a great part of the bridge.

In the hamlet above the ferry there seemed as choice a collection of ruffians as I have ever seen. They just matched the river— wild and turbulent they were, evil-looking also. Our shendzles were seized by them, and they were determined to have our patronage for the night.