Friday, March 30th.—(Thirteenth day from Ichang; fifty-first from Shanghai). Off at dawn, through a beautiful country. On the left bank a range of the same picturesque hills about 800 feet high, and in many reaches too steep for cultivation. On the right bank rise gentle ranges of from four to five hundred feet, cultivated to the summit, and backed by mountains rising to 2000 feet. The air, balmy in the bright morning sunshine with the odour of the rape and bean, now in full flower; the water is pellucid, and flows with a smooth current of from two to three knots, except where it is intercepted by and rushes round the numerous rocky points, which at intervals contract the channel, when it flows at double this speed. I mounted up to one of the villages, which are mostly situated at 200 feet above the present level, safe from the summer floods. This, like many others, is built astride a steep glen, filled with tall cypress, and is called Tung tsz'yu'rh or Dryanda Garden. A steep flight of steps, the lower portion neatly cut in the solid rock, leads up about a thousand feet through this prettily terraced hamlet. Leaving Dryanda village, embowered in its rich spring foliage and flowers, we passed up the “Fuh t'an,” a rapid formed by immense masses of projecting rocks, but dangerous only in the summer floods.