coolies, hucksters, beggars, foreigners--all
may move freely within the sacred precincts where formerly none but
the high and mighty might venture.

The streets are marvelous. Those in the legation quarter are well paved,
European, and stupid; but those in the Chinese and Tartar cities are
full of excitement. A few are wide, but the majority are narrow, winding
alleys, and all alike are packed and crowded with people and animals and
vehicles of all kinds. Walking is a matter of shoving oneself through
the throng, dodging under camels' noses, avoiding wheelbarrows, bumping
against donkeys, standing aside to let officials' carriages go
by,--antiquated European carriages, very shabby but surrounded by
outriders, mounted on shaggy Mongolian ponies, who gallop ahead and
clear the way. The horses can't be guided from behind; the coachman sits
on the box and holds the reins and looks impressive, but the real work
is done by the _mafu_ or groom. When it comes to turning a corner,
passing a camel-train, or other obstacle, the _mafu_ is obliged to leap
down from his seat, seize the bridle, and lead the horses round whatever
obstruction there may be. At other times, when not leading the horses,
the _mafu_ sits on the box and shouts to clear the way. I tell you,
progress in a carriage is a noisy affair,--what with the rattling of the
old vehicle, the clanking of the brass-mounted harness, the yells and
screams of the groom, and the yells and shouts of the crowds refusing to
give way. It's barbaric, but has a certain style and swing.

Don't think there is any speed to a carriage. Oh, no. Despite the noise
and rattle and apparent progress, the progress itself is very slow. At
the rate of two miles an hour, possibly. We went out for a drive in the
minister's carriage the other day, a comfortable victoria, drawn by a
pair of very fat, very sorrel horses, and we skimmed along, as I say, at
the rate of two miles an hour when the going was good. All we passed
were the pedestrians,--a few of them,--and we usually found ourselves
tailing along behind a camel-train or waiting for a wheelbarrow to get
out of the way. In the side streets, or _hutungs_, we shouted
ourselves along at a snail's pace, cleaving the dense throngs of
inattentive citizens, whose right to the middle of the road was as
great as ours, and who didn't purpose to be disturbed. Once on turning
a corner, the groom pulled the bridle off one of the horses. Off it
slipped into