ght and shade as the
wind passed over it.

In the year 1908 a proclamation was issued forbidding the growth of
opium under penalty of death, and so vigorously has the law been
enforced that the poppy has completely disappeared from view, and no man
is bold enough to openly grow that which has been forbidden by the
authorities.

For ten months in the year brilliant sunshine can be counted upon, and
during that time, except for dust combined with heat or cold, the
physical condition of a journey may be comparatively easy. Ease of mind,
however, can only be attained by the philosopher who, putting away all
thought of unseemly haste, shares the Easterner's pleasures of
observation, contemplation, and wayside intercourse.

The journey from Taiyueanfu to Hwochow is accomplished in five stages,
and nothing will induce the carter to shorten or change them, though
hours may have been wasted in some narrow gully where, spite his warning
yells, his cart met another at a point where advance or retreat on
either side were alike impossible. After fierce recriminations the two
men each produce a pipe, and it is good practice for the impatient
Westerner to see them sit on their heels and talk the matter over. Time
passes, but the carter is untrammelled by any artificial measure
thereof, and after endless discussion, amid comforting whiffs of
tobacco, he proceeds to think of a plan whereby the deadlock may be
overcome. How they manage to extricate themselves, one never knows! Some
of the bank comes down, yells and shouts do their part, and at last the
traffic, which may now amount to fifty waiting carts, slowly passes by.
It is an everyday occurrence, and you ask, "Why do they not widen the
road?" "Nobody's business," is the reply. "Who would spend the money?"

It is, however, the rainy season that reveals to the full the horrors of
Chinese travelling. The _loess_ is slippery beyond description, and the
litter or cart in which you travel may be stuck for hours in a pit of
greasy mud, black by reason of the coal dust so plentiful throughout the
district, so deep that nothing but the mule's head is visible, the
plunging body being hidden in the black mass. Your only hope at such a
moment is to throw yourself with the grace of an expert gymnast on to
the bank, thankful if you escape unhurt and only bespattered by mud.
These pits are carefully kept in condition by a small group of men who
appear, as by magic, to offer assistance at the