Peking is a place never to be forgotten by one who has shared its social
life. In the midst of one of the most picturesque, most historical, and
most romantic cities of the world there is a cosmopolitan community that
enjoys itself to the utmost. Its talk is all of horses, polo, racing,
shooting, dinners, and dances, with the interesting background of Chinese
politics, in which things are never dull. There is always a rebellion of
some kind to furnish delightful thrills, and one never can tell when a new
political bomb will be projected from the mysterious gates of the Forbidden
City.

We spent a week in Peking and regretfully left by rail for Shanghai. _En
route_ we passed through Tsinan-fu where the previous night serious
fighting had occurred in which Japanese soldiers had joined with the rebels
against Yuan's troops. On every side there was evidence of Japan's efforts
against him. In the foreign quarter of Shanghai just behind the residence
of Mr. Sammons, the American Consul-General, one of Yuan's leading officers
had been openly murdered, and Japanese were directly concerned in the plot.
We were told that it was very difficult at that time to lease houses in the
foreign concession because wealthy Chinese who feared the wrath of one
party or the other were eager to pay almost any rent to obtain the
protection of that quarter of the city.

A short time later it became known to a few that Yuan was seriously ill. He
was suffering from Bright's disease with its consequent weakness, loss of
mental alertness, and lack of concentration. French doctors were called in,
but Yuan's wives insisted upon treating him with concoctions of their own,
and on June 6, shortly after three o'clock in the morning, he died.

Even on his death-bed Yuan endeavored to save his face before the country,
and his last words were a reiteration of what he knew no one believed. The