the base of one of its hills, feeding a pretty lake and numberless
canals. Partly destroyed in 1860, this palace was for many years as
silent as the halls of Palmyra. I have often wandered through its
neglected grounds. Now, every prominent rock is crowned with pagoda
or pavilion. There are, however, some things which the slave of the
lamp is unable to produce even at the command of an empress--there
are no venerable oaks or tall pines to lend their majesty to the
scene.

Patachu, in the adjacent hills, used to be a favourite
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summer resort for the legations and other foreigners before the
seaside became accessible by rail. Its name, signifying the "eight
great places," denotes that number of Buddhist temples, built one
above another in a winding gorge on the hillside. In the highest,
called Pearl Grotto, 1,200 feet above the sea, I have found repose
for many a summer. I am there now (June, 1906), and there I expect
to write the closing chapters of this work. These temples are at my
feet; the great city is in full view. To that shrine the emperors
sometimes made excursions to obtain a distant prospect of the world.
One of them, Kien Lung, somewhat noted as a poet, has left, inscribed
on a rock, a few lines commemorative of his visit:

"Why have I scaled this dizzy height?
Why sought this mountain den?
I tread as on enchanted ground,
Unlike the abode of men.

"Beneath my feet my realm I see
As in a map unrolled,