and hedges of jasmine, and for the lotus-lakes filling the air with their perfume.
Next to the shops, the footpaths in front of them are perhaps most curious to a foreigner. In these paths, after a shower of rain, many pools occur — pools which it is impossible to cross except by wading, unless one cares to imitate an old Pekingese lady, who carried two bricks with her wherever she went, to pave her way over the puddles. As in the Commercial Road in London, crowds congregate in front of the tents and stalls of the hawkers, while the shopkeepers spread out their wares for sale so as to monopolise at least two-thirds of the pave- ment, so also in Peking, in yet greater numbers and variety, the buyers and sellers occupy every dry spot. Sometimes one can only get through the press by brushing against the dry dusty hides of a train of camels, as they are being unladen be- fore a coal-shed; and one must take care, should any of them be lying down, not to tread on their huge soft feet, for they can inflict a savage bite. In another spot it may become ne- cessary to wait until some skittish mule, tethered in front of a shop, has been removed by its leisurely master, who is smoking a pipe with the shopman inside. Once, as I threaded my way along, 1 had to climb a pile of wooden planks to reach the path beyond, and finding that a clear view could be obtained from the top of a fine shop on the other side of the road, I had my camera set up and proceeded to take a photograph. But in two or three minutes, before the picture could be secured, there was a sudden transformation of the scene. Every available spot of ground was taken up by eager but good-natured spectators; traffic was suspended; and just as I was about to expose the plate, some ingenious youth displaced the plank on which I stood, and brought me down in a
