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An ordinary Chinese road.

menced to ascend the course of a tributary which comes in from the south. This stream roughly parallels the course of the main river. All that separates them is an immense mountain ridge, rising ten to twelve thousand feet above the river bed.

The valley threads a devious course between steep, high mountains. It is a mere ravine, on a gigantic scale, the stream bed occupying all the space at the bottom. Carved in the sides of this ravine is an execrable trail, which constitutes the road. It is impossible for this trail to follow at a uniform height above the water, because precipitous spurs descend to the banks of the stream, and the path must be carried over them. Sometimes the way leads by the side of the river, winding between great rocks, masses of limestone, and flowers and trees of every variety, with Reeves pheasants poising their long tails above the swollen waters. Or it may ascend four thousand feet to the bare, rocky heights, in order to surmount one of the spurs. Again it descends to the river bank. Carlyle's description of a road in the Andes might well apply to such a place:

"For you fare along, on some narrow roadway, through stony labyrinths; huge rock mountains hanging over your head on this hand; and under your feet on that, the roar of mountain cataracts, horror of bottomless chasms; the very winds and echoes howling on you in an almost preternatural manner. Towering rock barriers rise sky-high before you and behind you and around you. The roadway is narrow; footing none of the best. Sharp turns there are, where it will behoove you to mind your paces; one false step and you will need no second; in the gloomy jaws of the abyss you vanish, and the spectral winds howl requiem."

Imagine the situation of those travelers, isolated from the rest of the world, lost in the depths of that gigantic gorge. Day after day they sit in their sedan chairs, as they are borne up that long defile. Marble peaks look down on them, the torrent roars below. Tired coolies tug and pant and sweat, as they seek a precarious foothold in the steps cut from the solid rock. Ponies, led behind the chair, jingle their bells as they hobble up the rocky road.

And yet this is one of the great commercial highways of that part of the world. In spite of the fact that the rainy season, the one least suitable for travel, had begun, a large traffic was going forward. going forward. They met train after train of coolies, carrying the larvae of the wax insect. A train of coolies,

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PIONEERING IN FAR WESTERN CHINA.

I may explain, means a string of one hundred men, running in Indian file, cach man carrying his pole and baskets. The white wax, which is produced by the wax insect when developed on a species of ash under suitable conditions, is one of the most profitable products of Western China. They also met trains of miserable ponies, laden with copper, tin and zinc from the mines of Yunnan. These metals were on their way to shipment down the Yangtze. For return loads the ponies carry "cotton cloth, silk cap covers and notions."

At

Thus they proceeded steadily up the valley, gradually leaving behind them the low moisture-laden basin, with its bamboos, banians and warm climate, whence they came; gradually approaching the high, dry plateau of Yunnan. On the tenth day, the valley they had been ascending came to a sudden and romantic termination. this point, the white, limestone cliffs, between whose walls they had been slowly toiling, approach to within a few yards of each other, and abut upon a transverse wall two thousand feet high, apparently an insurmountable barrier to further advance. telling the story afterwards, Van Buren said:

In

"Looking up from the crystal stream gushing forth from a cavern at our feet, and being told that the way led up and over this barrier, we experienced the sensation we felt as children when we read of Jack preparing to ascend his beanstalk and mount into re

Bamboo grove in rice fields.

River scene in Western China.

75

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gions unknown and possessing all the attractions of novelty. It was a most dramatic scene, apart from the intrinsic beauty of the landscape, and well repaid us for the toil we had endured to reach it.

"We ascended a stony, zig-zag path, hidden in low verdure, a couple of hours' steady climbing, and lo! we reach the summit of the ridge, and find ourselves suddenly transferred to an absolutely new land, as different from what we had left behind us as though we had crossed the Mediterranean from Europe to Africa. We were at last on the Yunnan plateau. The scene reminded us of a typical valley in the west of Ireland-level bog-land, enclosed by mountains, and a cold, drizzly rain, with the mountain summits covered by mist. Our resting place for that night was the small village of "Five Stockades," where the usual odors were smothered in the sweet smell of burning peat, which is here.

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used for fuel, and which-with the accompaniment of excellent potatoes for supper-completed the illusion of having suddenly reached the Emerald Isle."

How they enjoyed galloping their ponies over the fresh, breezy uplands, where wood-strawberries carpeted the hills, and wild violets actually scented the pine woods in places! Where rooks and cuckoos were calling, and the shadows were long and soft beside the pleasant pastures where cattle, sheep, goats, pigs and ponies feed together in harmony. Seventy-two degrees seemed to be the ordinary temperature for a day in June: the nights are ever cool.

To cover the distance of four hundred and eighty miles from Sui Fu to Yunnan Fu, twenty-four days of actual traveling were required; thirty, including delays. On those mountain roads the men cannot average more than twenty miles a day. On this long stretch there are only two walled cities. This shows what a contrast there is between the mountainous region of Yunnan and the Red Basin, with its swarming millions. In the Red Basin you find walled cities every thirty miles on an average.

One of these two walled towns is the prefectural city of Chaotung, with thirty thousand inhabitants, built in the midst of a "dry but fertile" plain of considerable extent, being some ten miles wide by about twenty miles long (north by south.) The city stands about seven thousand feet above sealevel, and the plain is surrounded by rugged mountains, which rise one to two thousand feet higher. Reaching the edge of the plain, our travelers ascended to eight thousand feet to cross the pass of Great Spring.

"The view from the summit extended over ridge upon ridge of steep, rugged mountains as far as the eye could reach, and it being a fine, clear day, we sat long and enjoyed the view, while our coolies took a well deserved rest in the grove which over-shadowed the gushing water."

I cannot forfear quoting the above lines from Van Buren's narrative, so

vivid a picture does it present.

So they continued to the south. At times their path would lead through narrow valleys, along the banks of some tree-lined stream, with rich fields and good farm-houses, when the sudden ascent of a steep barrier at the top of the valley would take them into wild, uninhabited country. One day they descended slopes where the knobs of white limestone, of all shapes and sizes, projecting from the red soil, produced the effect of a huge graveyard adorned with rows of monotonous

tombstones.

At some of the inns where they put up they found their shelter uncomfortably cold and leaky, having some trouble to shift their traveling beds into dry spots, although the fresh, sweet airs reconciled them to any amount of discomfort when they thought of their friends in the Yangtze Valley, stewing in the still, hothouse atmosphere which distinguishes that valley during the summer.

Pressing onward toward the south, now halting for a couple of days to rest the coolies; again stopped by heavy rains, which rendered the country impassable while they lasted; descending the muddy paths through fine woods of walnut and fir trees; crossing ridge after ridge of low hills, where the vivid green of the fresh grass made a lovely setting for the dark pine forests, and where they saw more timber than in any part of China they had visited before, they approached the capital.

One day they ascended a final ridge, and looked down on the pagodas and walls of Yunnan Fu, with their setting. of bright green rice fields, and their lake gleaming in the sunlight.

"Then felt they like some watcher of the skies,

When a new planet swims into his ken: Or like stout Cortez when with eagle

eyes

He stared at the Pacific-and all his

men

Looked at each other with a wild sur

mise

Silent upon a peak in Darien.”

Wild Pastures

By Percy Walton Whitaker

T

HE Skeems ranch in Hungry Hollow was picturesque, but it is doubtful whether the Skeems family ever noticed it. They had other things to do; and wringing a living from a farm composed in equal parts of rocky, barren soil, and a bog formed by the seepage from the beautiful everlasting hills, is not conducive to forming a taste for landscape effects. A long rolling stretch of hills, swelling range after range, and rising in symmetrical slopes to the peak of Saddleback Mountain was the vista fronting the farm house. And looking through the gap the eye was ravished with the dark green of the Santa Clara orchards, running parallel with the blue waters of San Francisco Bay. The golden haze suspended over mountain, valley and bay, softened the fiery heat streams pouring down from the August sun.

A tortuous road winding through a thousand hills and hollows, climbed the mountain in steep grades from the valley. The winter rains had washed out deep ruts, until it resembled the bed of a torrent, and the scorching summer sun now baked and crumbled the earth into dust which filled the ruts. Nature was the only care-taker, for the Skeems family and a few Portuguese ranchers were the only tenants of the hillside farms.

Across the divide lived lived Gurlem Noles, herder for Raminez, the rich Portuguese flockmaster, and Bud Noles lived with his father. Gurlem would not part with his son, for he was tied to his dead wife, Hulda, whom he had wooed in a little German village forty years ago, and Raminez

would not pay out unnecessary money when the boy would stay on for nothing, so Bud tended camp, and did the cooking for his keep, and all were content.

On a hot August evening, Bud Noles climbed the last hill below the Skeems ranch, and paused for breath, sitting in the shade of a clump of willows near a tiny foaming creek. The calm lines of his stolid face showed that nothing eventful had happened in his twenty years of life. His eyes were gray, set straight in the head, and the heavy features, with prominent jaw, gave evidence of a long line of peasant ancestors.

Bud sat in the shade waiting patiently, looking between pauses of his whittling up the white, dusty road towards the Skeems farm. Raminez, the flockmaster, rode by, and his swarthy face wrinkled into a grin as he saw the lad.

"Waiting for Daisy, eh, is it? It will soon be dark on Saddleback, and she is not so beautiful for you to lose your way," he said maliciously.

"I ain't a-caring what you say 'bout Daisy, an' I want to tell you this-she is good enough for me," replied Bud.

"Ha, ha! We will not quarrel, for you are very right, Daisy is a good girl," and Raminez rode away chuckling at the boy's answer. Bud watched him until he disappeared into the valley, and his face regained its usual calm expression. As the sun sank slowly behind the Saddleback, a wistful look came into his eyes, and he sprang to his feet. A girl wearing an old, faded gingham dress was coming down the hill.

Daisy Skeems was sometimes de

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