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hoofs on the sidewalk, and looking over the porch railing I saw horses below.  The boy came tearing upstairs to tell us the cost for the day, and we arranged a bargain.  We dressed and ate our breakfast and in due time I was astride of a white mare and Dorothy of a bay gelding, and the [[underline]] ma-fu [[/underline]] followed on a little bay.  We followed the paths along the lake to what is known as the Long Bridge.  In one place we passed a section where the city wall has been torn down, and where the debris of bricks and small stone is being used to make a new boulevard, which will, in all probability, eventually encircle the lake.  We went around back of Thunder Peak, through the court of the Monastery of Pure Compassion, and out among the rice fields into the hills.  Out among hills and paddies here it reminds me much more of Japan than of anything else I have seen in China.  Many of the hills are adorned with graves, most of which are overgrown with underbrush and trees until one would not know them save for the protection their sanctity gives to the vegetation.  Some of these graves are exceedingly elaborate, high mounds, with stone stages, terraces, flights of steps, tablets, arches and the like.  Along the valley to Tiger Run one grave particularly impressed me.  It had once been a very imposing one with a semi-circular walled pool in front, two high stone columns reflected in the pool, a fine approach, and then the grave itself with its tablets, just at the foot of the hill.  Now there is a tangle of small trees and brush.  The two pillars stand pathetically reminiscent among the green things, and vines clamber over the broken stone coping of the pool.  The moisture helps the growth of abundant vegetation over the hills, and the innumerable graves preserve it, though the population is not so dense as to constitute a serious menace to every blade of grass as happens in places in the north.

We came to the Monastery of Buddha's Image, where the main image is said to be modelled over the mummy of a priest who died here a thousand years ago.  The authenticity of this is difficult to prove, for the image looks like any other of its kinds, though tablets attest the genuineness of the figure.  This monastery is a rambling old place, and in one hall we drank tea, and from another stepped out to a little pavilion on the hillside at the