Peking, May 31.
In summer time, when Chinese official minds work sluggishly for the interviewer and when diplomatic minds turn lightly to thoughts of Peitaiho and the Hills, when nobody can be found at home and when the possibilities of a reerudescence of the chronic midsummer wax madness make the Chinese with information cautious, it is not bad policy to go to the Central Park sometimes and assume the air of one who does not care whether the press fails or flourishes. It is impossible for anyone who has lived in Peking a few years to sit on a bench under the cypresses for an hour without seeing half a dozen familiar Chinese friends go by, all with nothing to do but ejaculate over the beauty of the peonies, ogle the Southern ladies who, unlike the Pekinese, take their airings unattended, and trade titbits of libel, scandal, slander, and an occasional crumb of news with the chance encounter. It is not as easy, of course, to find one's friends now as it was last year when the leopard was there. It was then possible, by pushing hither and you through the hypnotized crowd that stood before the dozing man-eater's four by six cage, to single out any number of news "prospects," lead them away to a tea table while still in their awe-struck coma and proceed to operate upon them. Now one must sit on a bench and let any number of domestic parades go by before a genuine "prospect" happens along.
PaTeRFAMILlas eT AL.
These domestic parades get rather monotonous. First comes the head of the house attired in expensive silks and crowned with a 30-cent straw hat, imported but not from a long way off. He smokes a sulphurous cigar, flourishes a silver-headed cane in his right hand and tows a specimen of his male offspring with his left. Behind toddle the ladies of- the house, painfully neat end sleek, and the rear is brought up by the amahs and babies making valiant efforts shout each other down.
Thousands of these clan—units pass and repass and one begins to regret the expenditure of ten coppers at the gate, when somebody who has consistently refused to see you in his yamen strolls up and, under the influence of the sylvan balm, proceeds to be cordial After the usual discussion of personalities, you ask the victim what the Tuchuns are doing now.
Fun ror THe Forvowsrs.
"Um-m-m," says he, "they're getting ready to go now and they haven't come in vain. Chang Tso-lin has his three million. He threatened to leave for Mukden the
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.