Twenty-five years ago during the winter, especially with plenty of snow on the ground, the hills of Chinkiang were a sporteman's paradise, though now, 80 I am told, the hills are pretty well depleted of game. In my time wild pigs, deer and pheasants could be got in pleni ty and the big hongs in Shanghai used to make up big shooting par-at Chinese New Year and al-came back well loaded. Jardine's party, under the leadership of Duncan Glass,—the most prominent amongst them. Good old
best. sportsmen ites Duncan Glass was surely one ever had amongst them, aad Pes was sight worth seeing when the party ler his leadership returned to Chinkiang after their four days outing.
The boom of the houseboat groaned under the weight of pigs, deer and pheasant, not to mention other good things, and every inch of deck space was strewn with the results of their prowess. Now the farther slope of the farther range of hills seems to be the only place where good sport can be had, and I suppose that will soon be swept bare like the rest of the former good hunting grounds.
I think the most prominent incident, and the most tragic, during my stay in Chinkiang happened on Christmas Day 1891, when the old river steamer Shanghai, belonging to Butterfield & Swire, was burned on her journey from Chinkiang to Necking. She arrived at 7 a.m., and everything seemed to be safe and in good order when she left. At 9.90 a.m. I was taking a walk on the Buad with another man, and I remember it was a clear, frosty morning, when we were overtaken by a tall man in dressing gown and slippers, carrying a small despatch
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.