Monday morning we were off again, our destination this time being Chi-nan-fu, the capital of Shantung. We had two days' journey before us ere we could reach it, passing through several cities of considerable size. We were obliged to break our journey for the night at a place which could only afford us the very poorest accommodation. The one room we could get was damp and dirty, the air freely coming through the door and broken paper windows. Our ‘guide, philosopher, and friend,’ the Rev. A. G. Jones, an experienced Chinese traveller, said that the cold was a trouble that could be easily dealt with; the temperature could be raised, though at the expense of darkening the atmosphere. With this assurance we left him to try the experiment. He accordingly sent out for a large bundle of kao-liang stalks (red millet) about as thick as your finger, and eight or ten feet in length, and with these he made a large bonfire on the mud floor. The temperature was speedily raised, but the smoke was suffocating, and we retired to rest with weeping eyes, which we were bidden not to wipe, as the tears flowing from closed eyes are the best protection against smoke. My bed that night was something like a five-barred gate resting on two trestles, with some kao-liang stalks spread on the top, and on the top of that a grass mat, and then my bedding.