One of the most interesting objects in the vicinity of Pekin previous to 1860 was “Yuen-ming Yuen,” or the summer palace of the emperor, Kien Loong.  It was about eight miles northwest of the city, and bore the relation to Pekin that Versailles does to Paris.  I say was, because it was ravaged by the English and French forces in their advance upon the Chinese capital, and all the largest and best of the buildings were burned.  The country was hilly, and advantage was taken of this fact, so that the park presented every variety of hill, dale, woodland, lawn, garden, and meadow, interspersed with canals, pools, rivulets, and lakes, with their banks in imitation of nature.  The park contained about twelve square miles, and there were nearly forty houses for the residence of the emperor’s ministers, each of them surrounded with buildings for large retinues of servants.  The summer palace, or central hall of reception, was an elaborate structure, and when it was occupied by the French army thousands of yards of the finest silk and crape were found there.  These articles were so abundant that the soldiers used them for bed clothes and to wrap around other plunder.  The cost of this palace amounted to millions of dollars, and the blow was severely felt by the Chinese government.  The park is still worth a visit, but less so than before the destruction of the palace.

In the country around Pekin there are many private burying grounds belonging to families; the Chinese do not, like ourselves, bury their dead in common cemeteries, but each family has a plot of its own.  Sometimes a few families combine and own a place together; they generally select a spot in a grove of trees, and make it as attractive as possible.  The Chinese are more careful of their resting places after death than before it; a wealthy man will live in a miserable hovel, but he looks forward to a commodious tomb beneath pretty shade trees.  The tender regard for the dead is an admirable trait in the Chinese character, and springs, no doubt, from that filial piety which is so deeply engraved on the Oriental mind.

[Illustration:  COMFORTS AND CONVENIENCES.]

[Illustration:  FILIAL AFFECTION.]

In Europe and America it is the custom not to mention coffins in polite society, and the contemplation of one is always mournful.  But in China a coffin is a thing to be made a show of, like a piano.  In many houses there is a room set apart for the coffins of the members of the family, and the owners point them out with pride.  They practice economy to lay themselves out better than their rivals, and sometimes a man who has made a good thing by swindling or robbing somebody, will use the profits in buying a coffin, just as an American would treat himself to a gold watch or diamond pin.  The most elegant gift that a child can make to his sick father is a coffin that he has paid for out of his own labor; it is not considered a hint to the old gentleman to hand in his checks and get out of the way, but rather as a mark of devotion which all good boys should imitate.  The coffins are finely ornamented, according to the circumstances of the owner, and I have heard that sometimes a thief will steal a fine one and commit suicide—­first arranging with his friends to bury him in it before his theft is discovered.  If he is not found out he thinks he has made a good thing of it.