We were living in the far West of China, 1500 miles from the sea, 500 miles beyond the reach of steamers, and against its becoming too hot in Chungking, a large city, the commercial Capital of Szechuan, all shut in by walls, and so full of houses as not to have an available breathing space left empty, we had rented a hill side on which to build ourselves a Summer cottage. But the Magistrate had stopped our building on the pretext that the country people were so much opposed to foreigners he dared not sanction our living amongst them; then made a great favour of having persuaded a certain Farmer to have us as tenants, and suggested that, if we went out to him for three months, perhaps gradually the people might become accustomed to us.

It was very hot in the daytime and all day long I was shut up in the one Farm house sittingroom, so I started a Diary for much the same reason probably, that I have often observed people do so on a Sea Voyage. They generally do not keep it up till the end, neither did I; but I noted down every thing I could observe of interest, as long as I wrote in it, and here it is, recalling many simple pleasures and some painful days.