Just outside the town of Chang San Hien there is a beautiful piece of water, crossed by a long, flat, stone bridge. At intervals, on the outside of the parapet, are gargoyles, the water running off from the open mouths of finely carved dragons' heads. At the west end of this bridge there is a temple, though now neglected and fast becoming a ruin. When first built, it must have been very imposing. There could hardly be a finer site. The water spreads out in front of it, and it is surrounded by a raised embankment, with an ornamental stone parapet. All around the plain is well wooded. The roads are avenues of fine elm, beech, and willow trees. In the distance the hills from which the place takes its name (‘Long Hill Town’) have soft, flowing outlines, and its blue is as intense as the blue of the sky, but in tint a little deeper.

We bade farewell to Chang San Hien, thinking that much kindliness to foreigners existed amongst the people.

Tseu Ping Hien is a town full of pei-lows. One in the centre of the town is of great beauty. It is very ancient; the people around could not tell how old it was—an immense mass of stone, that spoke volumes for the skill of the architects.