A rapid descent from Bou-Kteun to the bed of a river of the same name, and a pursuit of the latter to its confluence with the river Biban, lead through impressive ravines to the Iron Gates.  The waters of the Biban, impregnated with magnesia, leave their white traces on the bottoms of the precipices which enclose them.  The mules pick their way over paths of terrible inclination.  At length, at a turn in the overhanging reddish cliffs, where a hundred men could hold in check an entire army, we find ourselves in front of the first gate.  It is a round arch four yards in width, pierced by Nature between the rocks.  The second is at twenty paces off, and two others are found at a short distance.  Between the first and second we observe, chiseled in the stone above the reach of the water, “L’Armee Francaise, 1839,” engraved by the sappers attached to the army of the duke of Orleans on the passage of the expedition.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A CHINESE STORY.

  None are so wise as they who make pretence
  To know what fate conceals from mortal sense. 
  This moral from a tale of Ho-hang-ho
  Might have been drawn a thousand years ago,
  Long ere the days of spectacles and lenses,
  When men were left to their unaided senses.

  Two young short-sighted fellows, Chang and Ching,
  Over their chopsticks idly chattering,
  Fell to disputing which could see the best: 
  At last they agreed to put it to the test. 
  Said Chang:  “A marble tablet, so I hear,
  Is placed upon the Bo-hee temple near,
  With an inscription on it.  Let us go
  And read it (since you boast your optics so),
  Standing together at a certain place
  In front, where we the letters just may trace. 
  Then he who quickest reads the inscription there
  The palm for keenest eyes henceforth shall bear.” 
  “Agreed,” said Ching; “but let us try it soon: 
  Suppose we say to-morrow afternoon.”

  “Nay, not so soon,” said Chang:  “I’m bound to go,
  To-morrow, a day’s ride from Ho-hang-ho,
  And sha’n’t be ready till the following day: 
  At ten A.M. on Thursday let us say.”

  So ’twas arranged.  But Ching was wide awake: 
  Time by the forelock he resolved to take;
  And to the temple went at once, and read
  Upon the tablet:  “To the illustrious dead—­
  The chief of mandarins, the great Goh-Bang.” 
  Scarce had he gone when stealthily came Chang,
  Who read the same; but, peering closer, he
  Spied in a corner what Ching failed to see—­
  The words, “This tablet is erected here
  By those to whom the great Goh-Bang was dear.”