Sport and Science on the Sino-Mongolian Frontier

Very early in life my travels began. I was only four years old when my parents took me from an interior town of China to the coast, and thence to Europe. Vaguely I remember the mule train "coughing in the dust" of a Shansi road, and the house-boat journey down a Chihli river, with my mother lying at death's door in the cramped and tiny cabin, overcome by that cruel journey. Then came the strange sights and scenes of the sea journey to England, followed by the even stranger (to me) life of my native land. Three years later we were back again in the interior town, and from that time on I have scarcely lived in one place longer than a year or two at a time.

All this doubtless accounts for my love of travel, which has led to my kicking the traces and becoming a wanderer. What more natural than that the wandering should have for its scene the land of my nativity, where I know the people and their language, where I can live, if necessary, upon the land, without the help of stores from Europe or American canned goods? What more natural than that the unknown places in this land of mystery should beckon to me, and that I should hear that voice ringing its "interminable changes... something hidden. Go and find it.... "?