FROM TONKIN TO INDIA 



sheet of water, which has such a hold upon the imagination of the 

 untutored native mind. As it was, it required some effort of the 

 fancy to picture the Golden Bird of the Thibetan fables hovering 

 over the face of the sacred waters. 



Nevertheless, our men were filled with joy, and sang and shouted 

 as they marched. We descended the hill with lengthened stride, 

 and I called to mind many a strange stage in my former travels, 

 such as when on leaving Thibet we hastened down to Ta-tsien-lou. 

 At the base of the hills, in stony chaos, lay the cemetery — the town 

 of the dead at the gate of the living. We reached the river that 

 forms the outlet of the lake; and here three routes converged: the 

 one from the capital ; our own ; and that from Burmah, called the 

 Ambassadors' Road. Along the last named stretched into the dis- 

 tance the posts of the new telegraph line from Bhamo — the Future ; 

 and here on the right bank of the river — the Past, a grey loopholed 

 wall, with battlements and bastions crumbling to decay, vestiges of 

 the Mussulman war. 



After passing the village of Chia-kouan (South-port), the way 



lay through fields and close-lying hamlets. It was dark by the 



time we came to the gate of Tali ; luckily, it had not yet been 



closed. A tunnel led under the ramparts, and, once inside, we asked 



to be brought to the house of the French Father. After a long 



detour, our guide stopped before a dwelling, and I hailed loudly 



for admittance ; then, finding a side door open, entered. What 



was our surprise to hear a feminine European voice ! The owner 



at the same moment appeared at the head of the staircase with a 



companion, both dressed as Chinese, and disclosed herself as a 



young English lady. I was almost as taken aback as our men, 



who had probably never seen a European woman before, and stood 



there rolling their eyes in wonder ; but, mutual explanations being 



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