Esau, yet the words were the words of the wily Chinese Jacob. There was something was something peculiarly Chinese-like also, and far from Tartar, in the way in which they shirked responsibility. Personally, they were not at all afraid of being uncivil; but when it came to the question as to who was who, and on whose responsibility they acted, then they became as evasive as possible. Thus, in the matter of supplies, though they at first refused point-blank to let us have any, yet, after a little, they adopted different and still more unpleasant tactics. They said they would let us have a sheep-a small one-for five rupees, which was about double its value. On our agreeing to give five, no sheep appeared; and on our inquiring after it, a message was sent back that we might have it for six rupees. On six being agreed to, the price was raised to seven, and so on, until it became too apparent that they were only amusing themselves with us. And whenever we reasoned on this subject with an ugly monster who had been put forward—and had put himself forward with a great profession of desire for our comfort as the official corresponding to the mukea or lambadar, who looks after the wants of travellers,— he promptly disclaimed all pretensions to having anything to do with such a function, and pointed to another man as the veritable múkea to whom we ought to apply. This other man said it was true he was a relative of that functionary, and he would be happy to do anything for us if the headman of the village would authorise it, but the veritable múkea was up with the sheep on the Kúng-ma, and if we found him there. on our way back he would, no doubt, supply all our wants. In this way we were bandied about from

pillar to post without getting satisfaction, or finding responsibility acknowledged anywhere. On the matter being pressed, we were told that the headmen of Shipki were deliberating upon our case; but it was impossible to get any one to acknowledge that he was a headman, or to find out who and where they were. I think they did supply us with some firewood, and they sold a lamb to Phúleyram and Nurdass, that these Kunaits might have it killed as their religion requires, not by having the throat cut, but the head cut or hacked off from above, at the neck-joint. That was all they would do, however; and they impounded one of our yaks, on a doubtful charge of trespassing, and only released it on payment of a small sum.

I was particularly anxious to find some official to deal with; but though there were Tartar soldiers about, one of whom we came upon by surprise, it was impossible to get any one to acknowledge that he was an official, or to unearth one anywhere. In an unguarded moment some of the villagers told us that they were ordered by the Tzong-pon, or "commander of the fort" (tzong meaning a fort, and pon a general or chief *) not to let us pass; but no fort was visible, or general either; and when we inquired further about this officer, they affected not to know what we were talking about. But the Tzong-pon at Shipki means the Tzong-pon of D'zabrung, the governor of the district. (This place is the Chaprang of Montgomerie's map: it has a fort, and is said to be about eight marches distant from Shipki.) But no one would undertake to forward a letter to the

So also mak-pon, a general of troops; det-pon, the commander of a boat; tsik-pon, an architect: chir-pon, a superintendent of stables; and zol-pon, a head-cook.

Tzong-pon, or produce any authority from him for refusing to allow us to proceed further.

For all this I was in a manner prepared, because several attempts had previously been made in vain to enter Chinese Tibet by this door. My object in going to Shipki was simply to see for myself how the frontier matter stood, and to have a look at Chinese Tartary and Tartars. I never supposed for a moment that, on a first experience of Himálayan travel, and without a basis of operations near the frontier, I could penetrate for any distance into Chinese Tibet; and at the utmost contemplated only the possibility of making a few days' journey across the frontier, though I should have been quite ready to go on all the three months' journey from Shipki to Lassa had the way been at all open. It struck me there was a chance of getting over the frontier difficulty by going back to Kunáwar, purchasing yaks there, and then recrossing the Kúng-ma and passing Shipki by night; but the time I could have afforded for this experiment had been consumed during the month of my illness at Pú, and I had the alternative before me of either not making such an attempt, or of relinquishing all hope of reaching Kashmir before it was closed for the season, or even of seeing much of the Himalaya. I had no hesitation in preferring to go on to Kashmir. It was not as if I were going back in doing so. In point of fact, to go to the Valley of Flowers by the route I selected and followed out, was to plunge into a still more interesting stretch of mountain country, and into remote Tibetan provinces, such as Zanskar, situated at what may fairly be called the very "back of beyont," and practically as secluded from the world and as unknown to the public as the dominion of the Grand Lama itself.

It was also very doubtful how far it would be possible to advance into Chinese Tibet by having yaks of one's own and passing Shipki by night, because a few miles beyond that village the road crosses the Sutlej, and the only way of passing that river there is over a bridge which is guarded by Tartar troops. The Kunáwar men told us of this, and they know the country well; for the objection to the entrance of Europeans does not apply to themselves, and in summer they are in the habit of trading some way into the interior of Chinese Tibet with blankets, sugar, tobacco, and wool, bringing back rock-salt, shawl-wool, and borax. They also mentioned that a few days' journey beyond the frontier they were exposed to much danger from mounted robbers, there being hardly any villages or houses until they get to D'zabrung, or to Gartop, except a small village within sight of Shipki; and one of them showed us deep scars upon his head, which had been severely cut by these robbers. In travelling among the Himálaya, one must necessarily keep to the roads, such as they are, and the only way of crossing the deep-cut furious rivers is by the bridges which have been thrown across them; so that a bridge with a guard of soldiers would in all probability be an impassable obstacle, except to an armed force. But, once past the Sutlej and on the rolling hills of Tartary, it would be possible to wander about freely in many directions.

The Shipki people told us that if we persisted in going on without their assistance, they would use force to prevent us, defending this by their favourite argument that they might as well be killed fighting us as be killed letting us pass. Could we have procured

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even very limited means of conveyance, I, for my part, should have tested this; but I was scarcely able at the time to walk at all; and I have not the least doubt, from their demeanour, that they would have carried out their threat, and would even have been delighted to do so; for it more than once looked as if they only wanted the slightest pretext in order to fall upon us, and were chiefly prevented from doing so by their respect for Mr Pagell as a teacher of religion and a dispenser of medicines. We might safely conclude, then, that the soldiers at the bridge would be equally intractable; and it is difficult to say what one might meet with in the country beyond-how soon one might be robbed of everything, and find one's head adorning the pole of a nomad's tent. The Abbé Desgodins, who lived for some time in the Lassa territory towards the Chinese frontier, asserts that the Tartar of that country takes great pleasure, when he has an enemy, in persuading that enemy that he is quite reconciled to him, in asking him to a generous dinner, and in suddenly firing a bullet into his enemy's stomach, when that deluded individual is supposed to have reached the moment of repletion. If such be the way in which the inhabitants of the country of the Sacred Religion treat their friends, it can easily be imagined that, when they fell in with a stranger, they would not even be at the expense of providing a good dinner for him, unless that were absolutely necessary to throw him off his guard. No doubt it is only a portion of the population which are in the habit of indulging in such hospitality; but the difficulty would be to distinguish between that portion and the more respectable inhabitants. Two or three years ago the tribute which is annually sent up