elaborately chased and flashing with "jewels." Surmounting this is a
"saucer" hat of black and yellow. Her skirt is of gorgeous brocade
or cloth, and the jacket is of like material with prominent "puffs"
upon the shoulders. She wears huge leather boots with upturned,
pointed toes, similar to those of the men, and when in full array
she has a whole portiere of beadwork suspended from the region of
her ears.

She is altogether satisfying to the lover of fantastic Oriental
costumes, except in the matter of footgear, and this slight
exception might be allowed, for she has so amply decorated every
other available part of her anatomy.

Moreover, the boots form a very necessary adjunct to her personal
equipment, besides providing a covering for her feet. They are many
sizes too large, of course, but they furnish ample space during the
bitter cold of winter for the addition of several pairs of socks,
varying in number according to the thermometer. During the summer
she often wears no socks at all, but their place is taken by an
assortment of small articles which cannot be carried conveniently on
her person. Her pipe and tobacco, a package of tea, or a wooden bowl
can easily be stuffed into the wide top boots, for pockets are an
unknown luxury even to the men.

In its kaleidoscopic mass of life and color the city is like a great
pageant on the stage of a theater, with the added fascination of
reality. But, somehow, I could never quite make myself believe that
it was real when a brilliant group of horsemen in pointed, yellow
hats and streaming, peacock feathers dashed down the street. It
seemed too impossible that I, a wandering naturalist of the drab,
prosaic twentieth century, and my American wife were really a
living, breathing part of this strange drama of the Orient.

But there was one point of contact which we had with this dream-life
of the Middle Ages. Yvette and I both love horses, and the way to a
Mongol's heart is through his pony. Once on horseback we began to
identify ourselves with the fascinating life around us. We lost the
uncomfortable sense of being merely spectators in the Urga
theatricals, and forgot that we had come to the holy city by means
of a very unromantic motor car.

We remained at Urga for ten days while preparations were under way
for our first trip to the plains, and returned to it often during
the summer. We came to know it well, and each time we rode down the
long street it seemed more wond