. Huc and his companions encountered an unusual storm of
rain and wind. After travelling several weary miles, Samdad contrived
to erect the tent in a place that, for the locality, was tolerable,
but no more. 'My spiritual fathers,' observed the guide, 'I told you
we should not die to-day of thirst, but I am not at all sure that we
don't run some risk of dying of hunger.' In point of fact, there
seemed no possibility of making a fire. There was not a tree, not a
shrub, not a root to be seen. As to argols, the rain had long since
reduced that combustible of the desert to a liquid pulp. The pilgrims
were about to partake of the primitive fare of meal steeped in cold
water--a cheerless beverage to three men drenched to the skin--when at
the critical juncture up came two Tartars.

'Sirs Lamas, this day the heavens have fallen. You doubtless have been
unable to make a fire.'

'Alas! how should we make a fire? we have no argols.'

'Men are all brothers, and belong to each other; but laymen should
honour and serve the holy ones: therefore it is that we have come to
make a fire for you.'

The fire soon blazed and crackled, and a hot repast speedily rejoiced
the jaded frames of the two priests and the imp Samdad.

The domiciliary hospitalities of the Tartars are frank and artless,
forming a marked contrast to the formal reception of strangers among
the Chinese. 'On entering, you give the word of peace, _amor_ or
_mendon_, to the company generally. You then seat yourself on the
right of the head of the family, whom you find squatting on the floor
opposite the entrance. Next, everybody takes from a purse, suspended
at his girdle, a little snuff-bottle, and mutual pinches accompany
such phrases as these: "Is the pasturage with you rich and abundant?"
"Are your herds in fine condition?" "Did you travel in peace?" "Does
tranquillity prevail?" The mistress then silently holds out her hand
to the visitor. He as silently takes from his breast-pocket a small
wooden bowl, the indispensable _vade mecum_ of all Tartars, and
presents it to the hostess, who fills it with tea and milk, and
returns it.' In higher families, a table is spread with butter,
oatmeal, millet, cheese, all in small boxes of polished wood; and
these luxuries are all mixed in the everlasting tea. Amongst the
uppermost aristocratic classes, fermented milk is proffered; but
Europeans would perhaps regard this liquor as more honoured by being
set aside than indulged in