in butter. "It has been a dreadful day," said
he. "Yes, the wind blew here with great violence." "I'll venture to
affirm it was nothing here to what we found it on the top of the
mountain: the tent, the boiler--everything we had with us was carried
away by a regular whirlwind, and we were obliged to throw ourselves flat
on the ground in order to save ourselves from being carried away too."
"It's a sad pity you've lost your tent and boiler." "It is, indeed, a
misfortune. However, it must be admitted that the weather was very
favourable for conveying horses to the travellers. When we saw that it
was going to snow, we threw them all up into the air at once, and the
wind whisked them off to the four quarters of the world. If we had
waited any longer, the snow would have wetted them, and they would have
stuck on the sides of the mountain." Altogether this excellent young man
was not dissatisfied with his day's work.

The twenty-fifth of each moon is the day devoted to the transmission of
horses to poor travellers. The practice is not a general rule; but is
left to the devotion of individuals. The twenty-eighth of the moon is
set apart for another species of religious exercise, in which all the
Lamas are required to participate. On the twenty-seventh the Stammerer
gave us notice of the ceremony in these words: "To-morrow night we shall,
perhaps, prevent your sleeping, for we shall have to celebrate our
nocturnal prayers." We paid no special attention to this intimation,
conceiving that it simply meant that in the course of the night, the
Lamas would recite prayers in their cells, as they not unfrequently did.
We accordingly retired to rest at our usual hour, and fell asleep.

Conformably with the warning of the Stammerer, our slumbers did not
remain long uninterrupted. First we seemed to dream that we heard a sort
of concert by a great multitude of voices up in the air. Imperceptibly
these vague, confused sounds became loud and distinct. We awoke and
heard clearly enough the chanting of Lamanesque prayers. In the
twinkling of an eye, we were up and dressed and out in the courtyard,
which was illumined with a pale light that appeared to descend from
above. In his wonted corner sat old Akaye telling his beads. "Akaye,"
asked we, "what is this strange noise?" "The nocturnal prayers. If you
want to see more of them you had better go on to the terrace." There was
a ladder resting in the most accommodating mann