master of the
house had, according to the rules of hospitality, to prepare an
entertainment for us, since people, who are moving, are supposed to have
no time for anything else.

Our readers will probably not be displeased at our giving them here a
sketch of our new house and of its inhabitants. Immediately within the
entrance gate was an oblong court, surrounded with stables commodiously
arranged. On the left of the gate, a narrow passage led to a second
square court, the four sides of which were occupied with the cells of
Lamas. The side opposite the corridor constituted the abode of the
master of the house, named _Akaye_ (old brother.) Akaye was a man of
sixty odd years, tall, and so very thin and dry that he seemed a living
skeleton. His long face was a mere framework of bones, covered with a
baked, wrinkled skin. When he threw aside his scarf, and showed his
arms, blackened with the sun, you might very well have taken them for two
old bare vine sticks. Though he still managed to keep himself tolerably
straight upon his legs, his step itself was tottering. Altogether he
looked like some antique piece of mechanism, convulsively put in motion
from time to time by the operation of a piston. For thirty-eight years
Akaye had been employed in the temporal administration of the Lamasery.
He had in this occupation amassed a tolerable fortune, but it had all
gone in charitable gifts and in charity-loans never returned, so that he
was now reduced to great poverty, nothing remaining to him but this
house, which he had built in the time of his prosperity, and which no one
would purchase from him. To let it was against the rules of the
Lamasery, which admit no medium between absolute sale or absolute gift,
except gratuitous loan. To complete his misfortunes, Akaye was unable to
profit by the extraordinary offerings which from time to time are
distributed among the Lamas who have attained certain grades in the
hierarchy. Having been completely occupied throughout life with temporal
matters, he had had no time for study, so that he was altogether
illiterate, and could neither read nor write. This did not, however,
prevent him from praying, morning, noon, and night; he had his chaplet
constantly in his hand, and pass him when you might, you would hear him
mumbling various forms of prayer. This man was a creature of excellent
heart, but nobody seemed to take any heed to him--he was old and
penniless.

To the right of