ntastic than
the appearance of these old pines, with this very long hair suspended
from their branches. The prickly holly that grows on the mountains of
Thibet, is remarkable for the extraordinary development it attains. In
Europe, it never exceeds the size of a shrub, but here, it always grows
to the size of a large tree. If it does not rise as high as the pine, it
equals it in the size of its trunk, and it is even superior to it in the
richness and abundance of its foliage.

This day's march was long and fatiguing. The night had set in when we
reached the station of Samba, where we were to change the oulah. We were
just going to bed, when we missed a Thibetian, belonging to the escort,
precisely the very man who had been assigned as our servant. We sought
him, but without success, in every corner of the small village in which
we had arrived. We concluded he had lost his way in the forest. We at
first thought of sending in search of him, but in so dark a night, how
could one possibly find a man in that vast and thick forest? We
contented ourselves with going in a body to a neighbouring hill, where we
shouted, and lit a large fire. Towards midnight, the lost man
reappeared, almost dead with fatigue. He carried on his back the saddle
of his horse, which, no doubt, finding the journey too long, had thought
fit to lie down in the midst of the forest, and it had been impossible to
get him up again. The return of this poor young man filled every one
with joy, and we all then went to rest.

The next day, we rose late. Whilst the inhabitants of Samba were
bringing the horses and the beasts of burden to form the caravan, we went
for a little walk, and to have a view of the place, which we had reached
over night. The village of Samba is a collection of thirty small houses,
built of large flint stones, rudely cemented, some with argols, others
with mud. The aspect of the village is mournful, but the environs are
tolerably cheerful. Two streams, one coming from the west, the other
from the south, join near the village, and form a river, the transparent
waters of which flow over a vast prairie. A small wooden bridge, painted
red, herds of goats and long-haired cattle, which sported amid the
pastures, some storks and wild ducks, fishing for their breakfast on the
banks of the water, a few gigantic cypresses here and there, even the
smoke which rose from the Thibetian cottages, and which the wind gently
wafted over