is an
extinct volcano standing all alone about midway between the river and
the Shan Mountains. It is thus very conspicuous, having no hills near it
to share its majesty; and being in sight from many of the old capitals,
it is very well known in history and legend. It is covered with dense
forest, and the villages close about are few. At the top there is a
crater with a broken side, and a stream comes flowing out of this break
down the mountain. Probably it was the denseness of its forests, the
abundance of water, and its central position, more than its guardian
Nats, that made it for so many years the last retreating-place of the
half-robber, half-patriot bands that made life so uneasy for us. But the
Nats of Popa Mountains are very famous.

When any foreigner was taken into the service of the King of Burma he
had to swear an oath of fidelity. He swore upon many things, and among
them were included 'all the Nats in Popa.' No Burman would have dared to
break an oath sworn in such a serious way as this, and they did not
imagine that anyone else would. It was and is a very dangerous thing to
offend the Popa Nats; for they are still there in the mountain, and
everyone who goes there must do them reverence.

A friend of mine, a police officer, who was engaged in trying to catch
the last of the robber chiefs who hid near Popa, told me that when he
went up the mountain shooting he, too, had to make offerings. Some way
up there is a little valley dark with overhanging trees, and a stream
flows slowly along it. It is an enchanted valley, and if you look
closely you will see that the stream is not as other streams, for it
flows uphill. It comes rushing into the valley with a great display of
foam and froth, and it leaves in a similar way, tearing down the rocks,
and behaving like any other boisterous hill rivulet; but in the valley
itself it lies under a spell. It is slow and dark, and has a surface
like a mirror, and it flows uphill. There is no doubt about it; anyone
can see it. When they came here, my friend tells me, they made a halt,
and the Burmese hunters with him unpacked his breakfast. He did not want
to eat then, he said, but they explained that it was not for him, but
for the Nats. All his food was unpacked, cold chicken and tinned meats,
and jam and eggs and bread, and it was spread neatly on a cloth under a
tree. Then the hunters called upon the Nats to come and take anything
they desired, while my friend wondered