e of the path there are
women sitting with snacks of Burmese food to sell to travellers,
sugar-cane, sweet cakes, cheroots, soda-water, and ngapi; this is a
great Burmese delicacy and has a peculiar smell! It is composed of
pounded putrid fish--as unpleasant to us as a lively old Stilton-cheese
would be to a Burman.

Up the bank some forty feet we find we are again in the track of the
Royal Procession! There are tiny decorations going up amongst the trees.
A triumphal arch, quite twenty feet high, is being covered with coloured
paper and tinsel, and a line of flags and freshly cut palm leaves leads
to the little siding on the line that goes to Rangoon. The place is so
pretty that you feel it is a pity that its natural features should be
disturbed by ornament however well intentioned.

We go to the pagoda and climb slowly up the steps, for they are high and
steep, and at every flight there are exquisite views out over the jungle
of trees, palms, and bamboo, and knolly "Argyll hills," and looking up
or down the stairs are more pictures; on both sides are double rows of
red and gold pillars, supporting an elaborately panelled teak roof, with
carvings in teak picked out with gold and colour. Groups of people with
sweet expressions, priests, men, women, and children pass up and down.
On the platform there is heat and a feeling of great peace, the subdued
chant of one or two people praying, the cluck of a hen, the fragrance of
incense, and now and then the deep soft throb of one of the great bells,
touched by a passing worshipper with the crown of a stag's horn. There
are spaces of intense light, and cool shadows and shrines of glass
mosaic, inside them Buddhas in marble or bronze--the bronzes are
beautiful pieces of _cire perdu_ castings--flowers droop before them,
and candles are melting, their flame almost invisible in the sunlight,
and two little children play with the guttering wax.

[Illustration]

As we come down the stairs we meet khaki-clad Indian soldiers, with high
khaki turbans, and indecently thin shanks in blue putties. They do not
fit their uniforms or boots, or the surroundings, and only the sergeants
seem to feel their rifles less than a burden. They are told off to posts
in the jungle at each stage of the ascent, and we feel our retreat is
menaced, but it is only a rehearsal for the Royal Visit to-morrow.
Little Prome is all agog! for the Prince comes down the river and is to
land here and train to Rango