distinctive features of Burmese life in town and
country. They are greatly respected by the people for their simplicity
of life. They teach all the boys in the country reading, writing, and
simple arithmetic, and how to try to follow the example of the life of
their great Gautama. Theoretically they do this for love alone, or to
"earn merit." What alms they receive is not in payment--gifts are
accepted but not asked for. The people do not pay taxes for their
clergy, nor do these literally free kirk ministers perambulate the
country, and ask children for their Saturday pennies for a Sustentation
Fund. One of the most interesting sights here is to see their young
novitiate priests in the morning going round the bazaars and the boats
and the stalls on the strand in their yellow robes, bowl in hand,
silently waiting for a dole of boiled rice or fruit, and passing on if
it is not quite ready, to come another day.

All Burmese men are priests for a certain time, even though it be but
for a few months; for that time they must wear the simple yellow dress
and renounce all worldly desires[30]. So it was in the earliest Scottish
Church; the Culdee clergy were teachers as well as preachers, and
taught arts and crafts as well as their faith.

[30] For exhaustive and interesting accounts of life and education in
the Monastery, _see_ "Picturesque Burmah," by Mrs Ernest Hart.

The observances of the phungyis are almost austere, but the teaching
that Gautama Buddha passed to the laity was less so. The Burman says,
"Life is a vale of tears, so be happy as possible and make others happy
and you will be good"--the religion of the actor and the artist--the
rose and to-morrow fade, and "loves sweet manuscript must close," but do
what you may, as beautifully as you can--be it a pastel or a matinee.

This monastery is called the Queen's golden Kyoung; it was erected by
Thebaw's queen, Supayalat, in the early eighties--and now king Thebaw
and his queen are in durance near Bombay.

Though it was getting late we drove on to another place, the Arrakan
Pagoda. We had heard of it pretty much as a Burman coming to Europe
might hear of a place called St Peter's.

It was a long, fatiguing, jolting drive in the rattling gharry,
fatiguing physically and mentally, for along both sides of the road were
such interesting things, Chinese cafes lighting up, huge paper lanterns
outside, and stalls of every kind, makers of golden umbrellas and
Burmese ha