ghlands, as fine as any I have seen. Then after dinner we saw
collections of the most recherche Burmese and Chinese art, in which Mr
Graham evidently has a very critical taste. There was exquisite silver
work and brass, gold, and amber carvings, dahs or swords in silver and
velvet sheaths with ivory handles, long shaped books of papyrus with the
heavy black print on lacquered gilded leaves, and Buddhas in gold and
marble, and a little Chinese box carved in root amber, which I
coveted--it suggested a picture by Monticelli--besides wonders of
Burmese carvings in wood and ivory: then music, and good voices, and
the piano sounding so well in the large teak drawing-room--and home
again, rattling in the gharry over the hard macadam and the soft ups and
downs and ruts along the sand, as here depicted in black and white, to
our new quarters on the shores of Mandalay where the big mosquitoes play
and sing us to sleep--"only a temporary plague," they say here, and we
hope so! G. invented a plan of slaying them. When you are under the net,
you can't bang them against the swaying muslin--this plan obviated that
difficulty, and is effective, only it needs a candle and matches inside
the net, and might, at any moment, set the ship and Mandalay in a blaze:
I mentioned this dire possibility, and G. said she would not do it if I
were not near!

[Illustration]

26th, Friday.--Still aboard the S.S. "Mandalay," turned out bright and
early--a delicious morning, dew lying on the short grass above the
shore. Went to the bazaar with my native boy--wish I had a Burmese
servant, as neither of us can speak a word of Burmese. I'd advise any
tourist to try and get a Burmese servant for guide and councillor. It is
horrid being tongue-tied amongst such kindly-looking people. There does
not seem to be much love lost between the Burmans and the natives of
India, and I think the foolish Indian natives actually fancy themselves
superior!

I have never seen, no, not in India, so much paintable "stuff" in so
small a space. The stalls were sheltered by tall umbrellas made of
sun-bleached sacks, over them the blue sky, and under them masses of
colour in light and shade, heaps of oranges, green bananas, red
chillies, and the girls and women sitting selling them, puffing blue
smoke from white cheroots big as Roman candles, or moving about from
shade to light like the brightest of flowers, no hurry, no bustle; a
chatter of happy voices, nothing raucous in so