re silver
ornaments the size and shape of Manilla cheroots, enamelled and
tasselled with red silk. As I drew her, the rest of Mr Leveson's
domestics, Burmese and native, sat round on the lawn and helped by
looking on, and were greatly delighted in seeing the buxom beauty
reproduced in colour on paper.

[Illustration: A Kachin Girl]

A Burmese matron then came along with her daughter to sell two silver
swords with ivory handles, and I got the swords, and a sitting of a few
minutes from the daughter, and here she is: a fairly average Burmese
girl, but not nearly one of the prettiest. The green broadcloth jacket
you see up here frequently, but further south the girls all wore thin
white jackets. As I painted, G. and the servants packed orchids, box
after box--I must be at my packing too; leopards' skins, and Kachin and
silver-mounted Shan dahs are my most interesting trophies.

Dined with the Algys of the Civil Police force--Captain Massey there, a
pleasant bungalow, a wealth of roses on the table, heavy red curtains
against white and pale blue plastered walls; a wood fire and lots of
open air and music, and talk of sport and big game. I am asked to a
great drive of geese, sambhur, and syn, but cannot accept for want of
time--was there ever anything more annoying!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

19th February.--Good-bye, sweet Bhamo. You weep, and we weep; but we go
with a hope we may return.

How it pours! The Chinese ponies on the sandbank huddle together. A
Burmese lady goes up the bank to loosen the painter of her canoe; she
wears a pink silk skirt and white jacket, and carries a yellow paper
umbrella and apparently thinks little of the downpour. I've noticed
heaps of these pretty oiled paper umbrellas in the bazaars, I suppose
being prepared for this kind of weather. Even in pouring wet, Bhamo is
beautiful. Good-bye again; we will tell our friends at home that there
is such a desirable quiet country on this side of Heaven, where the
mansions truly are few, but the hosts are very kind.

Now we let go our wire rope from the red and black timber head in the
sand, slip away quietly into the current and leave the sandbank to the
Chinese ponies and a few bales of cotton, all in the dripping rain.

The kaing grass is drooping with the downpour, but it will be dry as
tinder in an hour or two, dry on the top at least.

Now, great Irrawaddy--take us safely down your length, and p