ers even to
the brow of the mound. But the nature of the stairs was peculiar. They
were covered in for the most part by a tunnel, or it may have been a
walled-in colonnade, for there were heavily gilt wooden pillars visible
in the gloom. The afternoon was drawing on as I came to this strange
place and saw that I should have to climb up a long, low hill of stairs
to get to the pagoda.

Once or twice in my life I have seen a Globe-trotter literally gasping
with jealous emotion because India was so much larger and more lovely
than he had ever dreamed, and because he had only set aside three months
to explore it in. My own sojourn in Rangoon was countable by hours, so I
may be forgiven when I pranced with impatience at the bottom of the
staircase because I could not at once secure a full, complete, and
accurate idea of everything that was to be seen. The meaning of the
guardian tigers, the inwardness of the main pagoda, and the countless
little ones, was hidden from me. I could not understand why the pretty
girls with cheroots sold little sticks and coloured candles to be used
before the image of Buddha. Everything was incomprehensible to me, and
there was none to explain. All that I could gather was that in a few
days the great golden _'htee_ that has been defaced by the earthquake
would be hoisted into position with feasting and song, and that half
Upper Burma was coming down to see the show.

I went forward between the two great beasts, across a whitewashed court,
till I came to a flat-headed arch guarded by the lame, the blind, the
leper, and the deformed. These plucked at my clothes as I passed, and
moaned and whined: but the stream that disappeared up the gentle slope
of the stairway took no notice of them. And I stepped into the
semi-darkness of a long, long corridor flanked by booths, and floored
with stones worn very smooth by human feet.

At the far end of the roofed corridor there was a breadth of evening
sky, and at this point rose a second and much steeper flight of stairs,
leading directly to the Shwedagon (this, by the way, is its real
spelling). Down this staircase fell, from gloom to deeper gloom, a
cascade of colour. At this point I stayed, because there was a beautiful
archway of Burmese build, and adorned with a Chinese inscription,
directly in front of me, and I conceived foolishly that I should find
nothing more pleasant to look at if I went farther. Also, I wished to
understand how such a people co