tantalized
spirit or agonized demon. That, however, is his own affair.

But it is when a Tibetan dies that his charity to the creatures becomes
really practical. Then, by his own tacit consent when living, his body
is given as a feast to the dogs and vultures. This is no casual or
careless gift to avoid the trouble of burial or cremation. All creatures
who have a taste for these things are invited to the ceremony, and the
corpse is carved to their liking by an expert, who devotes his life to
the practice.

When a Tibetan dies he is left three days in his chamber, and a slit is
made in his skull to let his soul pass out. Then he is rolled into a
ball, wrapped in a sack, or silk if he is rich, packed into a jar or
basket, and carried along to the music of conch shells to the ceremonial
stone. Here a Lama takes the corpse out of its vessel and wrappings, and
lays it face downwards on a large flat slab, and the pensioners prowl or
hop round, waiting for their dole. They are quite tame. The Lamas stand
a little way apart, and see that strict etiquette is observed during
the entertainment. The carver begins at the ankle, and cuts upwards,
throwing little strips of flesh to the guests; the bones he throws to a
second attendant, who pounds them up with a heavy stone.

I passed the place to-day as I rode in from a reconnaissance. The slab
lies a stone's-throw to the left of the great northern road to Tengri
Nor and Mongolia, about two miles from the city.

A group of stolid vultures, too demoralized to range in search of
carrion, stood motionless on a rock above, waiting the next dispenser of
charity.

A few ravens hopped about sadly; they, too, were evidently pauperized.
One magpie was prying round in suspicious proximity, and dogs conscious
of shame slunk about without a bark in them, and nosed the ground
diligently. They are always there, waiting.

There was hardly a stain on the slab, so quick and eager are the
applicants for charity. Only a few rags lay around, too poor to be
carried away.

I have not seen the ceremony, and I have no mind to. My companion this
morning, a hardened young subaltern who was fighting nearly every day in
April, May, and June, and has seen more bloodshed than most veterans,
saw just as much as I have described. He then felt very ill, dug his
spurs into his horse, and rode away.

CHAPTER XIV

THE CITY AND ITS TEMPLES

By the first week in September I had visited all the most im