erful creation remained unknown to the "outside
barbarian" until Baber came this way a generation ago. He speaks of it
as probably the "most ancient bronze casting of any great size in
existence." It is a sad pity that no one has succeeded in getting a good
picture of this notable work, but not merely is it railed about with a
stone palisade, but the whole is enclosed in a small building of heavy
brick and masonry with walls twelve feet thick, which secure it against
wind and rain, but also keep out most of the light.

Wan-nien Ssu boasts another treasure more readily displayed, a so-called
tooth of Buddha weighing about eighteen pounds. The simple pilgrims
looked on reverently as the priests held it before me, but the latter
had a knowing look when I expressed my wonder at the stature of the
being who had teeth of such size. Probably they knew as well as I that
it was an elephant's molar, but they were not above playing on the
credulity of the ignorant folk.

Out of respect for the feelings of the monks I had brought up no fresh
meat, and of course there is none to be obtained on the mountain, so I
dined rather meagrely. Although the people generally do not hesitate to
eat meat when they can get it, the priests hold stiffly to the Buddhist
discipline which forbids the taking of life, and it is only unwillingly
that they have acquiesced in foreigners' bringing meat into the
monastic precincts or even onto the mountain. But at least they did
their best to make good any lack by sending in dishes of Chinese
sweetmeats, candied seeds, ginger, dried fruits. After dinner one of the
younger priests sat for a long time by my brazier, amusing himself with
Jack, the like of whom he had never seen before, and asking many simple
questions. What was I writing? How did I live? Where would I go when I
went away? Where was my husband?--the same questions asked everywhere by
the untutored, be it in the mountains of Kentucky or on the sacred
heights of Mount Omei.

On leaving the next morning the "Yuan-pu," or "Subscription Book of the
Temple," a substantial volume in which one writes one's name and
donation, was duly put before me. Being warned beforehand I knew what to
give, and I was not to be moved even though my attention was called to
much larger sums given by other visitors; but I had also been told of
the trick practised here of altering the figures as served their
purpose, so I was not moved even by this appeal.

The next da