as this.  There is an inexpressible charm about them, lying asleep, as it were, among the trees of their courtyards, with stately, pillared porches, and picturesque gables upturned to the sky.  They seem so very, very old and filled with such great calm and peace.

Sometimes they stand in the midst of a populous town and we ride through long streets between dirty houses, swarming with ragged women, filthy men, and screaming children; suddenly we come to the dilapidated entrance of our temple, pass through a courtyard, close the huge gates and are in another world.

We leave early every morning and the boys are up long before dawn.  As we sleepily open our eyes we see their dark figures silhouetted against the brilliant camp fire, hear the yawns of the mafus and the contented crunching of the mules as they chew their beans.

Wu appears with a lantern and calls out the hour and before we have fully dressed the odor of coffee has found its way to the remotest corner of the temple, and a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and oatmeal is awaiting on the folding table spread with a clean white cloth.  While we are eating, the beds are packed, and the loads retied, accompanied by a running fire of exhortations to the mafus who cause us endless trouble.

They are a hard lot, these mafus.  Force seems to be the only thing they understand and kindness produces no results.  If the march is long and we stop for tiffin it is well-nigh impossible to get them started within three hours without the aid of threats.  Once after a long halt when all seemed ready, we rode ahead only to wait by the roadside for hours before the caravan arrived.  As soon as we were out of sight they had begun to shoe their mules and that night we did not make our stage until long after dark.

In the morning when we see the first loads actually on the horses we ride off at the head of the caravan followed by a straggling line of mules and horses picking their way over the jagged stones of the road.  It is delightful in the early morning for the air is fresh and brisk like that of October at home, but later in the day when the sun is higher it is uncomfortably hot, and we are glad to find a bit of shade where we can rest until the caravan arrives.

The roads are execrable.  The Chinese have a proverb which says:  “A road is good for ten years and bad for ten thousand,” and this applies most excellently to those of Yuen-nan.  The main caravan highways are paved with huge stones to make them passable during the rainy season, but after a few years’ wear the blocks become broken and irregular, the earth is washed from between them and they are upturned at impossible angles.  The result is a chaotic mass which by no stretch of imagination can be called a road.  Where the stones are still in place they have been worn to such glasslike smoothness