As it is now toward the close of the dry season, we frequently meet men and women fording the river, who in passing near our boat give the salutation of Pi n'i tua?—i. e. "Going where? coming from where?" It is a customary greeting, and carries no impertinence in it. We have answered this question from prince and peasant many a time during our journey, and it is rather a suggestive one, as in our reply we add why we come.
And here, walking about in the river, are the fishermen, busy by night and by day in their eager pursuits. At any hour of the night when we awaken we see their torchlights flashing hither and thither up and down the river.
So onward we go, seeing strange new sights and customs, passing village after village, exchanging greetings with the people; then through long miles of loneliness, where we are hedged in by trees and thickets of perennial green; yet with prow ever to the north (Cheung Mai the lodestone) we are steadily and surely nearing our goal.
And now, as we round this bend, the plain of Cheung Mai and the grand old mountains in the north-west come into full view. (The walled city, a mile distant to the westward, is not in the line of vision.)
As we move slowly up the river we see on the left bank an old temple overshadowed by
