The monastery consists of a congeries of houses in the Mongol style, forming a square. Nothing can be simpler than the architecture of these buildings: four walls, a door, a window, a fire-place, a hole in the ceiling, some forage on the roof, and that is about all. As far as we can judge by what can be seen through the chinks in the closed doors, the furniture is not worth speaking of, for we can see only a few chests, some clothing, and a certain quantity of tools. Moreover, the lamas, faithful to their nomad habits, are said to inhabit, even during the cold season, their felt tents, erected in the courtyards formed by these dwellings. They are built of earth, rubble, and wood, and are used as much for cattle as for human beings.
The pagoda is new, and its walls are whitewashed. The main door being open, we enter into a sort of rectangular barn. The first thing which strikes the eye is the altar, upon which are burning lamps whose flame sheds a glow upon the gilding of the statues. One represents Buddha in his youth, wreathed in smiles and seated upon a throne. Behind him a lama, in gilt metal, is smiling as amiably as Buddha himself. Like him, he has long ears—the better to hear prayer, no doubt; and he hold his hands out, one against the other, in the attitude of a person ready to applaud, while at the same time maintaining an aspect of great dignity.
Beside the high altar, in a chapel of more modest proportions, is the statue of a person dressed in yellow, with an apron on the knees and a chaplet in the hand. He, we are told, is to be the successor of the Grand Lama, and his functions are analogous to those of a Christian saint, he having to intercede for the faithful and to transmit their prayers to the proper destination. On the table of the altar are a number of small cups containing oil, and, beside these, there are bronze ewers, bells, bundles of images, peacocks' feathers disposed as trophies, packets of sacred books and printed prayers, phials containing grains or perfumes, and other
