A considerable portion of the Indo-Chinese peninsula is occupied by the extensive country of Cambodia, or Camboja, known to the natives as Kan-pou-chi. It extends from lat. 8° 47' to 15° N., along the basin of the Mekong, Makiang, or Cambodia river; and is bounded on the north by Laos; on the south, by the Gulf of Siam and the China Sea; on the east, by Cochin-China; and on the west, by Siam. Formerly it was independent; but since 1809 it has been included within the empire of Annam, except the province of Battabang, which belongs to the kingdom of Siam. But since the French established themselves at Saigon in 1858, and have gradually obtained a controlling power in Annam (or Cochin-China), their influence has also extended to Cambodia.

The largest river of Cambodia, and of the whole Indo-Chinese peninsula, is the Mekong, Makiang, or Cambodia, which, rising in the mountains of China, under the name of the Lan-tsan-kiang, flows in a south-easterly direction across the province of Yunnan; thence, under the name of the Kiou-long, traverses the territory of Laos; and afterwards, as the Mekong, intersects Cambodia, dividing the Annam portion from that which belongs to Siam; separates into several branches, and finally falls into the China Sea, after a fertilizing course of about fifteen hundred miles. Its two principal mouths are those of the Japanese and Oubequum channels. There are several smaller mouths, however, the southernmost of which is situated in lat. 9° 30' N., and long. 106° 20' E.

Very little was known of this great river until the French had made themselves masters of Saigon. It has since been explored in parts of its course by M. Mouhot, Lieutenant Garnier, and others. The country which it waters possesses many features of interest; and the scenery through which it flows is often of a romantic and beautiful character. The manners and customs of the people dwelling on its banks are not unworthy of consideration; and we propose, therefore, to carry the reader with us on a voyage up this magnificent stream,—penetrating, under the guidance of Lieutenant Garnier, into hitherto unexplored parts of Cambodia, and even into China itself.

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In 1866 the French Government determined on despatching an expedition to explore the upper valley of the great Cambodian river, and placed it in charge of M. de LagrÉe, a captain in the French navy. M. Thorel, a surgeon, was attached to it as botanist; M. Delaporte, as artist; Dr. Joubert, as physician and geologist; and among the other members were Lieutenant Garnier, to whose record of the expedition we are about to be indebted, and M. de CarnÉ. After a visit to Ongcor, the capital of the ancient kingdom of the Khmers, with those vast memorials of antiquity described so graphically by M. Mouhot, the expedition proceeded to ascend the great river, passing the busy villages of Compong Luong and Pnom Penh—the latter the residence of the king of Cambodia. Here they abandoned the gun-brigs which had brought them from Saigon, and embarked themselves and their stores on board boats better fitted for river navigation.

These boats or canoes are manned, according to their size, by a crew of six to ten men. Each is armed with a long bamboo, one end of which terminates with an iron hook, the other with a small fork. The men take up their station on a small platform in the fore part of the boat, plant their bamboos against some projection on the river-bank, tree or stone, and then march towards the stern; returning afterwards on the opposite side to repeat the process. This strange kind of circular motion suffices to impel the boat at the rate of a man walking at full speed, when the boatmen are skilful at their work, and the river-bank is straight and well defined. The master’s attention is wholly occupied, meanwhile, in keeping the bow of the canoe in the direction of the current, or rather slightly headed towards the shore. It is obvious that such a mode of navigation is liable to many interruptions, and cannot be commended on the score of swiftness or convenience.

FORMIDABLE RAPIDS.

On the 13th of July the canoes took their departure from Cratieh, and soon afterwards arrived at Sombor. They then effected the passage of the rapids of Sombor-Sombor—no great difficulty being experienced, owing to the rise of the waters. Beyond this point the broad bed of the great river was encumbered with a multitude of islands, low and green, while the banks were covered with magnificent forests. The voyagers noticed here some trees of great value—the yao; the ban-courg, the wood of which makes capital oars; and the lam-xe, which should be highly prized by the European cabinet-makers.

On the 16th of July the voyagers again fell in with a series of formidable rapids. The sharp and clearly-defined shores of the islands which had hitherto enclosed the arm of the river they were navigating were suddenly effaced. The Cambodia was covered with innumerable clumps of trees, half under water; its muddy torrent rolled impetuously through a thousand canals, forming an inextricable labyrinth. Huge blocks of sandstone rose at intervals along the left bank, and indicated that strata of the same rock extended across the river-bed. At a considerable distance from the shore the poles of the boatmen found a depth of fully ten feet; and it was with extreme difficulty the canoes made way against the strong, fierce current, which in some confined channels attained a velocity of five miles an hour.

Storms of wind and rain contributed to render the voyage more wearisome and the progress slower. It was no easy task at night to find a secure haven for the boats; and the sudden floods of the little streams at the mouth of which the voyagers sought shelter, several times subjected them to the risk of being carried away during their sleep, and cast all unexpectedly into the mid-current of the great river. They slept on board their boats, because the roof was some protection from the furious rains; but these soon soaked through the mats and leaves of which it was composed. The weather was warm, and thus these douche-baths were not wholly insupportable; and when the voyagers could not sleep, they found some consolation in admiring the fantastic illumination which the incessant lightnings kindled in the gloomy arcades of the forest, and in listening to the peals of thunder, repeated by a thousand echoes, and mingling with the hoarse continuous growl of the angry waters.

Such are some of the features of the navigation of the lower part of the Cambodia. But our limits compel us to pass over several chapters of Lieutenant Garnier’s narrative, and to take it up after the voyagers had crossed the boundaries of Siam and Cambodia and entered Laos.

Lieutenant Garnier describes the Laotians as generally well made and robust. Their physiognomy, he says, is characterized by a singular combination of cunning and apathy, benevolence and timorousness. Their eyes are less regular, their cheeks less prominent, the nose straighter, than is the case with other peoples of Mongolian origin; and but for their much paler complexion, which closely approaches that of the Chinese, we should be tempted to credit them with a considerable admixture of Hindu blood. The male Laotian shaves his head, and, like the Siamese, preserves only a small tuft of very short hair on the summit. LAOTIAN COSTUME. He dresses himself tastefully, and can wear the finest stuffs with ease and dignity. He chooses always the liveliest colours; and the effect of a group of Laotians, with the brilliant hues of their costume set off by their copper-tinted skin, is very striking. The common people wear an exceedingly simple garb—the langouti, a piece of cotton stuff passed between the legs and around the waist. For those of higher rank the langouti is of silk; and is frequently accompanied by a small vest buttoned over the chest, with very narrow sleeves, and another piece of silk folded round the waist as a girdle, or round the neck as a scarf. Head-gear and foot-gear are things little used in Laos; but the labourers and boatmen, when working or rowing under a burning sun, protect the head with an immense straw hat, almost flat, much like a parasol. Personages of high rank, when they are in “full dress,” wear a kind of slipper, which appears to inconvenience them greatly, and is thrown off at the earliest opportunity.

Most of the Laotians tattoo themselves on the stomach or legs, though the practice is much more prevalent in the north than in the south. The Laotian women do not wear much more clothing than their husbands. The langouti, instead of being brought up between the legs, is fastened round the waist, and allowed to hang down like a short tight petticoat below the knees. Generally, a second piece of stuff is worn over the bosom, and thrown back across either the right or left shoulder. The hair, always of a splendid jetty blackness, is twisted up in a chignon on the top of the head, and kept in its place by a small strip of cotton or plaited straw, frequently embellished with a few flowers. Every woman ornaments her neck, arms, and legs with rings of gold, silver, or copper, sometimes heaped one upon another in considerable quantity. The very poor are content with belts of cotton or silk; to which, in the case of children, are suspended little amulets given by the priests as talismans against witchcraft or remedies against disease.

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Strictly speaking, polygamy does not exist in Laos. Only the well-to-do indulge in the embarrassing luxury of more wives than one; and even with these a favoured individual is recognized as the lawful spouse.

Unhappily, slavery prevails, as it does in Siam and Cambodia. A debtor may be enslaved, by judicial confiscation; but the “peculiar institution” is chiefly recruited from the wild tribes in the eastern provinces. The slaves are employed in tilling the fields, and in domestic labours; they are treated with great kindness. They often live so intimately and so familiarly with their masters, that, but for their long hair and characteristic physiognomy, it would be difficult to distinguish them in the midst of a Laotian “interior.”

The Laotians are a slothful people, and, when not rich enough to own slaves, leave the best part of the day’s work to be done by the women, who not only perform the household labour, but pound the rice, till the fields, paddle the canoes. Hunting and fishing are almost the only occupations reserved for the stronger sex.

We have not space to describe all the engines employed for catching fish, which, next to rice, is the principal food of all the riverine populations of the Mekong valley, and is furnished by the great river in almost inexhaustible quantities. The most common are large tubes of bamboo and ratan, having one or more funnel-shaped necks, the edges of which prevent the fish from escaping after they have once entered. These apparatus are firmly attached, with their openings towards the current, to a tree on the river-bank, or, by means of some heavy stones, are completely submerged. Every second or third day their owner visits them, and empties them of their finny victims. The Laotians also make use of an ingenious system of floats, which support a row of hooks, and realize the European “fishing by line,” without the help of the fisherman. There are various other methods adopted, such as the net and the harpoon; and in the employment of all these the Laotians display considerable activity and address.

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Let us now accompany our French voyagers in their further ascent of the river. As we have already hinted, its navigation is not without its inconveniences, and even its dangers.

One evening, for example, they dropped anchor at the mouth of a small stream which, in foam and spray, came tumbling down from the mountains of Cambodia. After supper they lay down to rest on the mats which covered the deck of their vessels. Black was the sky, hot and oppressive the air; all around were visible the portents of a coming storm. The distant roar of the hurricane failed, however, to disturb the sleepers, who were spent and overcome with the fatigues of the day. But at last they were wakened effectually by a “thunder-plump,” which quickly flooded their canoes, and drove them upon deck.

In the midst of the elemental disorder, they became aware of a hoarse growling sound; the waters were violently agitated, and a great crest of foam rapidly advanced towards their feeble barks. In a few moments it was upon them. It swept clean over the voyagers and their canoes, and those of the latter which had been carelessly moored were borne down the rushing tide. At first an indescribable disorder prevailed; cries of distress rose in every direction; the canoes dashed violently against one another, or came into collision with uprooted trunks floating on the surface of the storm-tossed waters. THE FLOOD SUBSIDES. Fortunately, the danger was quickly over; and as every boat had contrived to grapple some branch or rock, the voyagers discovered at daybreak that, whatever injuries these had sustained, no lives had been lost. The furious gale they had heard in the distance had raised the waters some twelve feet during the night; but the inundation subsided as rapidly as it had risen.

Under the shade of wide-branching trees, and closely hugging the shore, the expedition continued its voyage. The neighbouring forests were remarkable for their luxuriant vegetation; troops of apes and squirrels of various species gambolled among the mighty trees, among which rose conspicuous the superb yao, the king of these forests, the trunk of which shoots up, free from knot or bough, to a height of eighty or one hundred feet; and out of which the Laotians hollow their piraguas. In the morning a wild beast now and then came down to the river to drink; and night was rendered hideous by the cries and trumpetings of deer, and tigers, and elephants.

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At length the voyagers came within hearing of the tremendous roar of the Khon cataract. Their boatmen, brisker than on ordinary occasions, hauled or propelled their vessels through a very labyrinth of rocks, submerged trees, and prostrate trunks still clinging to earth by their many roots. They knew that their hard labour was nearly at an end, and that at Khon the expedition would dismiss them, as fresh boats would be required above the cataract. As for their homeward voyage, what was it? To ascend the river had been the work of a week; the swift current would bear them back in less than a day.

The cataract of Khon is really a series of magnificent falls, of which one of the grandest is caused by the confluence of the Papheng. There, in the midst of rocks and grassy islets, an enormous sheet of water leaps headlong from a height of seventy feet, to fall back in floods of foam, again to descend from crag to crag, and finally glide away beneath the dense vegetation of the forest. As the river at this point is about one thousand yards in width, the effect is singularly striking. But still more imposing is the Salaphe fall, which extends over a breadth of a mile and a half, at the very foot of the mountains. In order to examine it at leisure, Lieutenant Garnier engaged a Laotian to conduct him to an island lying just above it. Before starting, the guide made certain preparations, of which Garnier could not understand the necessity, in spite of the Laotian’s efforts to explain them. Rolling up about his waist the light langouti, he plastered his feet and legs with a composition of lime and areca juice. This precaution proved to be far from useless; for, on landing on the island, they found the soil covered with thousands of leeches, some no larger than needles, but others two inches and a half to three inches in length. On the approach of the strangers, they reared themselves erect upon each dead leaf and blade of grass; they leaped, so to speak, upon them from every side. The thick coating which the Laotian guide had so prudently assumed preserved him from their bites; but Garnier, in a few moments, was victimized by dozens of these blood-suckers, which crawled up his legs and bled him in spite of all his efforts. He found it impossible to get rid of his determined antagonists; for one leech which he tore off, two fresh assailants seized upon him. Glad was he when he caught sight of a tall tree. He made towards it, scaled its trunk, and, when out of reach of his foes, set to work to deliver himself from the creatures which were feasting at his expense. Throwing off his clothes, he removed the leeches one by one, though it was not without difficulty that he loosened their hold. Even his waistband had not arrested their march, for he found that one audacious persecutor had actually reached his chest.

He felt more than repaid, however, for all his sufferings, when he arrived within sight of the cataract. With a breadth of two thousand yards, a prodigious mass of water came down in blinding foam, roaring like a furious sea when it breaks against an iron-bound coast. At another point, the flood was divided into eight or ten different cascades by as many projecting crags, richly clothed in leafage and vegetation. Beyond, nothing could be seen but one immense rapid,—a roaring, tumultuous deluge! The sandstone blocks and boulders which encumbered the river-bed were completely hidden by the whirl and eddy of the waves; and their position could be detected only by the foam on the surface, or the vapour floating wreath-like in the air. Further still, a few black points, a few ridges of rock, and a chain of small islets, stretched across to the opposite bank, which it was impossible to approach, and where, apparently, the cataract seemed to attain its greatest fury. Such was the great fall of Salaphe,—a scene of sublime grandeur, conveying the idea of everlasting strength and power.

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While preparing to continue their ascent of the river, Lieutenant Garnier and his companions visited Bassac, one of the most important towns in Laos. It is situated in the heart of the richest tropical scenery; and the members of the expedition found it impossible to ramble in any direction without coming upon some fresh and beautiful landscape, or some object of the highest interest. The mountains which surround Bassac are clothed to their very summits with vegetation; and down the shadowy glens which furrow their rugged sides sparkle bright, pure streams on their way to the all-absorbing Mekong. The people of Bassac are a mild and peaceable race, and they received the strangers with cordial hospitality. The time was spent most agreeably in paying and receiving visits; in excursions among the beautiful scenery of the neighbourhood, the choicest “bits” of which they transferred to their sketch-books; in studying the manners and customs of the inhabitants; and in essaying their skill as marksmen against the wild denizens of the forest.

The larger game are generally caught by the hunters of Bassac in nets or snares. The chase on a grand scale is almost unknown. In the forests, however, the hunters sometimes call in the elephant to their assistance; they are thus able to get close to the wished-for prey, as the latter do not take alarm at the approach of an animal so well known. Lieutenant Garnier tells us that he enjoyed his sport in a modest fashion. Sometimes he spent whole days in traversing the dried-up swamps, in the shade of dense masses of trees bound together inextricably by every kind of liana and parasite. To such places resort numerous companies of peacocks and wild fowl during the hot season; but their pursuit is always difficult, and frequently dangerous. Indeed, the Laotians cherish a belief that the tiger and the peacock are always found in the same localities.

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A MOUNTAIN EXCURSION.

One evening, seated at the foot of a tamarisk-tree, the fruit of which a troop of squirrels was busily crunching among the branches overhead, Garnier and his comrade, Dr. Thorel, took counsel together; with the conclusion that, on the day following, they would undertake a mountain excursion, and boldly attempt to scale one of the most elevated peaks. Accordingly, at dawn they started, attended by their usual escort—a native, christened Luiz.

With swift feet they crossed the rice-plantations and marshes that separated them from the foot of the mountains; and by a narrow winding track reached the bed of a dried-up torrent, where they halted for a brief rest. Thence, plunging into the forest, they slowly climbed the precipitous heights, occasionally confronted by a rugged steep, or an immense mass of rock that seemed likely to baffle all their aspirations, but was eventually conquered by combined skill and resolution. The forest soon changed its character; the rarefaction of the air forced itself upon their notice; the daring adventurers rose above the clouds and vapours of the plain. On arriving at a narrow ledge of table-land they halted for breakfast. The first requisite was fresh water; rare enough at that season of the year, and at such a height! Close beside them, however, was the channel of a spent burn; and a careful search among the rocks revealed to them a pool, sheltered from wind and sun, brimming with crystal water,—and tenanted, moreover, by some mountain-eels, small but delicious. The pool being very shallow, a supply of the eels was soon obtained.

It did not take long to kindle a fire. The eels were dexterously grilled; and a savoury and substantial repast concluded with a dessert of wild bananas. Refreshed and invigorated, the mountain-climbers resumed their enterprise; and along a narrow crest, so narrow that two persons could not walk abreast, made their way through a labyrinth of vegetation. With watchful eye, and hand on trigger, they advanced. Suddenly a strayed peacock flew in front of them; but as their position was unfavourable for taking aim, they allowed it to pass by. They reached at last a kind of natural staircase, the ascent of which was rendered inconvenient by the showers of pebbles, loosened by their feet, which rolled to right and left over the precipice. All at once further progress apparently was rendered impossible by a mass of withered brushwood; which, on examination, proved to be the den, happily deserted, of a wild boar.

Beyond this point the crest or ridge grew sharper and sharper; the shattered and accumulated rocks were held together only by the lianas which close-clasped them; and the adventurers were forced to crawl on their hands and knees, holding on by plant or crag. At length the brave effort was crowned with success. They gained the mountain-top, and enjoyed a panorama of wonderful beauty, in which peaks and forests blended their various hues, and wide green plains expanded in the golden sunshine, and the pagodas of Bassac rose like island-pinnacles out of a sea of verdure. The glorious picture, in all its variety of form and glow of colouring, was one on which the eye of man had never before rested; it was a picture of abounding fertility as well as of beauty and grandeur, and suggested the idea of almost inexhaustible resources, which in some future time may be developed by the enterprise and civilization of the West.

RETURN TO BASSAC.

In the course of their descent the explorers gained a broken ridge of rock, overshadowed by the branches of a stately tree, the roots of which clung round the weather-worn stones, and seemed to hold them together. At their approach, a swarm—we might almost say a cloud—of green pigeons whirled and fluttered out of the depths of the green foliage; returning to their resting-places after a few aerial evolutions. The ground beneath was strewn with small fruit, to which the pigeons are extremely partial; and showers continually fell about the explorers’ heads, loosened by the movement of the restless birds. With a little patience, they brought down half a dozen of the feathered spoilers; and then, through the forest shadows and down the mountain-declivities, they pursued their homeward march.

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The following evening, Garnier and Dr. Thorel were invited to join a young Laotian in his walk. The latter led them across a pleasant breadth of garden-ground to an open space, strewn here and there with ashes and the refuse of wood-fires. Behind a clump of tall bamboos, some fifty spectators, seated in an oval ring, surrounded a couple of wrestlers, and displayed a lively interest in the various phases of their strife. At a few paces distant, three men were engaged in rekindling a fire which had died out for lack of fuel. Some bonzes, or priests, clothed in full long robes of yellow stuff, were viewing the spectacle from afar, or wending their way towards the neighbouring pagoda. Two or three women crouched on the ground, amidst baskets of fruit and large earthen vessels full of rice-wine, intended as refreshment for the spectators or the heated athletes.

Among the bystanders was conspicuous a Laotian, attired in a langouti, and silken vest of dazzling colours, and sheltered by a parasol held over his head by a boy standing in the rear, who warmly encouraged one of the combatants, while a portion of the assembly evidently backed his antagonist. The struggle was protracted. Betting took place vigorously, and considerable sums were wagered on both sides. The white men seated themselves apart, in order to study in all its details a scene so full of animation. It was impossible not to admire the suppleness of the two athletes,—robust young men, trained to the combat from their very infancy; impossible not to take an interest in the skill and agility with which they eluded or endeavoured to surprise one another. Sometimes they paused, face to face, and regarded each other with fixed gaze, slightly curving their loins or shoulders; a moment, and they leaped from end to end of the arena, assuming theatrical attitudes—and, when occasion offered, dealing a vigorous blow of the fist which reddened the sun-bronzed skin.

A STRANGE FUNERAL CEREMONY.

Their Laotian friend informed our travellers that they were witnessing nothing less than a funeral ceremony! In Laos, cremation is the universal custom; and the mortuary rites of a Laotian of rank generally terminate with a gladiatorial combat, at the conclusion and on the very site of the process of cremation.

The national rule is, that the corpse of a Laotian mandarin shall be preserved for several days in its shroud within the proper mortuary-hut. Friends and kinsmen assemble therein, and console themselves as best they may with abundant eating and drinking; a custom which prevails elsewhere than in Laos! It does not appear that the Laotians regard death with any particular apprehension. Their special anxiety is to prevent the evil spirits from obtaining possession of the souls of the dead, and playing them malignant tricks. During the day these spirits will not attempt anything; but at night they gain courage, and to shelter the deceased from their manoeuvres seems to be no easy task. However, by means of numerous prayers, and more particularly by keeping up a tremendous clamour, it is generally possible, the Laotians believe, to avert their disastrous influence.

For this purpose all the bonzes of the neighbourhood are summoned; and taking up positions around the bier, they chant aloud their invocations. By day, and especially by night, the family assist them in keeping watch. The women decorate the coffin with floral offerings, as well as with ornaments of wax intended to facilitate combustion. The men, armed with gongs, tomtoms, and any other instrument they can seize upon, accompany, as noisily as possible, the chants of the bonzes. “Harmony” is not the object aimed at; but to secure the maximum of noise.

When the day appointed for the final ceremony arrives, the uproar is redoubled at early morn, as a signal to the friends and relatives of the departed, who make their appearance in full costume.

A procession is then arranged for the purpose of carrying the corpse to the place of burning. The bonzes lead the way, the seniors coming last. Then follows the coffin, supported on the shoulders of a dozen young men, and surmounted by a kind of bamboo canopy, embellished with flowers and foliage, and destined, like the coffin, to be consumed on the funeral pyre. The men march next, with the wealthiest and most influential of the kinsmen of the deceased at their head. The rear is brought up by the women and children, carrying long bamboos ornamented with banderoles of various colours, which are planted in the ground during the process of cremation.

The pile is reared at one extremity of the burial-ground, where bamboo poles and the trunks of aged palms have been linked together with long lianas to form a kind of aerial barrier against the invasion of the evil spirits. It is composed of pieces of wood of equal length, carefully arranged in intercrossed layers, and it rises to the height of a man’s shoulders, so that the bearers, passing half to one side and half to the other, can deposit the coffin without effort. The men gather round in a circle; the women stand a little in the rear. The bonzes recite their prayers, and receive once more the offerings which the relatives of the deceased never fail to bring for them and their pagoda; after which the chief priest mounts the pile, and standing erect, with hands extended over the coffin, pronounces with a loud voice a concluding prayer.

As soon as he has descended, the attendants set fire to the resinous materials placed under the pile. A dazzling jet of flame shoots aloft, and soon envelopes the coffin. The ornaments are consumed in quick succession; the pile breaks down in a mass of flame and smoke; and into the midst falls the corpse, released from the charred and burning coffin. Yet, painful as this spectacle seems, no native exhibits the slightest emotion. The work of combustion is allowed to complete itself, and no one touches the ashes of humanity throughout the day. The women depart, while the men follow the president of the ceremonies to be present at the gladiatorial show in honour of the deceased which we have already described.

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CORONATION OF THE KING.

The voyagers next made their way to Oubon, where they arrived in time to witness the coronation of the king. The chief of every village, and the leading men of every province, and indeed all the inhabitants, had been invited to “assist” in the ceremony. On the morning of the appointed day, the strangers were deafened by an uproar of drums and gongs and other unmusical instruments. The noisy orchestra surrounded the palace; while the royal procession wound through the streets of Oubon, and defiled into its square or market-place. Mounted upon an elephant of great size, which was armed with a pair of formidable tusks, the king made his appearance, encircled by guards on foot and on horseback, and attended by his great dignitaries mounted like himself. A train of smaller elephants followed, carrying the court ladies. The cortÉge finally directed its course to some spacious pavilions erected for the purpose, where the bonzes of the royal pagoda were offering up their prayers.

A few minutes passed, and another tableau was presented. The king was seen enthroned in the largest pavilion. He arose, and, escorted by his principal officers, advanced into the middle of a wide platform, where the bonzes, still uttering their prayers, gathered about him. He threw off his clothes, replacing them by a mantle of white cloth. Then the bonzes drew apart, so as to open up a passage for him; and he proceeded to place himself, with his body bent into a curve, immediately underneath the sacred dragon. Prayers were recommenced, and the king received the anointing or consecrating douche; while a dignitary who stood at one corner of the dais set free a couple of turtle-doves, as a sign that all creation, down even to the animals, should be happy on so auspicious a day.

When the water which was contained in the dragon’s body had completely douched the royal person, new garments were brought, over which was thrown a large white robe; and he returned to his place in the centre of the hall. A grand banquet of rice, and cucumbers, and eggs, and pork, and delicious bananas, washed down by copious draughts of rice-wine, concluded the day’s proceedings; and in the evening the town was lighted up with fireworks, while bands of singers and musicians traversed the streets.

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Lieutenant Garnier, after a brief rest, resumed his exploration of the Mekong, passing through scenery which previously no European had visited. At night he and his companions halted at the most convenient spot, lighted a fire, cooked their meal of rice, and took their rest under the curtain of a starry sky, or beneath such shelter as they could hastily run up. Fatigue assisted them to a speedy slumber; yet their repose was often disturbed by the cries of the wild elephants which, in large numbers, roamed among the hills on the other side of the river, or by the roar of some tiger prowling along the bank. During the day their attention was sometimes diverted from the contemplation of the strange and picturesque scenery which surrounded them, by the necessity of piloting their boat through the rapids and whirlpools that obstruct the navigation of the river.

In this way they proceeded to Kemarat and Pennom; and, across an immense plain, remarkable for its fertility, followed the course of the river, which runs due north and south, broadening into a lake of such dimensions that its boundaries cannot be detected by the naked eye. One morning, as the mists cleared off, they were surprised at the appearance, on the northern horizon, of dim azure forms, resembling the deception of the mirage, or clouds of fantastic outline, or rather a mass of medieval ruins, with lofty towers and pinnacles, and shattered ramparts. The natives informed them that these were the mountains of Lakon, at the foot of which they would arrive on the following day. They found it difficult to believe in the existence of such mountains, the configuration of which grew stranger and more fantastic as they drew nearer to them; sometimes exhibiting sheer precipitous declivities, sometimes overhanging masses, while sometimes each summit appeared cloven into deep and shadowy chasms. These enormous rocks of marble of different tints have been heaped up in awful confusion by some convulsion of the terrestrial crust; and forced, by an inconceivable subterranean effort, through the sandstone formation which underlies the superficial strata of the country.

Round the projecting angle of the mountain-mass the river lightly sweeps; and then its broad waters reflect the huts and pagodas of the important town of Lakon. The bank was lined with the barks of traders and fishers; ample nets, suspended to rows of bamboos, dried in the open air. Sheds erected for the convenience of voyagers, piles of wood and merchandise, and loaded rafts, gave an air of animation and activity to the approaches to the town. Our voyagers, well pleased to regain the society of their kind, made haste to unload their boats, while native porters carried their luggage to the house set apart for their accommodation: it stood on the margin of the river, overshadowed by the branches of a huge mango-tree. Here, as soon as the work was done, they stretched themselves on the floor, postponing until the morrow their exploration of the town.

At daybreak they were aroused by the noisy gong of a neighbouring pagoda. Already the river-bank and the town showed signs of life and movement. Curious faces were gathered round the strangers’ hut. A large bag of rice, fruit, fish, and some buffalo-steaks dried in the sun, arrived, sent by the mandarin provisionally intrusted with the charge of supplying their wants. The fresh genial morning tempted them forth, and they went from end to end of the town, which seemed both wealthy and populous. The pagodas were numerous, the huts well-constructed, the gardens green and admirably kept. The inhabitants appeared free and happy. Behind the town, in an open space on the border of the rice-fields, some bands of travellers lay encamped under roofs of interwoven foliage. The principal street, which ran along the river-bank, was shaded everywhere by the trees and creepers of the gay gardens that skirted its entire course. It made a pleasant promenade, as through each opening in the rich glossy foliage could be seen the white sands of the shore, the calm crystal river, the forest thickly crowding the opposite bank, and, beyond, the long line of the marble mountains.

AN ANNAMITE SETTLEMENT.

After this excursion, our voyagers returned to their hut, which they found an object of attraction to all the curiosity-mongers of Lakon. The most distinguished ladies of the town had assembled to see the strangers, and offer in exchange for European ornaments their richest fruits and freshest vegetables. If Garnier and his companions were surprised at their appearance, they were still more surprised to find in the crowd a group of twenty Annamites, who had emigrated from the French colony of Cochin-China, and had been established at Lakon for some years. As Garnier’s escort was also composed of Annamites, the scene between the compatriots thus singularly brought together was one of unbounded ecstasy. Garnier went on a visit to the little Annamite settlement, which repeated in every detail the villages of Cochin-China. In each hut was to be seen the tiny domestic altar, with its lights, and incense, and small statue of Buddha, and broad bands of red paper, inscribed with Chinese characters and symbolical designs. There, too, were the large central table, a mother-of-pearl plateau, a complete “tea-equipage” (to use the late Lord Lytton’s phrase), and a bed surrounded by mosquito-curtains. And no less conspicuous was that want of cleanliness, both in dwelling and person, which characterize the natives of Cochin-China.

We cannot describe all the objects of interest at Lakon, or all the excursions which Garnier made in its neighbourhood. The geologist and botanist of the expedition adventured a visit to the Marble Mountains. With a guide and a couple of elephants, they crossed the river, plunged into the forest-depths, and found their way to the quarries, where blocks of marble are excavated for the purpose of being made into lime of a dazzling whiteness. Then they penetrated into the grottoes and caverns with which the mountains abound. As they advanced, the scenery became more and more picturesque, and more and more savage: high rugged peaks rose above the forest trees; bushes and lianas and parasitical plants decked with festoons every rocky projection; here yawned a gloomy chasm, there towered aloft a mighty and awful precipice. But the scene of scenes burst upon them after they had threaded a gloomy maze of trees and intertangled bamboos. Two immense walls of sombre rock, several hundred yards in height, enclosed a broad ravine, which, at the further extremity, opened on a bare and shining plain. On the left, the wall extended to a great distance, forming a long line, decreasing in elevation through the natural effect of the perspective. That on the right towered above a pile of enormous rocks, heaped together in the wildest confusion; it seemed to turn like the enceinte of a strong fortification, and was terminated abruptly by a vertical line, broken by numerous gaps. Between these lofty barriers lay a barren plain; afar, some miniature pools glittered with a magical effect in the “pale moonlight.” The prospect was closed in the distance by the steep declivities of lofty mountains, surrounding and shutting up, as it were, this gigantic “cirque” or amphitheatre. About three hundred yards from the entrance rose two vertical rocks, like a couple of slender spires, or rather like two enormous tapers—rose to a prodigious height, isolated, and emerging from a clump of luxuriant verdure which flourished at their feet. One of these rocks was fully nine hundred feet in elevation. The other was not so lofty, and seemed to have partially fallen, the ground being everywhere strewn with its wreck.

From this remarkable spectacle the French savants proceeded to inspect a superb grotto excavated in the great wall of cliff, near the two pillar-like masses. By climbing some rocks they obtained an entry into it, and found it to form a spacious hall, varying from forty to eighty feet in height, of great depth, with a rounded, vaulted roof. The ground was thick with stalagmites; while stalactites of the most various shapes depended from the vault, and glittered, like so many mirrors, in the light of torches.

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A day or two afterwards, Garnier and his friends, in returning from a walk in the environs of Lakon, encountered some Laotians carrying vessels of bamboo, filled with a liquid which at first they supposed to be water. On tasting it, however, they discovered that it was the wine of the country; sweet-flavoured, and by no means disagreeable to the palate; not unlike, indeed, the product of some of the Rhenish vineyards. It was palm-wine, freshly made; and to enjoy its bouquet and full flavour it should be drunk in this condition, for it will not keep more than four-and-twenty hours without fermentation. The Laotians offered to conduct the strangers to a neighbouring plantation, where they might observe the different processes of its manufacture. The offer was accepted, and the party soon arrived at a clearing which was thickly planted with great borassus palms. HOW THE WINE IS COLLECTED. To collect the wine,—which is, in fact, the sap of the tree,—nothing more is necessary than to make an incision in the middle of the head of the tree, at the point where the leaves branch off, and suspend beneath a bamboo, into which the sap falls, drop by drop. In order to reach the summit of these huge palms, which are straight and smooth as the main-mast of a ship, the Laotians have invented a simple and ingenious process. They transform the palm into a veritable ladder, by attaching to the trunk, with small strips of flexible ratan, projecting laths of bamboo, which, jutting out to right and left at intervals of twelve to fourteen inches, form so many “rungs,” and enable the ascent of the tree to be rapidly and easily accomplished.

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A RUINED CITY.

But we must no longer tarry at Lakon. We must once more launch the boats of our adventurous voyagers, and continue our exploration of the great river. It waters a populous country, and large towns are of frequent occurrence on its banks. We pass HoÛten, with its pagodas, its mountains, and green woods; Saniabury, with its rude pottery-manufacture; verdurous islands and shining sandbanks; and the mouths of the many streams which help to swell the abundant volume of the Mekong. From Saniabury the French expedition proceeded to Bouncang, a large and beautiful village at the mouth of the Nam San; thence to Nong Kay, where a Buddhist tat or pyramidal landmark, erected to indicate a sacred spot, or to enshrine a relic, has been washed away from the shore, and now lies half submerged, like a wrecked ship; and thence to Vien Chan, where the river widens into a channel of a thousand yards in width, before it enters the mountain region. Vien Chan, now a heap of ruins, was the former metropolis of the kingdom of Laos; and relics of antiquity spread over a considerable area testify to its ancient prosperity and splendour. The remains of the royal palace are interesting. It does not seem to have been built of very durable materials, the walls and staircases being faced with, and the pavement and flooring composed of, bricks, wood, or a kind of cement; but the entire structure still exhibits a certain elegance of character, and a remarkable wealth of decoration—the columns of wood have been tastefully carved and profusely gilded; and the whole is embellished with mouldings, and arabesques, and fantastic animal-figures.

The absolute silence reigning within the precincts of a city formerly so rich and populous, was, however, much more impressive than any of its monuments; more impressive even than the deserted topes or Buddhist temples which raised their domes in the shadow of the surrounding forest.

THE BUDDHIST TEMPLES.

These, abandoned by their priests, and constructed of the same materials as the palace, are rapidly decaying. The rapid vegetation of the tropics, which softens happily the pitiful aspect of Desolation with its flowers and verdure, lends to these ruined sanctuaries, at a distance, a delusive air of age; tall grasses grow everywhere about the sacred precincts, creepers and parasites twine round each column, and vigorous trees force their crests through the shattered roofs in search of light.

The most considerable temple is Wat Pha Keo, the royal pagoda. Its timber faÇade, delicately wrought, and sparkling with those plates of glass which the Laotians and the Siamese cunningly mingle with their gilding in order to produce a greater effect of brilliancy, shines forth in the midst of the forest, gracefully framed with blooming lianas, and profusely garlanded with foliage. Gold has been unsparingly lavished on the sides of the square columns which supported the half-shattered roof; and a Byzantine style of decoration, very remarkable in effect, has at one time covered every inch of space. Though this mode of ornamentation is by no means lasting, it is very charming; and the numerous pagodas in Vien Chan thus embellished produced, at a distance, a wonderful impression of dazzling magnificence.

To the north, in the midst of the forest, is situated a smaller pagoda, which has undergone but little dilapidation,—that of Wat Sisaket. In its interior a number of small statues of Buddha are enshrined in gilded niches, which cover the wall from floor to ceiling, rivalling the terraces of Boro Bodor, the celebrated Buddhist monument of Java. Before the altar was elevated a candelabrum, remarkable for its originality of design and exquisite finish of workmanship. A few paces distant from the pagoda was situated the library, an indispensable appendage of all the temples of Laos; it was partly destroyed. As no native was near, the French explorers clambered up the worm-eaten pillars which supported and isolated from the soil the flooring of this literary tabernacle: in the interior some sacred books were scattered about; they were composed of long narrow strips cut from the leaves of a particular species of palm, gilded on the edges, and stitched together in books. Each contained seven or eight lines of that rounded writing peculiar to the peoples of the Indo-Chinese peninsula; which differs, as is recognized at the first glance, from the writing of India properly so-called, though derived from it. A BUDDHIST MONASTERY. Finally, attached directly to the pagoda, the travellers found a rectangular gallery, opening internally on a court,—its walls covered, like those of the temple itself, with small niches containing Buddha statues. This was the vihara (chon-khon in Laotian), or monastery, which served as the residence of the priests ministering in Wat Sisaket.

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A DANGEROUS PASS.

Some miles above Vien Chan, the Mekong enters a narrow valley, which is sharply defined and enclosed by two ranges of high hills. Its waters, hitherto majestic and tranquil, which had peacefully unfolded silver coil after coil over the vast plateau of central Laos, now accelerated their course, and tumbled and eddied among the rocks, ever restless and ever noisy. The noble river, which had previously measured its breadth by thousands of yards, now shut up within two barriers of constantly-increasing elevation, was now contained in a channel which rarely attained to five or six hundred yards in width, and from which it was no more to escape. In dry seasons it occupied only a small portion of this space, and it had presented a rugged and broken surface of rock; a grand mosaic, where fragments mingled of all the metamorphic formations—marbles, schists, serpentines, even jades,—curiously coloured, and sometimes admirably polished.

As the travellers advanced the river grew narrower, and, with a width of three hundred yards and a depth of twenty-five fathoms, flowed through a wild and wooded valley, uninhabited except by the animals of the forest. They passed the mouth of the Nam Thon; after which they came upon a dangerous series of rapids, where the foaming waters, hurled and driven from side to side, and swung round projecting rocks, and driven against the foot of precipitous banks, rushed downwards tumultuously, with all the clang and clash of billows breaking against a reef. To thread this water-labyrinth, it was necessary to obtain the assistance of a pilot from a neighbouring village; and even he was unwilling to promise that the boats of the expedition, light and small as they were, could be carried up to the next Muong, that of Xieng Cang. The boats, however, were unloaded, and the stores transferred to the shoulders of sturdy natives, who bore them along the rocks; while others towed the boats with many a lusty pull through the whirl and foam of the rapids. But so laborious and so difficult was the task, that two whole days were spent in effecting the passage of a few miles.

At length they reached Xieng Cang, or, as it is also called, Muong Mai, the “new Muong,” which is one of the most important centres of population on the left bank of the Mekong. The river here broadens considerably, and its waters are as peaceful as those of a woodland pool. Opposite to the town rises a beautiful chain of green mountains, in a series of gently-sloping terraces; and these are intersected by delightful Eden-valleys, finely wooded, enamelled with flowers, and brightened by the silver thread of a little brook. The village, or town, is well built; the houses are very lofty; and the inhabitants are employed, according to the season, in the manufacture of cotton and the cultivation of rice. The principal pagoda, situated on the threshold of the rice-fields, near a grove of graceful corypha palms, is richly ornamented in the interior, and, among other curiosities, contains an ancient carved porte-cierges of wood. A CENTRE OF TRADE. At the time of Garnier’s visit, some Birman traders had displayed the contents of their packs on the steps of the temple, and were selling to the natives their bright-coloured cotton stuffs and English hardware. A road having been made westward from HoÛten, Muong Mai is only a hundred leagues from Moulmein, which lies in nearly the same latitude, and is, as the reader knows, an English colony, and a busy commercial port, at the mouth of the Saluen. From this point spread over the interior of Laos the Peguans, or Birmans of the British possessions, whose knowledge of the wares most readily purchased by European merchants, and the high price at which they sell to the natives their English goods, enable them to accumulate considerable wealth.

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ARRIVAL AT PAK LAY.

Resuming their northward route, and bent upon tracing the river up to its mountain-source, they passed through a fertile and picturesque country, which has been made known to the Western nations by the enterprise of the traveller Mouhot. Leaving behind them the mouth of the Nam Lim, and diverging somewhat to the west, then again to the north, the voyagers arrived in the neighbourhood of Pak Lay, where they fell in with a M. Duyshart, a Hollander in the service of the king of Siam, and employed by him in a series of geographical researches, who was descending the river to Bangkok. They exchanged scientific notes, and it appeared that Duyshart had surveyed the course of the Cambodia or Mekong for one hundred and twenty miles above Luang Prabang.

A few hours after this interesting rencontre, the French expedition crossed the boundary-line of the kingdom of Luang Prabang, and reached the extremity of the great rapid of Keng Sao. Successfully steering their course through its rocks and islets, they arrived at Pak Lay, a romantically-situated village, buried in the deep shadows of the primeval forest. To the north of the village, and almost hidden by the trees, is situated a small pagoda, entirely deficient in the accessory buildings which usually surround a temple at Laos, but better placed for the purpose of assisting the self-absorption of its priests and votaries.

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As the voyagers proceeded up the river, they now began to notice a gradual change in the character alike of the inhabitants and the vegetation. The calcareous mountains which dominated over the river-valley assumed the most irregular and fantastic forms, and forced it into a constant succession of broken curves and sharp angular turns. At times a mass of marble suddenly projected its high precipitous cliffs, which the river bathed with waters sometimes foaming, sometimes tranquil.

The Mekong was not at its full height at the time our voyagers ascended it: a great part of its bed lay bare; and a person, on landing, before he could reach the bank had to traverse wide spans rugged with rocks. Here and there spread immense sandbanks, on which were erected large fishing-stations—veritable towns of bamboo—already abandoned by the fishermen in anticipation of the quick-coming rise of the waters.

For three days the expedition continued its course. Not a single hut was visible anywhere. The only incidents of their voyage were the rapids, which occurred at intervals of three or four miles. These, for the most part, were formed by the shingle and rocks accumulated at their mouth by the numerous streamlets which the river here receives. By dint of vigorous exertions, the native boatmen “poled” their light barks through each swift current. At times the scene was illuminated by the arrowy flashes of a storm-swept sky; and peals of thunder, resounding among the mountains in multitudinous reverberations, mingled with the roar of the waters. Hail frequently fell in heavy showers during these gales, which lasted usually about half an hour, and abruptly lowered the temperature four or five degrees.

The river’s course was remarkably direct, and lay almost due north. At certain points it completely filled its bed; its breadth was then reduced to about one hundred and fifty yards; and the hills which bordered it were of so regular an appearance that the stream assumed all the features of an artificial canal. A series of miniature cascades flashed their silver spray in all directions, as they descended the verdurous slopes.

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Luang Prabang, at which our voyagers in due course arrived, is the modern capital of Laos. It is picturesque and pleasant to the view, and enjoys the advantage of a favourable situation. Its houses are very numerous, and are arranged in parallel lines around a small central hillock, which, like a dome of verdure, rises above the mass of gray thatched roofs. On the summit a tat or dagoba elevates its sharp arrowy pinnacle above a belt of trees, so as to form a landmark for all the surrounding country. Upon the terraced declivities of this quasi-sacred eminence are situated several pagodas, the red roofs of which are vividly defined against the sombre green vegetation. A PICTURESQUE SCENE. At the foot of the cliffs, which are about fifty feet high, stretches a row of permanent rafts, on which numerous huts are erected, composing beneath the town a kind of second town or river-suburb, connected with the capital itself by zigzag paths, shining like white ribbons in the distance. Hundreds of boats of all sizes move rapidly along this floating city; while large and heavy rafts, coming down from the upper waters of the river, seek a convenient nook for mooring and unloading their cargoes. At the foot of the cliffs a crowd of boatmen and porters hurry to and fro; and the hum of voices mingles confusedly with the murmur of the stream, and the whisper of the palm-trees which wave their feathery crests upon its smiling and fertile banks.

After a brief sojourn at this interesting and lively city, the French voyagers, animated by their desire to open up a new channel of commercial enterprise, and discover a practicable route from Cambodia to China, resumed their ascent of the Mekong. They found that, above Luang Prabang, it narrowed considerably, and resumed its wild and romantic aspect. The mountains on either hand exhibited a succession of bold, dark, cloven crests; their lowest terraces, impending over the river-banks, being frequently ornamented by a pyramid, the tomb of a pious bonze or the shrine of an imaginary relic, the slender form of which harmonized well with the character of the landscape.

Passing the confluence of the Nam Hou, they came upon the cavern of Pak Hou, which the Buddhist priests have covered with religious decoration, and adorned with the gifts of munificent pilgrims. Thence they proceeded to Ban Tanoun; and from Ban Tanoun to Xieng Khong, the second in importance of the towns of the great province of Muong Nan. There they experienced some difficulty in obtaining permission to enter the Burmese territory; and, moreover, they found that they had nearly reached the limit of the navigable portion of the river. Few are the obstacles, however, which cannot be conquered by resolution and energy; and on the 14th of June the expedition left Xieng Khong in six light boats, drawing but little water, and continued the ascent of the river, which here bends to the westward, and flows across an apparently boundless plain. It is crossed near the town or village by a graceful but slender bridge of bamboo, from which may be obtained a charming view of its graceful sweep through a luxuriance of tropical vegetation.

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At Muong Lim the expedition were compelled to abandon their boats. Its members found themselves there in the midst of a population differing in race from any they had previously met with. They seem, these Mou-tsen, to be of Caucasian origin. A CAUCASIAN PEOPLE. Their costume is very complicated, and even tasteful; and the tinsel and embroidery with which they cover their persons gives them a certain resemblance to the inhabitants of some parts of Brittany. The head-gear of the women has, at all events, the merit of originality. It consists of a series of rings of bamboo, covered with plaited straw, and fastened on the top of the head. The brim of this kind of hat is enriched over the forehead with silver balls; above are two rows of pearl-white glass beads; on the left side depends a tuft of white and red cotton thread, from which issues a loop formed of strings of many-coloured pearls. This coiffure, which is capable of infinite modifications, is completed with an abundance of leaves and flowers. The women also wear a tight-fitting bodice, the sleeves and edges of which are trimmed with pearls, and a short petticoat reaching to the knee. The legs are wrapped round with leggings, which begin at the ankle, and cover the whole of the calf. These leggings, too, are ornamented with a row of pearls about half-way up. The toilette is completed by ear-rings of coloured beads or balls of blown silver, bracelets, belts, collars, and shoulder-belts crossed over the bosom. As for the men, they wear the usual turban, loose short pantaloons, and a waistcoat with silver buttons. With both sexes a necessary addition to the attire is a kind of cloak or mantle of leaves, in shape like a book half-open, which is fastened to the neck, and in rainy weather is brought up over the head like a loose cover. The women, when carrying burdens, add to their already complex costume a wooden board across the shoulders, so made as to fit into the neck; and to this is suspended the basket containing the load. In front the board is kept in its place by cords, which are attached to the waist-belt or held in the hand.

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PLEASANT TRAVEL.

Having obtained the necessary authorization to push their researches further, the adventurers set out from Muong Lim on the 1st of July, with an escort of natives carrying their instruments, provisions, and stores. At Puleo, finding the demands of the porters more than their limited funds could afford to meet, they reduced their baggage to the smallest possible proportions, and were thus enabled to dispense with the services of some of their attendants. They found the banks of the Cambodia frequented by numerous caimans, whose eggs are collected and eaten by the inhabitants. By day the journey was rendered pleasant through the constant succession of novel scenes. They made their way over a hilly and richly-wooded country, occasionally coming upon cotton plantations of exceeding richness; at other times upon delicious rills of crystal which spread their silver network over a fresh green expanse of flower-enamelled sward. Then they crossed a stretch of fertile rice-fields; and again they plunged into fresh glades, where a path wound in and out of clumps of palms and tropical trees, and waving ferns and rare flowering shrubs grew in luxuriant masses. But sometimes, at night, their experience was rather painful. They generally constructed a rude shelter of boughs and interwoven leaves; but this was often insufficient to protect them against the heavy rains that fell during passing storms, and was useless, of course, as a defence against the legions of leeches and mosquitoes which haunted the forest-depths.

After leaving a place called Siem-lap, they arrived on the borders of a half-dried torrent, the rocky bed of which was strangely bare of vegetation. The stones, among which a thin thread of water found its way, were a curious appearance; they were white, and covered with saline incrustations. The travellers tasted the water; it was warm. The three or four sources of this singular stream rose, a short distance off, at the foot of a wall of rocks: as they escaped among the shingle they exhaled a cloud of vapour, and their temperature was shown by the thermometer to be not less than 154° F.

Through a beautiful ravine they made their way to the picturesque village of Sop Yong. The richest and most magnificent vegetation imaginable grew close to the very edge of the river, and the travellers were frequently compelled to take to its waters, swollen as they were by the constant rains, and breast as best they could the violence of the current.

A SIGN OF CIVILIZATION.

The next stage after Sop Yong was Ban Passang, which is described as an agglomeration of villages situated on a fertile table-land, in the heart of a rice-growing district. It is situated in the territory of Muong Yong, the chief town lying further to the westward. For Muong Yong the travellers set out on the 7th of August. They traversed a plain abundantly watered by streams which all flow into the Nam Yong, a branch of the great river. Over the chief of these little tributaries, the Nam Ouang, is thrown a wooden bridge; and this agreeable accommodation, a very great rarity in the land of the Laotians, pleasantly surprised our gallant explorers; they looked upon it as the sign of a more advanced civilization, which before long would exhibit itself more completely. A considerable portion of the plain was laid out in rice-fields; the rest was all swamp and morass. They passed by several villages which wore an unusual aspect of ease and comfort. Pagodas with curved roofs attracted the eye, and bore witness to the influence of Chinese architecture and the vicinity of the Celestial Empire.

At Muong Yong the expedition was delayed until the 8th of September, owing to the difficulty of obtaining the permission of the king of Birmah to cross those Laotian territories which are now included within the borders of his extensive dominions. The interval was occupied in short excursions in the neighbourhood, and in studying the manners and customs of the inhabitants. It was with no small pleasure, however, that the French adventurers took their departure, and continued their bold advance into regions of which European geographers knew but little. Their route led them to the important town of Muong You, where they paid visits of courtesy to the principal mandarins, the Burman representative, and the king of Muong You himself. This prince received them with dignified hospitality, and entertained them at a banquet, which was “served up” in magnificent style, and with a dazzling display of gold and silver plate. He is described as a young man of twenty-six, with a graceful figure and handsome countenance. He was attired in a dress of green satin, embroidered with red flowers; and the fire of the rubies which hung pendent from his ears illuminated the silken reflections of his rich costume. He was seated on cushions glittering with gold tracery. Around him were ranged in respectful attitudes the mandarins of the palace; at his feet, the sword and vessels of gold, finely wrought, which are the symbol of royalty.

From Muong You the expedition struck across a romantic country—as yet provided with but few facilities for travellers—to Xieng Hong, where new impediments were thrown in the way of their further progress. Having obtained admission to the presence of the king, they succeeded, however, in obtaining the royal favour, and made their way along the valley of the Nam Yong, which is bounded on either hand by lofty mountains, to Muong La, or, as it is also called, Se-mao, situated on the frontier of China; that mysterious land which has preserved its own strange civilization intact for upwards of two thousand years, and still offers a sullen resistance to the progressive influences of the West.

ENTERING CHINA.

Once upon Chinese territory, they found their march comparatively easy. Order reigned everywhere; and in all directions could be seen the evidences of a constant and energetic industry. At Pou-eul, a village of salt-pits, with its smoke, its dusky houses, its hoarse sounds of active life, our travellers felt that they were once more in the midst of a thriving civilization, and could almost have believed that they were located in a small industrial town of Europe. CHANGE OF SCENE. Numerous convoys of asses, mules, oxen, and horses ascended and descended the long sloping street along which were erected the different factories, carrying thither wood and charcoal and cordage, and carrying away salt. Above the village rose a pagoda, crowning the summit of a hill so high that the murmur of the life below could not reach it. Groves of pines stretched far away on either hand; and along the declivities were ranged abundant rice-fields, situated one above the other in symmetrical terraces.

The expedition had now left the valley of the Mekong, and were wholly uncertain whether the route prescribed for them by the Chinese authorities would bring them again in contact with the great Cambodian river. We propose, however, to follow M. Garnier, as his wanderings led him through a country hitherto unknown to Europeans.

THE FORTRESS OF THE EAST.

In the early part of November our adventurers struck the right bank of the Pa-pien-kiang of the Chinese, which is apparently identical with the Nam-La, an affluent of the Mekong. Thence they ascended into the table-land of Yunnan, rendered familiar to English ears in connection with the enterprise and murder of Mr. Margary; and reached Tong-kuan, or “the Fortress of the East,”—a strongly-built town, with a large garrison, posted on a commanding ridge between two river-valleys. Afterwards they crossed another considerable stream, the Poukou-kiang, and continued their march through valleys and over hills where the industry of man has softened the wilder features of the scenery, and made the wilderness to blossom like a garden. In a few days they made their appearance at Yuen-kiang, where they seem to have been welcomed with almost royal honours. The town is large and populous, with every indication of commercial activity and wealth. It has several handsome pagodas, which have something of the Buddhist type about them. The markets are well supplied with provisions of excellent quality and low price. Oranges are almost “given away;” and potatoes are so cheap and plentiful that an Irish peasant would think himself in an earthly paradise. The country around the town is highly cultivated; cotton being largely grown, and mulberry-trees for the silkworm nurseries. A rich and radiant plain is watered by the stream of the Ho-ti-kiang, which, opposite the town, measures about one-fifth of a mile in breadth.

At Pou-pio M. Garnier hired a light canoe, and, in company with some trading barks, began the descent of the Ho-ti-kiang, which for some distance swirled in a narrow channel between mountain-walls of two thousand five hundred to three thousand feet in height. Each torrent which rent these rocky barriers brought down with it an immense quantity of stones and pebbles, that encumbered the river-bed with shoals and banks, and pent up the waters in foaming rapids. M. Garnier was bound for Lin-ngan, but these numerous obstacles greatly impeded his progress. But by degrees the river-bed broadened, the heights receded on either hand, and the stream flowed with a full and tranquil current through a gently undulating country, well cultivated, and studded with populous villages.

In due time he reached Lin-ngan, where, as the first European who had visited it, he became an object of special attraction. An inspection of the town showed him that it was neatly and regularly built, and of rectangular form, measuring about two thousand yards in length, by one thousand in breadth. In the centre were gardens and pagodas decorated with much taste; and a large and fully-stocked market was a scene of very picturesque animation.