What happened was this. It became a matter of hot discussion among the priests of our dormitory Pituk Khamtsan whether they should leave me to stay there or not, because I was being received by the Grand Lama, the noblemen and the Ministers, as a great doctor. After a long discussion, the priests came to an agreement that they should make a special rule on my account, and put me in one of the best rooms. I was, of course, pleased to be removed from my strangely smelling, dark and dirty room to a free, clean apartment. I saw the Dalai Lama on July 21st, and was removed into the good room toward the end of the same month. It is one of the regulations of the college that no new-comer shall have a separate room for himself, but that he shall live with some one else in a room, though occasionally a rich student may enjoy the possession of a dirty room for himself on admission. Though not among the poor, I was not eligible to have a room, even a dirty one, all to myself. A priest must reside there some ten years before he is allowed to live in a room of the fourth class; after three years more he may be removed to a study room of the third class. But it must be remembered that everything depends on money. When he receives the degree of a doctor, he is given a second-class room. The rooms of the first class are used only by incarnate Lamas, who come to study. As things were I was given a second-class study. It was a cosy structure of two storeys with a kitchen and a closet. Some studies have third floors, but my new quarters were only two-storied. The room upstairs was the best. To live in such a house, however, one must have articles of furniture as well as some servant-priests. I was now like a poor boy, who had grown up all of a sudden and had been given a house to keep. I was obliged to procure many articles needed for my new condition, all of which I had fortunately money enough to buy.

The priests, though diverse in studies, may be classified into three large divisions, higher, middle, and lower. By the middle class of priests, I mean those who spend about seven yen a month for their keep. They do not pay for their dwellings, which are provided by their temple, though some Khamtsans, which are in debt, take rents from their priests for their studying-rooms. When a Khamtsan is too full of priests, some of them go to seek rooms for themselves in some other, in which case they pay from one to three yen a month, or twenty-five sen for a dirty room.

A suit of clothing as used by student-priests consists of a hood of common wool cloth, a shirt, and a priest’s robe, besides a pair of shoes. It costs twenty yen to provide all these articles. At breakfast they take butter-tea and baked flour. Rich priests make tea for themselves every morning, though three large bowlfuls are given in the hall of the monastery. In the afternoon they drink tea again, this time with some meat, chiefly dried, though at times raw. In the evening they take some gruel of baked flour, cooked with cheese, radishes and fat. Butter-tea is always found in a bowl on the table. The Tibetan in general drinks much tea, because very few vegetables are eaten as compared with the amount of meat. A tea-cup is covered with a silver lid. When it gets cool, it is drunk and new tea is poured in again and left some twenty minutes to cool, though in winter no more than five or six minutes are needed, during which time those at table will talk to one another, or read from the Scriptures or do some private business. Such are the meals of a middle-class priest. Most priests have some landed property, and some of them breed yaks, horses, sheep and goats in the provinces, though it would be rare for one of the middle-class to have more than some fifty yaks and ten horses. These animals are also employed in ploughing the fields, but no more than ten lots of land may be ploughed by two yaks in a day. The priests can hardly lead a well-to-do life without such property or some private business, for what they are given from their temples and by the believers is not sufficient for them.

Few priests are without some private business or other—indeed, most of them are engaged in trade. Agriculture comes next to trade, and then cattle-breeding. Manufacturers of Bu??hist articles, painters of Bu??hist pictures, tailors, carpenters, masons, shoemakers and stone-layers are found among the priests; there is hardly any kind of business in Tibet, but some of the priests are engaged in it. There are, besides, many kinds of business in which none but priests engage. The lower class of priests as well as the middle-class engage in trade, but some rich priests have as many as from five hundred to four thousand yaks and from one to six hundred horses. They have from one to six hundred lots of land, each lot being as large as will take two yaks to cultivate in a day. But there are not more than three or four of the priests who have started in trade with a capital of five hundred thousand yen. They live very luxuriously, wear priestly cloaks of the best woollen texture produced in Tibet, and use very thick butter-tea every morning, which is considered a great delicacy.

To make the best butter-tea, the tea is first boiled for half a day, till it gets dark brown. After being skimmed, it is shaken several times in the cylinder with some fresh yak butter and salt. This makes the best tea, and a tea-pot full of such tea costs thirty-eight sen to make. Tea-pots, or jars, are made of clay in the shape of ordinary Japanese tea pots. I could not at first drink the tea, when I saw that it looked like thick oil. Still, it is one of the best drinks among the best circles in Tibet, who drink it every morning. It is usually taken mixed with what is called tsu and baked flour. The tsu is a hardened mixture of cheese, butter and white sugar. The Tibetan puts this substance into his tea. He eats meat dried, raw or cooked, even at breakfast. At dinner the priests eat rice imported from Nepal, the price of which is about fifty sen per sho. They do not however eat boiled rice by itself, but a bowlful of it mixed with grapes and sugar and butter. After the rice, baked flour or egg macaroni is sometimes eaten. In the evening wheat dumplings with gruel are served at table; what they call gruel has in it some meat, radishes, cheese and butter. The above is the usual course of dishes at the tables of the highest circles. They cannot live a day without meat, and if on some occasion they are kept from it, they are sure to say they are getting thinner.

The priests of the higher class live very comfortably, for they build their own villas, or have their own temples; besides, they have always the best dwellings of the temples to which they belong. They are supported by their estates, as I said, and they keep, each one of them, from five or six to seventy or eighty servants in their houses. From among these servants are often selected treasurers and stewards. The lower class of priests, on the contrary, live pitifully. No words can half describe their poor condition. The warrior-priests, though among the poorest, are still able to keep the wolf from their doors, for they are employed as farmers or as guards, or in some other private business, so that they earn money with which they live from hand to mouth. There is another and far poorer class of priests—the scholar-priests who have to support themselves in their studies, but who must earn their living as well as their expenses as students. They are too busy with their study to go out to make any money. What they receive as offerings from the believers and as salary from their temples, does not together amount to a little more than two or three yen a month, and it is insufficient to support them. They can drink tea gratis every morning at the temple, but they cannot get any baked flour, which makes the chief part of a meal. Baked flour costs at least one and a half yen a month. During the catechisms they go to Ta-tsang where they are given three cups of tea for dinner. But it takes them a month to review what they study in a month in catechisms. During the period of review they must get some one to help them, and they have to pay some fifty sen a month in return. Then they must have some fire to keep them warm in the evening besides something to refresh them. For refreshments they get tea-leaves with which the richer priests have made their tea. Then they must get fuel to make tea out of these leaves. The fuel is generally yak-dung, which costs thirty-five sen a bag of two and a half bushels. A priest will burn three or four bagfuls a month if he is not particular and careful, while a poor priest may have to manage with a bagful a year.

The poorest priest has in his room a sheep’s fur, a wooden bowl, a rosary and a dirty cushion, which makes a bed at night. In a corner are found a stove, an earthen pan, and a pot or jar, which all belong to the room. A bag hanging in one corner contains the baked flour which supports his life; but it is very rarely full. The most precious items of their property are the text books of the catechism. There are no priests, however poor, but have five or six copies of the catechism. These books, however, are not their permanent property, for they will sell them as soon as their examinations are over. At night their bed consists of their hood, an underdress and a bed covering, besides an old blanket, which, however, is in the possession of only a limited number. He who has a room of his own is among the best of this poor class of priests. In most rooms of nine feet square, three or four priests often have a pan in common. I felt so sorry sometimes when I was called to see a patient among them that I not only gave medicine for nothing, but sometimes gave him some money. Such is the condition of the poorest priests, and I was told that they often passed a couple of days without eating, when they were given little in the way of help. When they receive a little money they will hurry to Lhasa, over three miles off, to buy some baked flour. Some of them do not come home directly from the city, for hunger often takes them to some little restaurant, where they eat some macaroni. The consequence is that they spend their money and are plunged again into such poverty that they must live another couple of days without anything to eat. I hardly ever passed them without giving them something, so that they at last came to pay so much respect to me that they would stop when they saw me, and wait in reverence while I passed.