Almost every morning dense mists hang upon the river, screening everything from view until the sun, slowly gaining power, presently dispels the fog and reveals the beauty of the scene.

Very beautiful indeed are some of these panoramas disclosed in the early sunlight.

Close beside the high and clear-cut bank, crowned with flowering kine-grass, our steamer lies, the silently-flowing river gurgling and bubbling under our keel. The water is quite still, and repeats every detail of the opposite shore, behind which, rising terrace upon terrace, are the wooded "Yomas," in whose ravines and valleys still hangs some remnant of the fog. The foliage is of many kinds, the feathery tamarind and acacia contrasting well with the more heavily leaved banyan; betel-nut and toddy-palm rise above the mulberry or mimosa, and conspicuous among the varied tints of the forest is the delicate green of the bamboo, to the Burman the most useful perhaps of all the forest growths, and everywhere abounding.

Life awakens with the sun. Herds of cattle roam along the shore, while in the fields from raised platforms half-nude men and boys scare wild-fowl from the ripening crops. The smoke of many fires on shore and from the craft upon the water rises perpendicularly in the still air, as the frugal morning meal is being prepared ere another day's work begins.

Between its banks the Irrawaddy sweeps in splendid curves, producing an ever-growing sense of bigness and dignity. Some of its reaches are very wide, and have more the appearance of an inland lake than a river. On such sand-banks as are not already occupied by fishermen, flocks of wild-goose, storks, and other waders are roosting or fishing in the shallow pools. Kingfishers dart hither and thither after their prey, and wild-duck in great numbers settle upon its smooth surface, to feast upon the teeming fish with which the river abounds.

In general the scene is one of placid beauty: even the rugged mountain sides are smoothed and softened by their covering of greenery, and the warm air and limpid water combine to produce an effect of quietude and repose, which the contented character of the Burman does little to disturb.

At certain places, however, as in the defile above Mandalay, the scenery is of a more vigorous character.

Here the river narrows considerably, and in its deep and silent flow winds for many miles between high hills which closely confine it, and in one place rise in a perpendicular cliff 800 feet sheer above the water.

I was fortunate in approaching the defile in the early dawn, when the morning mists still hung heavy upon the hills of lurid blackness which marked its entrance. Between them was an impenetrable gloom, which seemed to promise no means of egress, and as we steamed rapidly towards it, one unconsciously felt that here was the end of all things, and that nothing could possibly lie beyond. It was a most weird sensation, which the river, so darkly flowing between banks we could hardly see, served to emphasize.

Presently the rising sun lit up the clouds of vapour piled high above the hills, and then for half an hour continued the most beautiful and ever-changing play of colour imaginable, as the slowly-moving fog wreaths wound about the mountain tops, now rosy in the sunlight, or again in pearly shade, while alternate gloom and gleam tipped the hills with gold or enveloped them in a purple mystery.

By the time our steamer entered the defile full daylight better enabled us to observe our surroundings.

Here, as elsewhere, the vegetation was luxuriant; every crevice in the rocks afforded foothold for some tree or creeper, while the hilltops and more sloping sides were densely covered with forest trees.

The passage of the defile occupies about two hours, and the course of the river is very tortuous.

At the bends little beaches of bright shingle lie against the tree-roots. Fishing cradles, such as I have described, are frequent, and cormorants in great numbers share with the fishermen the spoils of the river, for nowhere on the Irrawaddy are the fish of better quality than here.

Altogether, in the impressiveness of its scenery, the quiet, irresistible flow of the river, and the bright tints and varied growths of the forest, the lower defile of the Irrawaddy forms one of the most striking scenes I have ever enjoyed; and if the river had no other beauty than this to show, it alone would amply repay the traveller for his journey.

Though in general so fertile, there is one part of the river where the hills which lie on its western side are entirely barren, and the reddish-yellow rocks appear very hot and uninviting by comparison. Yet this forbidding district is one of the busiest and richest of all Burma, for this is the great oil-field of the country, and the chimneys of pumping stations which stretch for miles along the hills and river-bank show how actively the trade is being worked. Formerly Burma was obliged to import all her lamp-oil from America, but now, although a certain amount of American oil is still imported, Burma not only produces sufficient for their own use, but is able to export a considerable quantity to other countries, and many of the steamers on the river use the crude or unrefined oil as fuel.

Here and there in the river are moored curious-looking dredgers engaged in pumping up the river sand, from which is separated the gold dust with which it is so freely mixed. The gold comes from unknown veins hundreds of miles away, and is to be found in greater or less quantities all down the river, and though the natives have always been in the habit of "washing for gold," it is only within the last few years that any real attempt has been made to work it on a large scale.

The Irrawaddy has many tributaries, but though the larger streams, such as the Chindwin and Mu Rivers, are always flowing, most of the smaller forest streams are dry, excepting during the monsoon, which continues from May until September. At this season, swelled into torrents by the rains, they pour into the Irrawaddy, quickly raising its level 40 to 50 feet, and the peaceful river which I have described becomes a mighty flood, in places 2 miles in width, full to the top of its banks and overflowing the fields and flooding the village streets, and sweeping away from its sand-banks those huts and pagodas and other temporary buildings we have noticed, while the mud which its turbid waters carry each year adds a little to the delta at its mouth.

Very often crossing the mouth of these tributaries you may see a framework of bamboo, over which fishing-nets are spread as the river rises, and in the pools of slack water which lie at the mouths of the forest creeks a great collection of logs lie floating. These logs have been cut in the forest long before, and have gradually been collected at some such convenient spot, where a large number of natives are busily engaged in building them into one of those huge rafts so constantly met with on the river. These rafts have a long journey before them, and constantly grounding as they do, no ropes would hold them together through all the wear and tear of their weeks upon the water, so instead of ropes rattan is used. This is a peculiarly long, tough, and flexible cane, which grows all over the forests, and is often a hundred yards or more in length. The logs are mostly of teak (about which I will tell you more presently) and pyingado or iron-wood, which is so heavy that it sinks in the water, and consequently rafts of bamboo are first built, and beneath them the pyingado logs are slung.

An interesting place is Bhamo, the last station for the river steamers and close to the frontier of China. The town is more Chinese than Burman in character, though on the banks of the River Taiping are the remains of pagodas and other buildings of purely Burmese origin.

Then, again, there are other defiles on the river beside the one I have already described, and many other points of interest which I might mention. Thabeitkyan, the landing-place for the ruby-mines, three days' journey inland; the rocky island with its monastery and pagoda, whose priests are said to be able to tame the fish in the river, which they feed by hand; the great bell at Mingoon, or the water-side fair at Shwegu, and a host of others. It would be impossible for me to tell you about everything of interest that the Irrawaddy has to show, but perhaps I have said enough to give you some little idea of how beautiful and interesting a river it is.