Leaving the river, let us go ashore at one of the many villages on its banks, and see how the Burmese live.

Our steamer lies alongside of the bank while the cargo is being landed, and its fuel of eng-wood is put on board. This is hard work, and is generally done by girls, who are paid by piece-work, and generally lose no time in the operation. Bales and cases lie upon the bank, and are being loaded into bullock-carts or carried to the top of the "bund," as the bank is called, where pack-ponies are waiting to carry them to more distant destinations.

The villagers "shikoh"[4] as we land, and swarms of youngsters follow us on our tour of the village; but though greatly interested in ourselves and our hardly-concealed curiosity, they are always polite and never annoy us in any way.

The village lies close beside the river, and is, as usual, bowered in trees, which overhang the bank. Its other three sides are enclosed by a stockade of thorns or wooden palings as a protection against wild beasts or attack by dacoits, bands of robbers who until recently lurked in the jungles, and often raided outlying and unprotected villages.

The stockade is nearly always overgrown with creeping plants, yellow convolvulus, tropÆolum, and a charming little climber like canariensis. On each side is a gate built of balks of timber, and so heavy that it must run on wheels. This gate is always shut at nightfall, so that no one can enter the village unknown to the watchman, who is called "kinthamah" and keeps his "kin" in a little booth called "kinteaine" erected close beside the gate.

By the gates and at intervals along the roadside are little cupboards raised above the ground and thatched with grasses called "yaiohzin"; these contain jars of drinking water for the use of wayfarers, and are always kept replenished by the villagers. The drinking cup is usually made of a polished coco-nut shell with a long handle of some hard wood, and it is noticeable that the water is never spilled or wasted, for Burma is a thirsty land and some of these watering-places are far from the river, and every one drinks with due regard to the necessities of the next comer.

Entering the large compound which the stockade encloses we are in the village itself. Here the houses of the Burmans are pleasantly situated among rows of toddy-palm, mango, padouk, and other trees, among which the peepul, or sacred ficus, is almost always found.

The houses are more or less arranged so as to leave a lane or street between them, and are generally built of bamboo, though many have their principal timbers of teak or eng-wood. The floors are usually of split bamboo, and the roof of elephant-grass, or "thekka," as the thatch of dried leaves is called, forms a good protection against the summer sun or monsoon rains, while the walls are formed of bamboo mats, often coloured and woven into some pretty though simple design.

As the front of the house is generally more or less open, we are able to see much of the interior arrangements. Sleeping mats of grasses supply the place of beds, and no chairs are to be seen. On a low stand of carved wood is the tray upon which their simple meals are served, and cooking-pots of bronze or earthenware lie about the "chatties" which contain the fire. Painted and carved boxes contain the family wardrobe, and in one corner is the stand for the large jars in which their supply of drinking-water is kept. Mat partitions perhaps screen inner rooms which we cannot see, but all the domestic appliances visible are of the simplest character, but ample for the needs of the people.

All the buildings are raised several feet above the ground as a protection against snakes, floods, and malaria, and the space below often forms a stable for the cattle and a useful storing-place for agricultural or other implements. These simple homes of the Burmans are often very pretty as they lie among the trees which cast their broad shadows across the straggling lane, grass grown and deeply rutted by the cart-wheels. BougainvillÆa and other creepers spread luxuriantly over the roofs, or drop their festoons of flowers from the eaves. Bananas wave their broad leaves gracefully above the houses, in cool contrast to the richer foliage of the larger trees, and among all this greenery, alternately in sunlight or shadow, move the brightly-costumed villagers themselves, most interesting of all.

Here comes a pretty young mother clad in "lungyi" of apple-green and dainty white jacket. Cross-legged over her shoulder is her infant, to whom she talks softly and endearingly as she walks. Presently her home is reached, and all the joy of motherhood shines in her happy face as she gently swings her child to sleep in its cradle of rattan which is slung from the roof above.

Again, an old man passes, guided by a little boy, who is proud to assist his grandfather; for respect for the aged, no less than love for their children, is a dominant trait in the character of the Burman.

While many are working in the paddy-fields, other of the villagers find their occupation nearer home, and employ themselves in such work as mat and basket making (in which the children assist), the weaving of silk, and the manufacture of pottery. In sheds made for the purpose oil or sugar mills are being turned by bullocks, while in some few villages is made that pretty red and gold lacquer-work we know so well in England. Notice also the village blacksmith, who, with primitive tools, hammers out those curiously shaped "dahs" and knives used by the wood-cutters, while beside him, with equally simple implements, the carpenter puts the finishing touches to the carved yoke of a gharry.

In the streets the naked youngsters are playing at their games. Many are like our own, and marbles, peg-tops, leap-frog or kite-flying each have their turn, while in the ditches and puddles the boys hold miniature regattas with their toy sailing-boats.

In the monastery or some private dwelling in the village the children go to school, and as they become older some occupation employs their time. While the boys are engaged with the cattle or about the boats, the girls are occupied in cutting firewood in the jungle, or from the pools in the forest collect the crude oil which they burn in their lamps.

Roaming at will through the village are pigs and poultry, geese and cattle, and the inevitable "pi dog" of the country. These dogs are peculiar, being wild, yet attaching themselves to some particular house, whose interests they seem to make their own, and which, by vigorous barking, they make a pretence of guarding. In some villages, also, the pigs, which are long-legged and fleet of foot, seem to act in the same capacity, strongly objecting to the intrusion of strangers, and even when riding my pony I have been attacked by them and forced to retire.

During the day many of the villagers have been busy in the rice-fields, for rice is their staple food and the only crop generally cultivated; even infants of a day old are fed upon it, the rice being first chewed by the mother, and each tiny mouthful washed down by a few drops of water. Towards evening, when the tired cattle draw their creaking carts homewards, the streets are thronged with the labourers returning from their work, ready for the simple meal of rice and "ngapi" their wives have prepared for them.

It is a simple, happy life which these villagers lead, graced by many pretty customs of domesticity.

Rising with the sun, with it also they retire to rest, and as the last sweet tones of many gongs from the village monastery proclaim the close of their evening prayer the stockade-gates are closed, and, save for the howling of jackals outside, or the yapping of a dog, silence reigns throughout the village.