facility or a more winning manner; the simplest, commonest things became in his mouth picturesque and full of charm; he was especially remarkable when he sought to induce upon others any particular view of his own upon some subject in which he really felt an interest.  His eloquence was then really powerful.

After having surmounted the first difficulties of the Thibetian language, and familiarized ourselves with the expressions in ordinary use, we proceeded to give our studies an altogether religious direction.  We got Sandara to translate for us into the sacred style of his language some of the leading Catholic forms, such as the Lord’s Prayer, the Salutation, the Apostles’ Creed, the Commandments: and thereupon we took occasion to explain to him the general truths of the Christian religion.  He seemed all at once struck with this new doctrine, so different from the vague, incoherent propositions of Buddhism.  Before long he attached so much importance to the study of the Christian religion that he entirely laid aside the Lama books he had brought with him, and applied himself to the acquisition of our prayers with an ardour that made us truly joyful.  From time to time in the course of the day he would interrupt what he was about in order to make the sign of the cross, and he practised this religious act in a manner so grave and respectful that we thoroughly believed him to have become a Christian at heart.  The excellent tendencies he manifested filled us with the most lively hopes, and we gratefully viewed in Sandara an incipient apostle, destined one day to labour with success in converting the sectaries of Buddha.

While we three, master and pupils, were thus absorbed in studies so important, Samdadchiemba, who had no sort of vocation for things intellectual, passed his time lounging about the streets of Tang-Keou-Eul and drinking tea.  Not at all pleased with this occupation of his time, we devised to withdraw him from his idleness, and to utilise him in his special character of cameleer.  It was accordingly arranged that he should take the three camels and pasture them in a valley of Koukou-Noor, noted for the excellence and the abundance of its pasturage.  A Tartar of the locality promised to receive him into his tent, and we rejoiced in the

arrangement, as effecting the double advantage of supplying Samdadchiemba with an occupation in conformity with his tastes, and of giving our camels better and less costly fodder.

By degrees, all the fine things that we had imagined in Sandara, vanished like a dream.  This young man, apparently of devotion so pure and disinterested, was in reality a dissipated knave, whose only aim was to ease us of our sapeks.  When he thought he had rendered himself essential to us, he threw aside the mask, and placed himself undisguisedly before us in all the detestability of his character: he became insolent, haughty, overbearing.  In his Thibetian lessons, he substituted for the mild, gentle, insinuating tone of his former instruction, manners the most insufferably harsh and brutal, such as the worst tempered pedagogue would not betray towards the poorest of his pupils.  If we asked him for an explanation which perhaps he had previously given, he would assail us with such amenities as these: “What! you learned fellows want to have the same thing told you three times over!  Why, if I were to tell a donkey the same thing three times over, he’d remember it.”  We might easily, no doubt, have cut short these impertinences by sending the man back to his Lamasery; and, more than once, we were strongly inclined to adopt this course, but, upon the whole, we thought it better to undergo a little humiliation, than to deprive ourselves of the services of a Lama whose talents were indisputable, and who, therefore, might be of the greatest utility to us.  His very rudeness, we considered, would aid our progress in acquiring the Thibetian language, for we were sure that he would not pass over the most trivial fault in grammar or pronunciation, but, on the contrary, would rate us for any such defects, in a style eminently calculated to produce an abiding impression.  This system, though somewhat tedious, and decidedly displeasing to one’s self-love, was incomparably superior to the method practised by the Chinese Christians towards the European missionaries in giving them Chinese lessons.  Partly from politeness, partly from religious respect, they affect to be in ecstasies with whatever their spiritual father-pupil says; and, instead of frankly correcting the faults which naturally occur in his expressions, they are rather disposed to imitate his defective language, so that he may, with the less trouble to himself, understand them, the result of which excessive complaisance is, that the missionaries are put to grave inconvenience when they seek to converse with pagans who, not having the same devotion towards them, do not admit in them a fine pronunciation, or a masterly knowledge of words.  Upon such occasions, how one regrets that one had not for a teacher some Sandara the Bearded!  Upon such considerations, we resolved to

keep our master with all his defects, to endure his abuse, and to make the best and most we could of him.  As we found that our sapeks were his object, it was agreed that we should pay him handsomely for his lessons; and, moreover, we made up our minds to wink at his little knaveries, and to affect to have no idea that he had an understanding with the people who sold us our daily provisions.

Samdadchiemba had not been gone many days before he suddenly re-appeared amongst us.  He had been robbed by brigands who had taken from him his entire provision of meal, butter, and tea.  For the last day and a half he had eaten nothing whatever, and, of consequence, his voice was hollow, and his face pale and haggard.  Only seeing one camel in the court-yard, we imagined that the two others had become the prey of the brigands, but Samdadchiemba relieved us by the assurance that he had confided them to the Tartar family who had granted him their hospitality.  Upon hearing this statement, Sandara knitted his brows.  “Samdadchiemba,” said he, “you are my younger brother, as it were; I have therefore a right to ask you a few questions.”  And thereupon he submitted the cameleer to an interrogatory characterised by all the depth and subtlety of an able advocate cross-examining some cunning offender.  He demanded the minutest details, and applied himself with infinite ingenuity to work up the contradictions into which he involved the questioned party, and to put forward in prominent relief the apparent improbability of his story.  How was it, he asked, that the robbers had stolen the butter, yet left the bag in which the butter was carried?  How was it they had respected the little snuff-bottle, yet carried off the embroidered purse which served it as a cover.  When he had finished his inquiries, he added, with a malicious smile: “I have put these few questions to my brother out of pure curiosity; I attach no importance to them.  It is not I who have to disburse the wherewithal to buy him fresh provisions.”

Samdadchiemba, meantime, was dying with hunger, so we gave him some sapeks, and he went to dinner in a neighbouring eating-house.  As soon as he had quitted the room, Sandara proceeded: “Nobody shall ever persuade me that my brother has been robbed.  The brigands in this part of the country don’t do their work in the way he wants to make out.  The fact is, that Samdadchiemba, when he got among the Tartars, wanted to show off, and distributed his provisions right and left in order to make friends.  He had no reason to fear being lavish; what he gave away cost him nothing.”  The probity of Samdadchiemba was a fact so thoroughly impressed upon our convictions, that we altogether repudiated this wicked