Before leaving Yung-Ch'ang all the civil officials sent us their cards, but the military men, evidently with malice prepense and aforethought, omitted the usual act of courtesy. This was the only occasion, during the whole time I spent in China, on which I was not treated with civility, if not distinction.

We followed the main road for a little more than a mile, and then plunged into a valley amongst the mountains, and followed up a stream between rounded hills covered with very fine grass. There was not a tree to be seen, and few shrubs. We met scarcely anyone, although it was market-day in Yung-Ch'ang. The stillness that reigned was not disturbed either by the nutter of a bird, or the hum of an insect, and walking on by myself in front of the other people I could not hear a sound of any kind.

The summit of the mountain was 7,733 feet above the sea, and a descent of nine hundred feet brought us to Hun Shui-T'ang (Troubled Water Station), a village of about six houses.

The practice of interment distinguishes the aborigines of this country from the Tibetan races in the north. On the road we passed a great many of their graves. These are circular towers, of sun-dried bricks, about six feet high and six feet in diameter, covered at the top with a mound of earth, on which there are usually some tufts of long grass.