We left Pari-jong early in the morning of the 5th of November. I expected to have set out after breakfast; but we were called up before four in the morning, as they wanted our things and our beds. Bitter frost. The wine, or rather beer, I had ordered over night arrived just as we were setting off. There was no wine to drink, as it must be heated first. Before daylight I heard the gun go off: the signal that the General had left the place. I went down to the street, and found the head Tibetan interpreter and his second waiting for us. We mounted at dawn of day, and scampered over the plain. Snow all round on the mountains–a strange sight. Sharp frost. About three miles off we passed the mandarin's flag. He had stopped there to settle some cause and take refreshment. Soon after he overtook us. I salamed him as he passed, and we went on in company. We came to a tomb of stones with stakes at top, adorned with hundreds of bits of cloth. A raven sat crouching on the top of one of the stakes. The mandarin alighted and prostrated himself to the ground, as did some of the soldiers, others not–we not. It is the tomb of a holy man.