crossing it the plantation on our right is seen to be a
tangled jungle of thorn and willow and poplar, over all
of which the thick-petalled orange clematis grows in
rank profusion. A hundred yards on a road sweeps
into our route from the right. As we approached, two
monks, one of them of extreme age, came slowly along
Just outside the Western Gate of Lhasa : Chagpo-ri.
it tw i r l in g their prayer-wheels and muttering incessantly
the one phrase of Lamaism as they went. This is nothing
less than the famous Ling-kor, the ribbon of road which
separates as with a knife the sacred from the profane.
In all the world there is, perhaps, but the Via Dolorosa
its equal in tradition. F o r miraculous renown the Ling-
kor stands alone, for even an infidel who dies while making
the sacred circuit is saved from the penalties of his sms.
