Lhasa. One noticed them from time to time with a
shock— a shock of regret, it must be said— for if
Lhasa be not free from the cheapness of machine-
made manufactures, what place on earth can be ? One
remarkable exception to this rule of exclusion must
be mentioned. Umbrellas with the touching guarantee
waterproof pasted inside the peak are fairly common
at Lhasa, whither they must have come from India,
where their use is widely spread. But except for these
occasional adoptions, the race of men who dwell in Lhasa
remains in thought and word and deed unchanged and,
perhaps, unchangeable from that which listened to
Tsong-kapa’s passionate appeal for reform, or, before
his day, to the deep learning of Atisha, or, earlier still,
to the blasphemies of the apostate Langdarma in the
dawn of Tibetan history. Lhasa never changes.
The gardens of Lha-lu are, as I have said, almost a
swamp. On the only really dry portion of them two
buildings have been erected, one half summer-house,
half temple, the other a glazed greenhouse; these
are not of any great interest, though the former is of
considerable age, and underneath the dirt collected
on the frescoes the exquisite finish of the painting can
still be distinguished. To make a circuit of these
beautiful grounds one leaves' the summer-house and
strikes across to the west, picking one’s way along
the higher and drier “ bunds ” beneath the willow
trees and among swarms of dragonflies,' as fearless and
as thick as midges in England. Mr. White and I went
for a photographic excursion one morning, and I am
hoping, before it is necessary to close the list of illustrations
in this volume, to be able to include one or two
of his plates. Few, I think, will prove as beautiful