the sun comes out from under the grey clouds, and
shines on the ripples of the river, on the grassy slopes
and spreading foliage, there is created an impression of
indescribable cheeriness, and all that one looks upon
promises well of the city.
CH A P T E R XII
PROME
BE TW E E N the river and the road is the little
club of Prome, with its white tennis court
outside, and its tablés within, spread with pictures and
papers from England. Once a week to this serene
little island of European life there is brought the news
of a greater world than is contained within the seas of
Burma. Beyond it, on the ram that juts into the river,
is the house of the District Magistrate. It is flanked by
a lofty court-house, where all day long the business of
empire is transacted ; the punishment of one, thé lifting
up of another, the assessment of revenue, the weighing
of money in the treasury scales, the writing of those
letters, those reports, those tabulated papers, whose
turgid volume is slowly swallowing up the instinct of
Imperial rule.
Overlooking the pleasant roadway stand, almost
beyond recognition, the tree-clad remains of two
gryphons that once marked the water-gate of the city ;
emblems of a dead sovereignty. Beyond these, the
river spreads out to a vast circular sheet of water,
restrained only by the embankment, along which the
highway runs. A few paces bring one to the bazaar,
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