--•> In Mandalay
history of his life. Look at it, for here is something
that is inexpressibly sad, inexpressibly patient and
resigned. Pride, fire, vivacity, hope, all have left it.
Yet this man lives on.
H ere, before a stall of twists of silk, a blaze of the
richest colours, lies a comely girl, full-hipped, asleep.
Here, a flower-stall distils its fragrance, the gloom of
the passage lit with the pink and purple glory of its
lotuses, the wax-white sprays of its tuberoses, and the
starry masses of its jasmines, plucked in some garden
THE WORKSHOPS OF THE BUDDHA SCULPTORS, ARACAN- PAGODA
in the early dawn. A blind fiddler plays in a distant
sunlit alcove, supported by his wife on the mello\y
puttala. A great crowd for ever surges b y ; a crowd
of monks and nuns, little children and white-filleted
