only the stranger comes quickly to the end of its
mystery.
There is such melody there, the music of a thousand
chimes, and great variety of beauty. In the west its
tall palms outlined against the red sunset awaken
memories of the desert | below, the city of Rangoon
looks like a fleet of ships at sea, its mizzen lights high
above the dusk water; the great pipul with its shrines
|the ficus religiosaS^carries with it a suggestion of oldest
India. As the sun sets behind the Dalla plains the
long shadow of the pagoda falls with an increasing reach
upon the world, and the gold on its swelling curves
flames into startling beauty, and every inch of gorgeous
mosaic has its moment of supremacy. The tapers on
the altars grow into life as the darkness comes, the
stars overhead break out in; dazzling galaxies against
the violet night, and the loud voices of the evening
worshippers peal and vibrate through the pillared spaces.
The white dragons and elephants at the foot of the
pagoda become of an insistent supernatural whiteness ;
the mystery of night descends upon all that moves or
flames upon its surface.. Cressets of flame on the backs
of the kneeling beasts rescue patches from the general
obscurity, as they flash on red and gold dragons, on
the mirrored interiors of chapels,, on the new delicate
foliage of the overspreading trees, and throw long
shadows from the kneeling women at prayer. A small
child walks about before the rows of tapers at the feet
of the polished gleaming Buddhas; a girl prattles on
a.mat of her little secular joys ; a sad woman sits alone
142
at a late flower stall; a little old man kneels in a remote
corner at prayer ; a devout society in a neighbouring
tazoung chant their litanies together; men go to
and fro with flowers in their clasped hands, shekoing
before each shrine,
and repeating their
praises o f th e
Three Precious.
Things ; monks, a
long way off, murmur
their prayers
in attitudes of reverent
humility. A
handsome girl . ,
alone at the pagoda
at this late hour,
p r a y s wi th a
strange earnestness
and sadness for one
so young. S h e
has come here to
pray for her father,
a trustee of the F IGU R E OF GAUTAM A
pagoda, who is ill
and like to die. Many sad people come tor solace to
the great shrine.
But even these leave, and the late moon, as she
rises over the feathery masses of the trees, throwing
her silver over the golden bulk of the pagoda, finds
its courts untenanted. This is its hour of greatest