bank, and smoke with philosophic calm ; the lying
Chittagonian sleeps and prays. ■
1 urning away from here to the village, my eyes are
drawn by the white, wide highway, past hayricks and
plantain-groves and a monastery on a hill, to the lofty
summit of Zway-kabyin and its one pagoda, perched
like a lighthouse on its crest. sp At niOg ht, at this season,’
the hill K aren set
fire to the jungle
near its top, and
then there is a
wonderful circle of
fire hung up against
the starry sky, a
thousand feet above
the world. Zway-
k a b y i n — “ The
Mooring of the
Ship is the
local Ararat ; for it
is said that when
the whole world was
covered with water,
A VILLAGE MONASTERY ON TH E SALWIN
and the only survivors of the human race were in a.
ship afloat upon the deeps, they found a haven here
at the summit of the great peak. And its majestic
outline, its enormous form towering over the spaces
at its feet, well fit it for the office that tradition, with
poetic right, has assigned to it. A stream that is clear
as crystal, and cold in the hottest weather, gushes out
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