late king used to give alms to 5,000 of them daily, the jars of rice being arranged in long rows on a platform erected specially for the purpose, with mountains of bananas, and trays heaped up with nga-pee, curries, and condiments of all kinds. Theebaw Min is not so eager for merit, and actually went the length of driving a couple of thousand of the holy men out of the capital. Still even he gives them periodical feasts, and there must be quite 10,000 of the religious in the Golden City and its immediate neighbourhood. Besides these there are numerous other nationalities; the Chinaman, smoothshaven and prosperous as always, whether gaunt and big-boned from Yunan and Szechuen, or sleek and sturdy from Rangoon and the Straits, defying the most grinding official to rob him of his profits, and drinking his tea and smoking his opium-pipe with supreme composure and goodhumour; the bearded Mogul with solemn face and Jewish tricks of trade: the Paloung come down from the north with his bamboo rafts laden with pickled tea; the stalwart Shan with baggy blue trousers and tattoo marks down to his ankles, journeying in a long caravan with sword-blades and ironwork and a cavalcade of mountain ponies; the heavy, easy-going Karenn; the lithe, treacherous Kachin, bringing tribute perhaps from his chief, and spying out on his way down villages easy to raid in a night attack; all these, and a host of others, may be seen any day in the royal City of Gems. There are not a few white men too, even nowadays, when evil times have fallen upon them, and there are not the pickings that were to be had when Mindohn Min was king. But many of them are there sorely against their inclination. Mandalay has become an asylum for insolvent debtors, runaway soldiers and sailors, and unlucky adventurers from British territory, just as Rangoon used to be for India in the old Burman days. There are numbers of

French and Italians in government service, as military instructors and superintendents of the various factories; officers who have been cashiered, or disowned by their families, or are in other ways under a cloud. One Count there is, who constitutes the scientific branch of the service in himself, manufactures and sells fruit syrups to the captains of steamers, preserves a pocket-handkerchief with a coronet in the corner, and carries his lands in his fingernails. The old king was shamefully cheated by a variety of speculators, not a few of them Englishmen. Perhaps it was his own fault. He had a perfect monomania for making cannon and thought that every white man must have some notion of how they were to be manufactured. Consequently, whenever some fresh wanderer came to the royal city and requested employment, he was brought before the king, and some such dialogue as the following ensued: “What is your name?" "John Smith.” "What can you do?" "May it please your Majesty, I am a seacook." "Can you make a cannon?" Whereupon John Smith, if he was a wise man, would profess his ability to make the attempt at any rate. A lump of metal would

be made over to him and he would chisel and hammer away at it and draw his monthly pay as regularly as he could get it. When results were demanded he would either run away, or boldly ask for a grant of money to enable him to go to Europe to get the requisite tools. Neither tools nor man were ever seen. Such lack of moral principle was believed by the king to arise from the want of a Buddhist training, and he continued to be imposed upon to the very end. Theebaw Min still retains some foreigners in his service, but they find it exceedingly hard to get their pay.

Thus Mandalay presents a series of violent contrasts; jewel-studded temples and gilded monasteries, standing

side by side with wattled hovels, penetrated by every wind that blows; the haughty prince preceded by the respited murderer, his lictor; the busy Chinaman next door to the gambling scum of the low country; the astrologer, learned in his mantras, overpersuaded by the glib talk of the western adventurer; and over all hanging the fear of prison with its nameless horrors, and the knife of the assassin.

In the beginning of the century, Rangoon was in much the same condition, except that it was very much smaller, and far more miserable and desolate. Now it has broad, smooth roads, beautifully laid out public gardens, abundant street lamps, spacious mercantile offices, mills, schools, gaols, hospitals, clubs, and halls. The population forms an even more motley assemblage than is to be found in Mandalay. There are Chinese, Japanese, Malays, Siamese, Natives of India of all parts, Bengalis, Madrassis, Moguls, Parsis, Persians, Suratis, together with Armenians, Jews, English, French, Germans, Italians, Greeks, and all the European nationalities, mixed up with the native races, Burmese, Talaings, Shans, Karenns, but they are all kept in order by the strong arm of the law, which is the same for the rich man and the poor. May it not be long ere the same benefits are extended to Mandalay.

CHAPTER XXX.

ERAS, COMPUTATION OF TIME, WEIGHT, ETC.

BURMESE chronology recognises five different eras, only the last of which however is ever practically used. These

are:

1. The Kawza era, which was abolished by Shin Gautama's grandfather. It had extended over 8,650 years, and came to an end in the year 691 before the Christian era.

2. Bhodaw Eensahna, the Buddha's grandfather, then established an era of his own. It lasted only 148 years, or till B.C. 543, in which year Shin Gautama died.

3. The Religious era. Fixed by Ayatathat, King of Magadha in India, dating from the death of the most excellent payah, and current till A.D. 82.

4. King Thamohndayit's era, established by that monarch in A.D. 82 at Prome, and lasting till A.D. 639, or for a period of 562 years.

5. The current era, established by the Yahan Pohppasaw, when he usurped the throne of Pagahn in 639 A.D. The year 1244 of this era begins in April, 1882.

The changing of the eras was in most cases to avoid calamities, threatened for certain years by old prophecies,

VOL. II.

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and in a few instances of eras which gained no permanent place, merely for the sake of gratifying royal vanity.

The ordinary year consists of twelve lunar months, of twenty-nine and thirty days alternately. Every third year a thirteenth month is intercalated between the fourth and fifth. The date on which the year begins in the month of April is determined by the calculations of the royal astrologers in Mandalay, and published throughout the country by the pohn-gyees and district officials.

The months with their corresponding English equivalents, are as follows:- :

(A second, a Dooteeya Wasoh, intercalated every third year, last in 1242 B.E. 1880.)

The days are not counted right through the month as in the European system, but as with a watch, or as with the 'day" itself, the month is divided into two parts: the la-san, or waxing moon which lasts from the first to the la-byee, the full moon; and from the following day, the 16th, to the end of the month (the la-gwè) comes the waning, la-soht or la-byee-gyaw.