TO LINGA-GOMPA
The day's march on April 13 takes us along the valley of the My-chu like
a hollow way excavated in the solid rock of fine-grained granite,
porphyry and crystalline schist, and the landscape is one of the
grandest I have ever seen. We follow the western bank, from which rise
wild precipitous rocks like the ruins of old walls and embattled forts.
A footpath runs along the left bank also, and looks extremely dangerous,
passing up above abrupt walls of rock. Here and there valleys open out
on the west side, affording views of part of a snow-covered crest in the
background. This is, however, a subsidiary range, for it branches off
from the Trans-Himalaya southwards and borders the basin of the My-chu
on the west. It in turn sends out ramifications eastwards, between which
flow the western tributaries of the My-chu. And these again give out
branches of the fourth and fifth order; the whole appears in a plan like
a tree with its branches and boughs.
The road runs on steep pebble terraces high above the river, which here
rages among the boulders in its deeply eroded bed and forms whirlpools.
On our left rocky precipices tower above our heads, and avalanches of
detritus have slipped down from them and fallen across the road. Many
are quite fresh; in other places there has been time to set up the
blocks in protecting walls on the inner side and in a breastwork at the
outer. And often we pass places where a new landslip may take place at
any moment, and where huge blocks are poised in the air and seem ready
to roll down the declivity. Flourishing hawthorns in large numbers grow
on the stony banks, and high up above rock pigeons have built their
nests. Still higher eagles soar with outspread pinions along the
mountain flanks. We are 150 feet above the river, where here and there
on the bank is room for small tilled fields; a juniper bush has in some
places struck root in a fissure of the rock.
The valley is like a trough, and I obtain fine views of constantly
changing scenes. We might fancy we were passing through a Gothic
cathedral with a colonnade of huge shafts attached to the walls and
spanned by a roof of grey and white canvas, the clouds to wit, between
which small patches of light blue cloth appear.
The guide, accompanying us on this day, is a half silly old fellow, who
laughs and chatters continuously, and frequently begins to dance on the
road, flinging his legs about, stamping on the ground and turning round
so quickly that his long pigtail flies round him. He tells us in
confidence that his wife is a wicked hideous old dragon, whom he has
long wished to carry off to the home of the vultures, for there will be
no peace in his house till he has done so. When I halt to sketch, he
takes his breakfast out of his coat, lays it out on the sand, fetches
water from the river in a small bag, shakes _tsamba_ from another into a
wooden dish, pours water over it, stirs it with his forefinger and then
swallows bowl after bowl of this delicious mixture. He hopes to receive
so much pay, that for once he can afford himself a plentiful meal while
his old woman cannot see him eat. As often as one looks at him, out
shoots his tongue and hangs like a fiery red flag in the middle of his
black face. When he has finished he licks his plate clean and rubs it
with sand to dry it. Then he wraps his things up in a bundle and hides
it under the stones. When Robert tells him that people are about who
have seen him hiding it, he quickly takes his bundle out again, thinks
over the matter for a while, rummages about and at last finds another
hiding-place. Then he sits down beside me, puts out his tongue as far
as it will go, winks at me with his little pig's eyes and takes a large
pinch of snuff. When he walks in front of my horse, he turns round every
hundred paces and puts his tongue out at me--a token of pure goodwill
and deep respect.
Beyond the nunnery Döle-gompa the valley of the My-chu unites with the
large side valley Lenjo running in from the west, in which, farther up,
three villages are situated. From this valley the My-chu receives a very
considerable tributary, which is crossed by a solid bridge of three
arches resting on four stone piers; thick belts of ice still lie along
the banks. Here we find two fine _manis_ with turrets at both ends,
where six-pointed stars are cut into the flat stones. These perpetual
_manis_ often stand in long rows so near together that they look like a
long luggage train, and one expects to see them move and start off for
the abodes of the blessed. Everything here denotes a great highway, a
mighty commercial artery connecting the sedentary people of the
lower-lying lands with the nomads of the plateaus. The road itself is
the largest and best kept that I have seen in all Tibet. Bridges span
all the affluents which might interrupt the traffic in summer and
autumn, and wherever a landslip has occurred, the road is repaired at
once. Sacred cairns, walls, and streamers indicate to the traveller at
every step that a monastery is near, where the monks expect a visit and
a present of money. We are always meeting caravans, riders, peasants,
and beggars who extort money from merchants returning home after a good
stroke of business. Many of these beggars turn into robbers and pillage
undefended huts, but when they meet us they begin to hobble, gasp, and
whine. After the harvest the traffic will be still more active than now.
The valley now contracts to a corridor, and the broad shallow stream
occupies all its bottom. On the right side, which we follow, the cliffs
of schist fall perpendicularly to the river, and the dangerous, narrow
road runs like a sill along the wall of rock. Here nature has opposed
endless insurmountable obstacles to the engineering skill of the
Tibetans. The baggage has to be carried past these dangerous places,
and it is astonishing that the horses can get past. Flat slabs of
schist, branches, and roots have been inserted into cracks and fissures
of the precipice 120 feet above the river, and on these planks, poles,
and stones are laid forming a gutter a foot broad, without a scrap of
railing, where one must even keep one's tongue in one's mouth lest one
should lose one's balance. Of course we traverse this stretch of road,
called Tigu-tang, on foot, leaning inwards and supporting ourselves by
the rock. We breathe freely again when we are safely over, and the great
basin lies before us where, at Linga, two important valleys converge.
Here is the confluence of the My-chu with a river flowing from the east,
the Sha-chu, which farther up is called Bup-chu, and which we crossed
two and a half months before on its thick coating of ice. On April 15
the Bup-chu brought down 215 cubic feet of water and the My-chu 222, so
the rivers were nearly equal, but the ratio may of course vary
considerably according to the distribution of the precipitation.
In a short valley in the western mountains the monastery Linga-gompa is
placed on the uppermost ledge of a steep flight of terraces, and is as
fantastic, fascinating, and attractive as a fairy castle. Its white
houses are perched like storks' nests on mountain pinnacles; a row of
_manis_ points out the way up to where the pious, blameless saints dwell
in deep silence, far above the riot and tumult of the villages and the
roaring and tossing of the stream. Below the monastery stands the
village Linga-kok, where our camp is pitched not far from a bridge of
ten arches on eleven piers which crosses the My-chu. A crowd of
Tibetans, black as Moors, dirty, ragged, capless and trouserless, watch
our arrival in silent amazement (Illustration 188).
[Illustration: 187. ON THE MY-CHU NEAR LINGA.]
[Illustration: 188. VILLAGE AND MONASTERY OF LINGA.]
Not a single tree is seen in the neighbourhood; only up at the monastery
there are two. This consolation, then, is no more, and only in our
memory do we hear the thick foliage of tree-tops rustling in the wind.
Again we may expect the moaning of the storm on the passes of bare
alpine ranges. Moreover, the spring has not set in in earnest, for in
the night there were still 30 degrees of frost.
I spent all Sunday till twilight in the monastery, with Rabsang and
Tundup Sonam. We mounted the acclivity past rows of well-kept _manis_,
which had the appearance of broken-down walls, with red-painted
inscriptions chiselled out of the blocks of schist and framed in red.
Then we passed through a gate in the convent wall, and mounted higher
and higher between forty old and more recent white houses clinging to
the rock. The situation is like that of the Hemis monastery in Ladak,
but there the houses are not so scattered. Several of them are
unoccupied, for the custom prevails here that, when a lama dies, his
relations claim possession of his house, lock the door and take away the
key. His movable property reverts to the convent. If a newly-come lama
takes a fancy to an empty house, he can buy it from the heirs of the
former owner; a good house is worth 100 rupees (Illustration 175).
Linga has thirty monks, some of whom accompanied us on our rounds and
were always pleasant and friendly, and never bold like the monks in
Kum-bum, which I visited in the year 1896. The monastery is subordinate
to Sekiya, and the Sekiya-Lama is its highest spiritual superior and
contributes towards its maintenance. Linga-gompa also possesses lands,
which, however, have not yielded much of late, for the crops have failed
several years in succession. The monks are not dependent on the Tashi
Lama, and have not a single statue of Tsong Kapa, whence it may be
concluded that their sect is older than the reformed church. But it was,
as usual, impossible to get any information about the age of the
monastery. It seems to be in the interest of the monks to date back its
origin to the remotest antiquity, of which no human records are extant.
I was told, however, that the abbot, Yimba Tashi, knew its age, which
was recorded in an old chronicle of the monastery. Unfortunately, he was
not at home, having gone northwards to a district called Kumna, there to
track out a band of robbers who had plundered him the year before and
carried off all his caravan animals.
Down below the convent is a gorge with a black slope of schist on its
side, on which the six holy characters are exhibited in fragments of
white quartz, and call out to heaven the eternal truth, "Om mani padme
hum," in all kinds of wind and weather.
A staircase of flags of schist leads up to the Dopcha, an open platform
paved with flagstones where the religious spectacles take place on feast
days. The usual flagmast stands in the centre, but there is no
breastwork of any kind, so that one dares not go there after dark, for
bottomless abysses yawn round the open sides. Here the monks had laid
carpets and cushions and invited me to tea. I enjoyed for a while the
fine view over the valley, the confluence of the two streams, the
scattered villages, and the fields like chessboards. Far to the east,
behind the Bup-chu valley, the lofty mountains are seen over which we
travelled on the way from the Ngangtse-tso.
On the south side of the square is the entrance to the chief temple
(_dukang_), which in all monasteries is in a red-painted stone building.
We enter, look round, and are carried away by the singular
mysteriousness, though we have often seen it before with trifling
variations. I sink on a divan and fancy myself in a museum crammed full
of modern trophies and flags of victory, where impenetrable darkness
lurks among the pillars, and rows of drums, gongs, prayer cylinders, and
trombones are set up. The hall is darker than usual, but bright light
falls through a skylight on to the images of the gods. They seem to be
soaring from their pedestals in the darkness into the glorious light of
the upper regions. The monks glide inaudibly like ghosts and shadows
among them, busied with the votive bowls. A wonderfully weird scene! We
have wandered into a cavern where gnomes and hobgoblins creep about.
This grotto resounds the whole time with the chant of the monks on the
divans, which rises and falls in rhythmical waves, like the roar of the
billows and the lapping of ripples on a strand. They sing in unison,
keeping faultless time and without exerting themselves, though with
astonishing rapidity. Among them are greyheaded men with cracked
voices, men in the prime of life, and youths and boys with fresh young
voices. The sound is like horses trotting quickly over an endless wooden
bridge; all the monks clap their hands and then the horses seem to trot
over a paved street, but the next moment they are on the bridge again
and the consonants roll like peas out the monks' lips. Now and then a
bass voice rises above the din calling out "_Laso, Laso_" (an
exclamation of thanksgiving). During a short pause there is tea. Then
the chant goes on again. There is no excitement, no hurrying of the
tempo, all goes on in the same even quick trot. The monks have no books
before them; they know their liturgy by heart. But the charm of the
rhythm seems to render them oblivious of time and space; they do not
suffer themselves to be disturbed, but trot on over the bridge that
leads to the home of the gods and to Nirvana. As we go out again we hear
the chant die away like the humming in a bee-hive.
We visited some other halls, where I noted down the names of the images.
At length there remained only two convent buildings on a sharp ridge of
rock. The first was named Chörigungkang, and had a sort of shed in which
swords, guns, drums, masks, tiger-skins, and other lumber were stored.
In the very front, on the point of the rock, is a cubical house called
Pesu. It is surrounded on three sides by a gallery without balustrades,
and here the abyss is deeper than elsewhere. Here I stayed to sketch the
panorama, but the weather was anything but pleasant, and snowstorms
veiled the mountains from time to time. Nevertheless it was hard to
leave this terrace. The flat roofs down below look no larger than
postage-stamps. Bright as silver, or dark, according as they are
lighted, the two rivers hasten to meet each other. Then I could not help
thinking how singular it was that the loftiest and grandest alpine
country in the world, which must surely impress the human mind more than
any other, had not been able to instil into the Tibetans a higher,
nobler form of religion than this narrow, limited, dogmatic Lamaism. I
grant that it was imported from India more than a thousand years ago and
was first modified into the so-called northern Buddhism, but after all
it flourishes vigorously in Tibet. One would think that the ancient Bon
religion with its copious demonology, its widespread superstition, and
its spirits haunting all the mountains and lakes, would be more suitable
here. But we have indeed, discovered that Lamaism has absorbed many of
its elements. At any rate the Linga monks have a splendid view of an
artistically sculptured corner of the world. From their loopholes of
windows and their flat roofs they can see winter spreading its white
carpet over the mountains and putting the rivers in fetters, and then
the spring shedding its gold over the valleys, the summer conjuring out
new fresh grass, and lastly the rain torrents of early autumn washing
the slopes and swelling the rivers.
We now ascended, as if the mountain itself were not high enough, two
steep pitch-dark flights of steps, where it is easy to break one's neck,
into the entrance hall of the Pesu temple. In a smaller room the flame
of a butter-lamp struggled vainly with the darkness, casting its dull
light on some idols. Pesu is the hall of the gods _par excellence_, with
innumerable statuettes of metal, very old, artistically worked and
certainly very valuable. Some figures were of medium size. I stood in
front of the altar rank and inspected the gods. _Tankas_ and long narrow
scarves in many colours hung from the ceiling. On the right was the
small, dark room, and on the left was a shutter creaking as it banged to
and open in the wind. Before the gods stood a row of bowls with barley,
wheat, maize cobs, and water. I asked a monk who had come up with me how
long it took the gods to eat it all. He smiled, and answered evasively
that the bowls must always be full; but on entering I had caught sight
of some mice which quickly scuttled away in the darkness. What cruel
irony, what a picture of self-satisfied vanity and religious humbug! The
serving brother has been in the Pesu, has filled the bowls and said his
daily prayers, has descended the steps and locked the door behind him.
When all is quiet the mice come out of their holes. They climb upon the
altar table, stand on their hind-legs, curl their tails round the
votive bowls, and consume the nectar and ambrosia of the gods.
Could I not buy some of these charming figures? No, it could not be. The
monk showed me a label which is attached with wire to each image. Every
object belonging to the furniture of the convent has its number, and
this number is entered in the general inventory. The prior is usually
elected for a fixed term of years, and when he resigns his office he
hands the list to his successor to be checked. If any object is missing,
he is responsible and must pay the value.
A monk came up to bring tea for Rabsang and Tundup, who had seated
themselves in the outer hall. I remained alone and gazed at the gods,
mesmerized by their smiling gilded faces, their portly double chins, and
their arched eyebrows. Then something wonderful happened. Their features
changed and all turned their heads and looked at me. A curious feeling
of awe took possession of me; had I insulted them through some want of
delicacy? No, next moment they turned their heads away again and stared
straight at the opposite wall. It was only a banner which in the draught
from the window had moved so as to alter the shadow on the faces and
give them an appearance of motion.
Linga is a ghostly castle, but Pesu was the most ghostly part of it all.
There large drums and grinning masks shimmered like ghosts in the gloom,
and the wind whistled mournfully through all the loopholes and openings.
A man of strong nerves would get the horrors if he were compelled to
spend a stormy autumn night alone in this hall of the gods, with the
light of the moon falling through the loopholes on the images. He would
listen with bated breath for every sound and crack. If the door below
banged against its frame, he would hear some one entering the
ante-chamber, and when the streamers on the roof fluttered in the wind,
he would imagine the unknown person was approaching the hall with light
steps and would in a second be bending over him; and the mice running
over the floor, and the shutters swinging in the wind on creaking
hinges, and the wind moaning in the window recesses and among the
rafters, all would strain his imagination to the utmost and make him
count the minutes till the dawn. After the gods had turned their heads
towards me I felt that I should not like to be in such a position, but
would rather go down again to my tent in the valley and sleep.
END OF VOL. I
[Illustration: 1. THE LATEST MAP OF TIBET.
From the _Geographical Journal_, 1906. Note the blank space north of the
Upper Brahmaputra with the word "Unexplored."]
[Illustration: 2. CARTE GÉNÉRALE DU THIBET OU BOUT-TAN.
(Avril 1733.) D'Anville, _Nouvel Atlas de la Chine, etc._ Paris 1737.]
[Illustration: 3. MAP OF SOUTHERN TIBET.
From _Selections from the Records of The Government of Bengal_. No.
XXVII. Papers relative to the Colonization, Commerce, Physical
Geography, etc. etc. of the Himalaya Mountains and Nepal. By Brian
Houghton Hodgson, Esq., M.R.A.S. Calcutta, John Gray, _Calcutta Gazette_
Office, 1857. Hodgson's "The Nyenchhen Thangla Chain, separating
southern from northern Tibet" is only hypothetical, and does not
represent the actual configuration.]
[Illustration: 4. THE SOURCE-REGION OF THE BRAHMAPUTRA.
After Major Ryder, 1904. The Chema-yundung is drawn as the main river,
while the Kubi-tsangpo is shown as an affluent. In reality the
Kubi-tsangpo is the source-stream, and the Chema-yundung, which receives
the Marium-chu, only a tributary.]
[Illustration: 5. SKETCH-MAP OF WEBBER'S ROUTE IN 1866.
_The Forests of Upper India._ By Thomas W. Webber. London, Edward
Arnold, 1902.]
[Illustration: 6. SAUNDERS' MAP OF SOUTH TIBET.
From _Narratives of the Mission of George Bogle to Tibet and of the
Journey of Thomas Manning to Lhasa_. By Clements Markham. London,
Trübner and Co., 1879. Hypothetical form of the Trans-Himalaya ("Gangri
Mountains") from 81° to 88½° E. long. Quite incorrect.]
[Illustration: 7. THE SOURCE-REGION OF THE BRAHMAPUTRA.
After Nain Sing, 1865. His route is shown by a dotted line.]
SIR FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND'S
Kashmir
With 70 plates by MAJOR E. MOLYNEUX
_Cloth, 8vo, $6.00 net_
Kashmir is renowned throughout the world for the beauty of its natural
scenery and the salubrity of its climate. It is a Switzerland in Asia,
but on a grander scale, with loftier mountains and more wide-flung
landscapes. The present book describes with pen and brush the variety
of natural beauty in the different seasons of the year. It also gives
some account of the chief places of interest, of the people, and of
their government. The seventy full-page color illustrations are all of
remarkable excellence.
A. V. W. JACKSON'S
Persia, Past and Present
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $4.00 net_
"Professor Jackson's account admirably fulfils the promise of the
title of the volume. Saturated with the history and literature of the
ancient kingdom, before making his personal acquaintance with the
country under its modern aspects, the author was able to assimilate
his often hazy impressions with a thoroughness impossible to the
ordinary traveller."--_New York Tribune._
FREDERICK MOORE'S
The Balkan Trail
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $3.50 net_
"Mr. Moore writes his story so that the reader almost sees what the
author saw. He describes the outrages by the Turks, the murders by the
brigands, and little humorous incidents with equal facility, and he
finds an abundant variety of topics during his expedition."--_Boston
Transcript._
HENRY SAVAGE LANDOR'S
Tibet and Nepal
_Colored illustrations, 8vo, $5.00 net_
"The book is decidedly agreeable and even exciting reading, and
presents in many ways an intimate picture of the life of the Tibetans
and their innumerable curious customs. The colored pictures are
striking and effective."--_The Outlook._
* * * * *
Published by
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York
JACOB RIIS'S
The Old Town
_Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $2.00 net_
In this delightful book Mr. Riis writes of his boyhood home, the queer
old city of Ribe. The historical interests and landmarks of Ribe are
many, and here they are set before us with that same sympathy,
expression, and care for detail which enabled Mr. Riis to picture in
so graphic a manner the life of the New York City slum dwellers. Vivid
portrayals of life in the old days, of the sports and pranks of
children, of the curious and quaint customs of their elders, abound in
every chapter and proclaim the "message of the old town." Mr. Benda in
his pictures has been strikingly successful in supplementing Mr.
Riis's work.
E. V. LUCAS'S
A Wanderer in Paris
_Colored illustrations, cloth, 12mo, $1.75 net_
"Mr. Lucas seems never to have forgotten anything that he has once
read, and he has all his resources on tap at the right moment; yet one
never feels a sense of suffocation from his profusion. One's dearest
wish may be that Mr. Lucas shall live long enough to go on ahead to
all the cities one wants to know in the way he alone of guides is able
to instruct us."--_Literary Digest._
CECIL HEADLAM'S
Venetia and Northern Italy
Old World Travel Series
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.50 net_
"Cecil Headlam has a happy art of making books about places, in which
he mingles history and art with scenery and personal impressions....
The impression he makes is that of an intelligent and sympathetic
companion, who never discourses long enough on any subject to weary
his hearers.... There are twenty-five full-page illustrations in color
by Gordon Home."--_The New York Post._
GORDON HOME'S
Along the Rivieras of France and Italy
Old World Travel Series
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.50 net_
"It has always been Mr. Home's pleasant habit to illustrate his books
of travel with his own pictures, and its pursuance in 'Along the
Rivieras of France and Italy' has produced a volume in which the
brilliant descriptions of the text are rivalled by twenty-five colored
plates, many of them extraordinarily happy in their reproduction, and
about twenty drawings in black and white.... A better guide for
comfortable library or study travel could not be devised."--_The
Boston Transcript._
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York
WILLIAM E. CARSON'S
Mexico, the Wonderland of the South
_Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $2.25 net_
Mr. Carson knows Mexico thoroughly, and he has drawn an accurate and
fascinating pen picture of the country and of the people, of their
everyday life and the everyday sights and scenes. It would be hard to
discover anything worth seeing that he has not seen. He has wandered
around the Mexican capital and other old cities; he has explored the
gold and silver mines and visited some of the quaint health resorts;
he has gone mountain climbing and tarpon fishing--and he tells of
these many experiences in a most engaging manner. Many pictures of
curious and out-of-the-way places add greatly to its beauty and to the
value of the book for travellers and general readers.
DR. WILFRED T. GRENFELL'S
Labrador: The Country and the People
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.25 net_
In this volume Dr. Grenfell supplies the only full and adequate
account of Labrador--the country, its natural resources, the climatic
conditions, and its people. In addition to the main body of the book,
with its chapters on Physiography, the People of the Coast, the
Missions, the Dogs, the various Fisheries, there are short chapters on
the Flora, the Fauna, the Geology, etc., each by a scientific author
of standing. The volume, profusely illustrated from photographs in the
author's own collection, reveals an unknown land to the vast majority
of readers.
ELLA HIGGINSON'S
Alaska: The Great Country
_Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $2.25 net_
"No other book gives so clear an impression of the beauty and grandeur
and vastness of our northernmost territory, nor so inspires one to
explore its vastnesses. She has mingled enough of history and
statistics to make it authoritative, and has embellished the tale with
stories and anecdotes to prevent its being dull, and has succeeded in
writing what might well be called a great book on a great
subject."--_The Boston Evening Transcript._
JAMES OUTRAM'S
In the Heart of the Canadian Rockies
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.50 net_
"It is so inspired with the glories of the mountains, their sublime
solitudes and silences, and their fascinating perils that it might
well be called the epic of American mountaineering."--_World To-day._
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York
CLIFTON JOHNSON'S BOOKS
Among English Hedgerows
With an introduction by HAMILTON W. MABIE, and over 100 illustrations
_Cloth, 8vo, $2.25 net_
"This book deserves to succeed, not only in America but in the country
which it so lovingly depicts."--_The Spectator_, London.
Along French Byways
_Fully illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.25 net_
"Gives a singularly faithful and complete and well-balanced idea of
the French peasantry and French rural life, manners, and
customs."--_Boston Herald._
The Isle of the Shamrock
_Fully illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.00 net_
"A most interesting book, full of lively sketches and
anecdotes."--_London Daily News._
The Land of Heather
_Fully illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.00 net_
"Not only Scotchmen, but every student of human nature will be pleased
with this entertaining book. It describes typical people and scenes
with much sympathy and appreciation."--_Brooklyn Standard Union._
AMERICAN HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS SERIES
Highways and Byways of the Mississippi Valley
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.00 net_
Highways and Byways of the South
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.00 net_
Highways and Byways of the Pacific Coast
_Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $2.00 net_
New England and Its Neighbors
_Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $2.00 net_
The Picturesque Hudson
_Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York
End of Project Gutenberg's Trans-Himalaya, Vol. 1 (of 2), by Sven Hedin