t morning, when our herdsman went to milk his
cow. Seeing him issue forth, his pail in one hand, the hay-calf under
the other arm, the fancy occurred to us to follow him. His first
proceeding was to put the hay-karba down before the cow; he then turned
to milk the cow herself. The mamma at first opened enormous eyes at her
beloved infant; by degrees, she stooped her head towards it, then smelt
at it, sneezed three or four times, and at last proceeded to lick it with
the most delightful tenderness. This spectacle grated against our
sensibilities; it seemed to us that he who first invented this parody
upon one of the most touching incidents in nature, must have been a man
without a heart. A somewhat burlesque circumstance occurred one day to
modify the indignation with which this trickery inspired us. By dint of
caressing and licking her little calf, the tender parent one fine morning
unripped it; the hay issued from within, and the cow, manifesting not the
smallest surprise or agitation, proceeded tranquilly to devour the
unexpected provender.

The Si-Fan nomads are readily distinguishable from the Mongols by a more
expressive physiognomy and by a greater energy of character; their
features are not so flat, and their manners are characterised by an ease
and vivacity that form a strong contrast with the heavy uncouthness of
the Tartars. Merry-makings, noisy songs, and joyous laughter animate
their encampments, and banish melancholy; but with this turn for gaiety
and pleasure, the Si-Fan are at the same time indomitably brave, and
exceedingly addicted to warfare. They accordingly manifest the most
profound contempt for the Chinese authority and authorities, and though
inscribed in the imperial list of tributary nations, they absolutely
refuse to render either obedience or tribute. There are among them,
indeed, several tribes that constantly exercise their brigandage up to
the very frontiers of the empire, the Chinese mandarins never venturing
to encounter them. The Si-Fan are good horsemen, though not equal to the
Tartars. The care of their herds does not prevent them from carrying on
a little trade in the hair of their cattle and the wool of their sheep.
They weave a sort of coarse linen, of which they make tents and clothing.
When they are assembled round their great pot of milk-tea, they give
themselves up, like the Tartars, to their gossiping humour, and their
passion for narratives of the adventures of Lamas