waddy are the fish of better quality
than here.

Altogether, in the impressiveness of its scenery, the quiet,
irresistible flow of the river, and the bright tints and varied
growths of the forest, the lower defile of the Irrawaddy forms one of
the most striking scenes I have ever enjoyed; and if the river had no
other beauty than this to show, it alone would amply repay the
traveller for his journey.

Though in general so fertile, there is one part of the river where the
hills which lie on its western side are entirely barren, and the
reddish-yellow rocks appear very hot and uninviting by comparison. Yet
this forbidding district is one of the busiest and richest of all
Burma, for this is the great oil-field of the country, and the
chimneys of pumping stations which stretch for miles along the hills
and river-bank show how actively the trade is being worked. Formerly
Burma was obliged to import all her lamp-oil from America, but now,
although a certain amount of American oil is still imported, Burma not
only produces sufficient for their own use, but is able to export a
considerable quantity to other countries, and many of the steamers on
the river use the crude or unrefined oil as fuel.

Here and there in the river are moored curious-looking dredgers
engaged in pumping up the river sand, from which is separated the gold
dust with which it is so freely mixed. The gold comes from unknown
veins hundreds of miles away, and is to be found in greater or less
quantities all down the river, and though the natives have always been
in the habit of "washing for gold," it is only within the last few
years that any real attempt has been made to work it on a large scale.

[Illustration: THE IRRAWADDY. _Chapters IV and V._]

The Irrawaddy has many tributaries, but though the larger streams,
such as the Chindwin and Mu Rivers, are always flowing, most of the
smaller forest streams are dry, excepting during the monsoon, which
continues from May until September. At this season, swelled into
torrents by the rains, they pour into the Irrawaddy, quickly raising
its level 40 to 50 feet, and the peaceful river which I have described
becomes a mighty flood, in places 2 miles in width, full to the top of
its banks and overflowing the fields and flooding the village streets,
and sweeping away from its sand-banks those huts and pagodas and other
temporary buildings we have noticed, while the mud which its turbid
waters carry each year adds