ives way occasionally, and allows the shafts to
fall to the ground; when this happens, the occupant runs the risk of
being dumped among the ungainly feet that propel his vehicle. One
experience of this kind is more than satisfactory.

After passing a range of low mountains north of Kalgan, the road
enters the table-land of Mongolia, elevated about five thousand feet
above the sea. The country opens into a series of plains and gentle
swells, not unlike the rolling prairies of Kansas and Nebraska, with
here and there a stretch of hills. Very often not a single tree is
visible, and the only stationary objects that break the monotony of
the scene are occasional yourts, or tents of the natives. All the way
along the road there are numerous trains of ox-carts, and sometimes
they form a continuous line of a mile or more. Those going southward
are principally laden with logs of wood from the valley of the Tolla,
about two hundred miles from the Siberian frontier. The logs are about
six or seven feet long, and their principal use is to be cut into
Chinese coffins. Many a gentleman of Pekin has been stowed in a coffin
whose wood grew in the middle of Mongolia; and possibly when our
relations with the empire become more intimate, we shall supply the
Chinese coffin market from the fine forests of our Pacific coast.

CHAPTER XXXII.

North of Kalgan the native habitations are scattered irregularly over
the country wherever good water and grass abound. The Mongols are
generally nomadic, and consult the interest of their flocks and herds
in their movements. In summer they resort to the table-land, and stay
wherever fancy or convenience dictates; in winter they prefer the
valleys where they are partially sheltered from the sharp winds, and
find forage for their stock.

The desert is not altogether a desert; it has a great deal of sand and
general desolation to the day's ride, but is far from being a forsaken
region where a wolf could not make a living. Antelopes abound, and are
often seen in large droves as upon our Western plains; grouse will
afford frequent breakfasts to the traveler if he takes the trouble to
shoot them; there are wild geese, ducks, and curlew in the ponds and
marshes; and taken for all in all, the country might be much worse
than it is--which is bad enough.

The flat or undulating country is, of course, monotonous. Sunset and
sunrise are not altogether unlike those events on the ocean, and if a
travele