hing to give alms--good for
yourself, I mean. So that this daily procession does good in two ways:
it is good for the monk because he learns humility; it is good for the
people because they have thereby offered them a chance of giving a
little alms. Even the poorest may be able to give his spoonful of rice.
All is accepted. Think not a great gift is more acceptable than a little
one. You must judge by the giver's heart.

At every feast, every rejoicing, the central feature is presents to the
monks. If a man put his son into a monastery, if he make merry at a
stroke of good fortune, if he wish to celebrate a mark of favour from
government, the principal ceremony of the feast will be presents to
monks. They must be presents such as the monks can accept; that is
understood.

Therefore, a man enters a monastery simply for this: to keep his body in
health by perfect moderation and careful conduct, and to prepare his
soul for heaven by meditation. That is the meaning of it all.

If you see a grove of trees before you on your ride, mangoes and
tamarinds in clusters, with palms nodding overhead, and great
broad-leaved plantains and flowering shrubs below, you may be sure that
there is a monastery, for it is one of the commands to the monks of the
Buddha to live under the shade of lofty trees, and this command they
always keep. They are most beautiful, many of these monasteries--great
buildings of dark-brown teak, weather-stained, with two or three roofs
one above the other, and at one end a spire tapering up until it ends in
a gilded 'tee.' Many of the monasteries are covered with carving along
the facades and up the spires, scroll upon scroll of daintiest design,
quaint groups of figures here and there, and on the gateways moulded
dragons. All the carvings tell a story taken from the treasure-house of
the nation's infancy, quaint tales of genii and fairy and wonderful
adventure. Never, I think, do the carvings tell anything of the sacred
life or teaching. The Burmese are not fond, as we are, of carving and
painting scenes from sacred books. Perhaps they think the subject too
holy for the hand of the craftsman, and so, with, as far as I know, but
one exception in all Burma--a pagoda built by Indian architects long
ago--you will look in vain for any sacred teaching in the carvings. But
they are very beautiful, and their colour is so good, the deep rich
brown of teak against the light green of the tamarinds, and the great
leav