me over with pungent emphasis of speech to the
keeping of a Chinese and a Shan, who with a keen sense of favors to come
were to form my escort to Burma's border.

A low grunt of unrestrained approval came from the multitude. The
underlings--Chino-Kachino-Burmo-Shan people--who ran about in a little
of each of the clothing characteristic of the four said races, were all
busy in their endeavors to extricate from me a few cash apiece by doing
all and more than was necessary.

Then the great man rose. He condescended to depart. He passed from the
threshold, turned, paused, bowed, turned again, went down the steps,
bowed again--a long curving bow, which nearly sent him to the
ground--and then continued with a light heart towards that loveliest
land of the East. My men exhibited no emotion. That they were coming
into British territory was of no concern to them; they had come from far
away in the interior, and were the greenest of the green, the rawest of
the raw.

But soon I passed over a small bridge, a spot where two great empires
meet. I was in Burma.

* * * * *

So I have crossed from one end of China to the other. I entered China on
March 4th, 1909; I came out on February 14th, 1910.

I had come to see how far the modern spirit had penetrated into the
hidden recesses of the Chinese Empire. One may be little given to
philosophizing, and possess but scanty skill in putting into words the
conclusions which form themselves in one's mind, but it is impossible
to cross China entirely unobservant. One must begin, no matter how
dimly, to perceive something of the causes which are at work. By the
incoming of the European to inland China a transformation is being
wrought, not the natural growth of a gradual evolution, itself the
result of propulsion from within, but produced, on the contrary, by
artificial means, in bitter conflict with inherent instincts, inherited
traditions, innate tendencies, characteristics, and genius, racial and
individual. In the eyes of the Chinese of the old school these changes
in the habit of life infinitely old are improving nothing and ruining
much--all is empty, vapid, useless to God and man. The tawdry shell, the
valueless husk, of ancient Chinese life is here still, remains untouched
in many places, as will have been seen in previous chapters; but the
soul within is steadily and surely, if slowly, undergoing a process of
final atrophy. But yet the proper open