d a whole week clearing
away refuse. Judging by the accretion of dirt, a new-comer might class
the building as medieval; but filth is no criterion of age, for
everything left in the same place becomes quickly coated with grime an
inch thick. The dust that invades one's tent at Chumbi is clean and
wholesome compared to the Phari dirt, which is the filth of human
habitation, the secretion of centuries of foul living. It falls from the
roof on one's head, sticks to one's clothes as one brushes against the
wall, and is blown up into one's eyes and throat from the floor.

The fort is most insanitary, but a military occupation is necessary. The
hacking coughs which are prevalent among officers and men are due to
impurities of the air which affect the lungs. Cartloads of dirt are
being scraped away every day, but gusts of wind from the lower stories
blow up more dust, which penetrates every nook and cranny of the
draughty rooms, so that there is a fresh layer by nightfall. To clear
the lower stories and cellars would be a hopeless task; even now rooms
are found in unexpected places which emit clouds of dust whenever the
wind eddies round the basement.

I explored the ground-floor with a lantern, and was completely lost in
the maze of passages and dark chambers. When we first occupied the fort,
they were filled with straw, gunpowder, and old arms. A hundred and
forty maunds of inferior gunpowder was destroyed, and the arms now
litter the courtyard. These the Tibetans themselves abandoned as
rubbish. The rusty helmets, shields, and breastplates are made of the
thinnest iron plates interlaced with leathern thongs, and would not
stop an arrow. The old bell-mouthed matchlocks, with their wooden
ground-rests, would be more dangerous to the Tibetan marksmen than the
enemy. The slings and bows and arrows are reckoned obsolete even by
these primitive warriors. Perhaps they attribute more efficacy to the
praying-wheels which one encounters at every corner of the fort. The
largest are in niches in the wall to left and right of the gateway; rows
of smaller ones are attached to the banisters on the landings and to the
battlements of the roof. The wheels are covered with grime--the grime of
Lamas' hands. Dirt and religion are inseparable in Tibet. The Lamas
themselves are the most filthy and malodorous folk I have met in the
country. From this it must not be inferred that one class is more
cleanly in its habits than another, for nobody eve