and brocades, followed by a mounted
retinue whose head-gear would be the despair of an operatic hatter. They
wear red lamp-shades, yellow motor-caps, exaggerated Gainsboroughs,
inverted cooking-pots, coal-scuttles, and medieval helmets. And among
this topsy-turvy, which does not seem out of place in Lhasa, the most
eccentrically-hatted man is the Bhutanese Tongsa Penlop, who parades the
streets in an English gray felt hat.

The Mongolian caravan has arrived in Lhasa, after crossing a thousand
miles of desert and mountain tracks. The merchants and drivers saunter
about the streets, trying not to look too rustic. But they are easily
recognisable--tall, sinewy men, very independent in gait, with faces
burnt a dark brick red by exposure to the wind and sun. I saw one of
their splendidly robust women, clad in a sheepskin cloak girdled at the
waist, bending over a cloth stall, and fingering samples as if shopping
were the natural business of her life.

On fine days the wares are spread on the cobbles of the street, and the
coloured cloth and china make a pretty show against the background of
garden flowers. At the doors of the shops stand pale Nuwaris, whose
ancestors from Nepal settled in Lhasa generations ago. They wear a flat
brown cap, and a dull russet robe darker than that of the Lamas. The
Cashmiri shopkeepers are turbaned, and wear a cloak of butcher's blue.
They and the Nuwaris and the Chinese seem to monopolize the trade of the
city.

British officers haunt the bazaars searching for curios, but with very
little success. Lhasa has no artistic industries; nearly all the
knick-knacks come from India and China. Cloisonne ware is rare and
expensive, as one has to pay for the 1,800 miles of transport from
Peking. Religious objects are not sold. Turquoises are plentiful, but
coarse and inferior. Hundreds of paste imitations have been bought.
There is a certain sale for amulets, rings, bells, and ornaments for the
hair, but these and the brass and copper work can be bought for half the
price in the Darjeeling bazaar. The few relics we have found of the West
must have histories. In the cathedral there was a bell with the
inscription 'Te Deum laudamus,' probably a relic of the Capuchins. In
the purlieus of the city we found a bicycle without tyres, and a
sausage-machine made in Birmingham.

With the exception of the cathedral, most of the temples and monasteries
are on the outskirts of the city. There is a sameness about