and go at
will. The furniture was of the usual sort, only in better condition than
ordinarily; heavy beds, chairs, tables, but everything was surprisingly
clean and sweet-smelling.

Here in this Buddhist monastery on the lofty summit of China's most
sacred mountain I spent three peaceful days, happy in having a part in
the simple life about me. Chin Tien is one of the largest and most
prosperous of Omei's monasteries, and it is also one of the best
conducted. Everything was orderly and quiet. Discipline seemed well
maintained, and there was no unseemly begging for contributions as at
Wan-nien Ssu. It boasts an abbot and some twenty-five full-fledged monks
and acolytes. All day long pilgrims, lay and monastic, were coming and
going, and the little bell that is rung to warn the god of the presence
of a worshipper tinkled incessantly. Some were monks who had come long
distances, perhaps from farthermost Tibet, making the great pilgrimage
to "gain merit" for themselves and for their monastery. Many of the
houses on Omei gave to these visitors crude maps or plans of the
mountain, duly stamped with the monastery seal, as proof that the
journey had been made, and on my departure one such, properly sealed
with the Chin Tien stamp, was given to me.

One day was like another, and all were peaceful and full of interest. I
expect the weather was as good as one could look for at this season of
the year; although the mists rolled in early in the forenoon shutting
out the plain, yet there was little rain, and the night and dawn were
glorious. Each morning I was out before sunrise, and standing on the
steps of the upper temple saw the whole western horizon revealed before
my enchanted eyes. A hundred miles away stretched the long line of the
Tibetan snow-peaks, their tops piercing the sky. It seemed but a step
from earth to heaven, and how many turn away from the wonderful sight to
take that step. Two strides back and you are standing awestruck on the
edge of the stupendous precipice. The fascination of the place is
overpowering, whether you gaze straight down into the black depths or
whether the mists, rolling up like great waves of foam, woo you gently
to certain death. No wonder the place is called "The Rejection of the
Body," and that men and women longing to free themselves from the weary
Wheel of Life, seek the "Peace of the Great Release" with one wild leap
into the abyss below.

At every hour of the day pilgrims were standin