By these pioneers others were persuaded to essay the high adventure. Of a habit so difficult of acquisition and so morbid, the devotees are naturally a little proud. One might suppose that the nostrils of people who love ngapi and durians were proof against any smell. On the contrary, Burmans are very sensitive to the smell of oil burnt in cooking, which they regard as _odor nervis inimicus_, particularly hurtful to the sick, but grievous to anyone. The third characteristic article of diet in Burma is let-pet (pickled tea). So far as I know, this is the ordinary tea of commerce, grown almost entirely in the Northern Shan State of Taungbaing. It is not used to make an infusion; the leaf is prepared for use as a condiment. The trade and cultivation are entirely in the hands of Shans and Palaungs. Let-pet was brought down from the hills packed in long baskets borne on bullocks, now more commonly by train. It was formerly an article monopolized by the King. I have not heard of any European professing to like the taste of let-pet. The Burman is first of all an agriculturist. He is only a moderately good carpenter, though he can put the bamboo to many uses. As a boat-builder he excels, fashioning large boats on lines of grace and beauty. Also he can, of course, make his own flimsy house of mat and thatch, or a more substantial dwelling of teak or jungle-wood. But the few manual industries in which Burmans really shine are those which have an artistic basis. Where the secret of a glaze is known, as at Bassein in the delta, and at Kyaukmyaung, the port of Shwebo, pottery is practised as an hereditary art, and many gracious shapes and designs are fashioned out of ductile clay. Silk is grown by an obscure race called Yabeins. But it is as dangerous to cultivate the silkworm as to be a fisherman. More often, therefore, imported silk is used on Burmese looms, where cloths of lovely mingled colours and delicious wavy patterns are still produced. Alas! this charming domestic industry is on the wane, and both silks and cottons are now as a rule imported from Europe. The fine natural taste of the people is deteriorating. One of the saddest signs of this degeneracy is the substitution of the ugly gingham or silk umbrella for the darling, bright-coloured little tis,[42] which used to preserve the complexions of Burmese maids. This cruel sacrifice to economy and utility has almost succeeded in spoiling the incomparable dazzling glory of mingled colour which used to characterize a Burmese crowd. On the occasion of a royal visit to Mandalay, when boat-races were being held on the Moat amid the most picturesque surroundings, the delightful effect of rows upon rows of gaily dressed Burmans lining the farther edge was marred by a forest of imported umbrellas reared hideous to the sky. However, word was sent along the line that it was disrespectful to raise an umbrella in the presence of royalty. And as if at the touch of an enchanter’s wand, the