Ten minutes after leaving the village, I halted to sketch Loi Hoo-a Soo-a and Loi Pah Kung; and a mile farther on ascended Loi Noi, a small granite knoll on the west bank that is crested by a pagoda, in order to settle the position and make a drawing of the hills in the valley of the Meh Li. Between us and Loi Ta Mau and Loi Chang Moo, “the mountain of the crouching elephant,” so called from its appearance, the whole plain for a distance of thirty miles appeared to be one great forest with a few small isolated hills cropping up here and there, the area under cultivation being entirely hidden by dense fringes of trees. The Zimmé plain is at its broadest at Loi Noi, and feathers off thence to both ends. Its total length from the gorge beyond the Meh Teng to Loi Chang Moo is seventy miles. [Illustration: _View from the top of Loi Noi at 8 A.M. 23d February._ ] Leaving Loi Noi, we passed, on the east bank, the country-house of the Chow Hluang, or chief, of Lapoon, near which a landing-stage of bamboos and a flight of steps had been erected for the use of the chief. Two miles farther we passed Ban Ta Pee, the village to which lepers are banished. The bamboo clumps fringing the river now became more scarce, and were replaced by fruit-trees and tobacco and other gardens. Hsong Kweh, or Htone Htau, the village where we breakfasted, is on the site of the ancient city of Viang Htau. On visiting the religious buildings, which consisted of a pagoda, two temples, and a monastery, I picked up a fragment of an ancient tile, on which were raised three figures—the first a man clothed in a flowing raiment, then an unclad man with a ring or fetter on each ankle, followed by a naked woman with a bracelet or fetter upon each wrist. The portion of the tile containing the heads of the figures had been broken off and lost. The smaller temple had a handsome staircase, the sides of which were formed of twisted snakes and dragons adorned with scales of gold and green tinsel. The plaster scroll-work which embellished the doorway was admirably designed and of excellent cement. Both Burmese and Shans have developed a great talent for architecture and ornamental tracery. The old monk and his acolytes were evidently pleased at our visit, and had no objection to being photographed. I therefore took two excellent groups, which unfortunately came to nothing, as the plates were blotched, like all the others I had wasted my time in using. Before reaching the monastery, a party of young men and women forded the river in front of our boat, laughing at each other’s endeavour to join decency with the attempt to keep their garments from the water, which was nearly waist-deep—a nearly impossible feat. CHAPTER VIII.