Not being at all eager to watch for the moment of separation between the two Tibetan years, we went to bed at our usual hour, and were wrapped in profound slumber, when we were suddenly awakened by cries of joy issuing from all quarters of the town. Bells, cymbals, conchs, tambourines, and all the instruments of Tibetan music, were set to work together and produced the most frightful uproar imaginable. We had a good mind to get up to witness the happiness of the inhabitants of Lhāssa, but the cold was so cutting that, after reflection, we decided to remain under our woollen coverlets, and to unite ourselves in heart only with the public felicity. Unhappily for our comfort, violent knocks on our door, threatening to smash it into splinters, warned us that we must renounce our project. We therefore donned our clothes, and the door being opened, some friendly Tibetans rushed into our room, inviting us to the New Year’s banquet. They all bore in their hands a small vessel made of baked earth, in which balls of honey and flour floated on boiling water. One visitor offered us a long silver needle, terminating in a hook, and invited us to fish in his basin. At first we sought to excuse ourselves, objecting that we were not in the habit of taking food during the night, but they entreated us so warmly, and put out their tongues at us with so friendly a grace, that we were obliged to comply, and resign ourselves to a participation in the New Year’s festivities. Each of us, therefore, hooked a ball, which we then crushed between our teeth to ascertain its flavour. For politeness sake we had to swallow the dose, but not without making some grimaces. Nor could we get off with this first act of devotion. The New Year was inexorable. Our numerous friends at Lhāssa succeeded each other almost without interruption, and we had perforce to munch Tibetan sweetmeats till daybreak. It is said that other peculiar customs follow, one of which the Tibetans call the Lhāssa-Moru. This takes place on the third day, and leads to the invasion of the town and its environs by innumerable bands of Lāmas. Immense numbers of Lāmas, some on foot, some on horseback, some on asses or oxen, and all carrying cooking-utensils and prayer-books, crowd into Lhāssa from all points. The town is completely over-run. Those who cannot get lodgings encamp in the streets and squares, or pitch their tents in the suburbs. The tribunals are closed, and the course of justice is suspended. The Lāmas parade the streets in disorderly bands, uttering discordant cries, pushing one another about, quarrelling, fighting, and yet, in the midst of all, chanting their prayers (Huc, ii. 218).